right side. Most were already turning purple. He eased her shirt down. “It looks like you’ve cracked a couple of ribs. Any other injuries you’re aware of?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
Despite everything that had transpired, his lips twisted at her sarcasm. True enough. Given the devastation behind them, not to mention the journey ahead, cracked ribs were definitely enough.
She coughed and then gasped as he helped her into a sitting position. Tears began streaming from the corners of those huge green eyes, mingling with the blood streaking down her cheeks.
From the ache in her ribs, no doubt.
But he’d bet most were a result of the ache in her heart.
Dammit, now was not the time to soften, let alone give in to the ache in his own. “Paris, we’ve got to get those ribs wrapped. Then we need to get out of here.” He held her down as she tried to stand. They definitely had to get moving.
He glanced at the chopper.
As soon as he buried the bodies.
He swung his gaze from the wreckage as Paris touched his temple. “What?”
“You’re bleeding.”
Considering he had to keep blinking to keep the blood from dripping into his eyes, he figured it was an understatement.
“You need stitches.”
“No time. I’ll wrap it.” Just as soon as he figured out what they were going to wrap her cracked ribs with.
She looked ready to argue with him.
He turned his back on her frown and took stock of their surroundings. By the time he’d turned back, she was staring at the remains of the chopper. Her eyes were red.
“Your crew’s dead, as well as my sergeant. I’m sorry.”
From her stiff nod, he wasn’t sure she’d really understood. She seemed a bit too controlled, too contained.
Almost cold.
Then again, it wasn’t like he knew the woman. Nor had the local rumor mill had a chance to circulate its findings. Eve Paris was too new in country. From her professionalism in the chopper as well as the way she’d appeared to stay cool during the crash, cold could well be the woman’s normal mode.
Just as well. They had three bodies to bury and a two- to three-day trek ahead by his estimate. Given who was likely to be dogging their boots the entire way, it was past time to get started. But as he reached out to ease off her flight suit, she stiffened. In deference to her shock, he knocked back his impatience. “Please, I need to get a better look at your ribs, and then I’ll need to wrap them. You won’t make the journey otherwise.” He waited for a response.
Nothing.
She still wouldn’t even look at him.
She just kept staring at that damned hulk of blackened steel.
“Paris?”
“I’ll do it.”
For a moment, he considered arguing.
What the hell. He’d probably insist on the same thing in her place. He nodded curtly. “I’ll see what I can salvage from the wreck. Then I’d better get started on the bodies. No—” He nudged her down again. “I’ll take care of them. You need to conserve your strength.”
Another nod. This one even more stiff.
Frankly, he wasn’t surprised. Cold or not, he knew full well she had to be taking the crash personally, just as he knew why. But there was no time for guilt.
Hers or his.
They had to get moving. “Eve?”
Again, nothing.
He continued anyway, “That waterfall we flew over. Did your copilot have a chance to tell you about it before the crash?”
She shook her head slowly.
Great. One more piece of crappy news to lay on her head. Even as his heart went out to her, he hauled it back and crammed it firmly inside his chest. The woman was a soldier.
So, treat her like one, dammit!
“That waterfall was on the wrong side of the border. By my estimate, we’re about four, five kilometers to the west of the San Sebastián border—inside Córdoba.” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in, not bothering to add that the communist country was probably searching for the crash site as they spoke. Or that they’d be lucky to escape with a bullet to the brain if they were captured. Not to mention the fact that his radio, as well as her own, had probably gone up in the same explosion that had roasted the chopper.
Then again, maybe he should have. Because again, she didn’t seem fazed. He touched her shoulder. “Did you hear me?”
She nodded slowly.
Shock.
He wasn’t surprised. His own brain was still rattling around in his head. Unfortunately, there was no time to waste. If she didn’t snap out of it soon, he’d have no choice but to wrap her ribs for her and toss her hind end over his shoulder and carry her whether she liked it or not.
He’d give her an hour—or until he was done.
But as he stood and turned away, she finally spoke.
“Bishop?”
He turned back and waited. She dragged her gaze up to his and focused. “Thank you.” Her whisper was soft, hoarse. There was a wealth of gratitude in the simple words.
And even more pain.
It was his turn to nod stiffly. Then he turned back to the morbid task he’d performed too damned many times before.
Snap out of it!
That was just it. She couldn’t.
Eve continued to stare at Rick Bishop in a fog as he covered the graves of their fellow soldiers with the stones he’d gathered. His sergeant, her crew chief, her copilot. Her friend.
Her fault.
But she hadn’t just ended three lives, had she?
A baby.
For God’s sake, why hadn’t Carrie told her? She’d been in country catching up with the woman for three days now. Despite the succession of near-constant briefings, surely Carrie could have found the time to discuss something that monumental?
But she hadn’t.
Hell, Carrie hadn’t even alluded to her pregnancy. Not this morning when they fired up the Black Hawk before dawn, nor the night before when they’d stayed up way too late filling each other in on everything that had happened since college and flight school.
Why
