heart slammed into his rib cage. He couldn’t lose her. Soldier or not, she wouldn’t deal with this alone—he wouldn’t let her. Shouting for help, Derek surged forward and grabbed Uniform’s collar and hauled him back.
The person under that boxy uniform put up quite a fight. Closer now, Derek could see it was a man by the big hands dusted with hair wrapped around Grace Ann’s neck. The edge of a tattoo on his inner right wrist peeked from under a sleeve. Derek struggled, pushing and shoving, determined to get the man off her.
She continued to scrape and grapple, using the distraction and shifting momentum to break the chokehold at last. In a lightning-quick maneuver, she pinned Uniform’s hands helplessly to his side and struck the man hard on the jaw with her elbow.
Uniform’s head snapped back, but he didn’t give up. Backpedaling, he thumped Derek into the wall with his body and lunged for Grace Ann again. The element of surprise gone now, she smoothly ducked under the attempt to corral her at the railing and raised her leg, tripping Uniform. He pitched forward, tumbling down the slope of concrete steps.
Uniform hit the first landing with a thud and a low groan before he scrambled to his feet and kept running, pinballing between the wall and the rail in his haste to escape. When Grace Ann moved to follow, Derek caught her, holding her back. “Let him go.”
“He can’t get away with this.”
“He won’t.” Derek hoped his promise wouldn’t become a lie. “Let’s take a look at you.” He leaned back so he could look her over but she turned abruptly into his embrace, her body quaking with shock as Uniform’s boots continued to pound against the stairs.
“We should call security.” He held her close, needing the assurance that she was alive and well. He kept breathing in the soft clove scent of her shampoo, imagining they were back at their last campsite, under the stars. Anything to block that moment when he was sure she was going over the rail.
“We should.” She didn’t move, her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as the sound of a door clanging open and closed echoed up the stairwell.
Would she now be in a heap at the bottom of the stairwell if he hadn’t come along? Jerking his gaze away from the unforgiving concrete at the bottom of the stairwell, he shifted them closer to the door and safety as the tremors rolling through both of them subsided.
“Thanks,” she said, stepping out of his embrace. “I’m better now.”
He wanted to believe her. His gaze fixed on the red marks circling her throat above the neckline of her scrub top and his heart lodged in his throat. “You sure?”
She suddenly bent over, her hands braced on her knees, and sucked in slow, measured breaths. “Just need a minute.”
“Take your time.” He stroked her back with his palm, soothing, willing her to be okay. “Did you recognize him?”
Still doubled over, she shook her head. “The name on the uniform was Smith. The rank was PFC—private first class. That’s all I got.” She coughed, the rough sound making him wince.
“He had a tattoo on one wrist.” Straightening, she arched an eyebrow. “I only caught the ink,” he explained. “Not enough to identify an image.”
“So he might as well be invisible,” she said, then fell into another spate of coughing.
“We need to call security,” he repeated. He patted his pockets, couldn’t find his cell phone. “They can pull more information from video feed.” He’d spotted surveillance cameras above the stairwell door and high in the corner. “And you need a doctor.”
“I’m fine.” She handed him her cell phone and rasped out the code for security. “I should have known this kind of thing was coming,” she muttered.
“What are you talking about?” he asked while he waited for someone at the security desk to pick up. If someone was harassing her, the hospital, with all of the protective measures, identity checks and people coming and going, seemed like an audacious place to launch an attack.
She reached for the door, held it for him. “It’s a long story.”
“Good thing I have plenty of time on my hands,” he said. “Which way to the base security office?” he asked as the phone kept ringing.
Her reply was interrupted by the person who’d finally answered his call. In low tones, he gave an explanation of the incident and promised they would both head straight over to give a full report.
“You need to stay with Kevin,” she said when he returned her phone. “I’ll go over and handle the report. If they have questions for you, I can share your cell number with them. Assuming that’s all right.”
Let her out of his sight after that? Not a chance. “You’re not going anywhere alone,” he told her. His heart hadn’t yet returned to a normal rhythm.
“But—”
He cut her off with a look. “Wait here. Please,” he added as he ducked into the room. Returning after grabbing his cell phone and jacket, he was glad to see she hadn’t left without him.
“This is silly. You know I can handle myself.” Her chin lifted in defiance, making the red marks on the delicate skin of her throat stand out in stark relief.
“You can,” he admitted. She probably would have hog-tied the assailant with her stethoscope and dragged him down to security by his bootlaces if Derek hadn’t interfered. Instead, he’d jumped in and the guy escaped. “You can,” he repeated. “But you don’t need to.”
“Derek.” Clearly exasperated, she made his name sound like an oath.
“You’ve said it yourself,” he pressed. “Kevin just needs time to recover. No one’s attacking him.” He leaned close. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you need me more than he does right now.”
“Fine.”
Relieved it hadn’t required more of an argument, he followed her to the employee area for her floor, waiting outside the door. She returned within a minute or two, a tote over her shoulder and a jacket zipped up to cover the marks on her neck. It only sent more questions rolling through his mind, but he held them all back for a later time. She was clearly irritable and he didn’t want to stress her voice any more than necessary.
“I wish you’d let a doctor look you over.”
She glared at him and shook her head. Her phone chimed with an alert and she checked the smartwatch on her wrist. The glare turned into a fierce scowl.
Whatever the message was didn’t improve her mood. “Problem?”
“My brother,” she replied with a dismissive shrug. “He’s mad I refused a formal protective detail.”
“More of that long story?”
“Yes,” she replied with a grimace.
At the security desk, a base police officer took their detailed statements of the incident in the stairwell. Though she refused medical evaluation, they swabbed her throat for any possible DNA from her attacker and took several pictures of the marks left behind. Before they left, the
