Military Romance Collection: Contemporary Soldier Alpha Male Romance (82 page)

Chapter One

"Okay, boys. Tell me what we've got."

Erin Rivers stood with the doctor just inside the ER doors where the ambulance made its deliveries, the shifting red and blue illumination of the emergency lights rolling over them both. The EMTs wheeled the stretcher up from the vehicle and into the ER. Erin, who wasn’t exactly tall, moved quickly to keep up.

"John Doe. Found by a couple of cyclists out for a night ride on the edge of town. Pretty beat up. Some bad lacerations. Bruises. Cracked or broken ribs. Broken fingers.”

Erin spun on her heel to follow them as they started down the hall, headed for one of the treatment rooms.

The man on the stretcher was big—tall and broad-shouldered with brown hair and a tan that said he spent a lot of time outdoors. His shirt had been cut off him, and she could see the gauze that had been taped over his chest, already spotted with blood, the pressure bandage wrapped around his rib cage. The guy was out of it, totally unconscious.

"Was he awake when you picked him up?"

The nearest EMT shook his head.

"Nope. He's been out since we arrived. Guys who found him said he was down for the count when they got there. Don't know how long he's been unconscious."

That could be bad. Erin nodded.

"Get him on the bed and we'll take a look at him."

Between the two of them, the ambulance techs laid the guy out on his side, and the doctor stepped forward to look him over while Erin set up the IV. She watched as the doctor removed the gauze that had been hiding the wounds on the men’s chest. 

He had four lacerations that cut from sternum to navel, all running parallel to each other, ragged along their edges like they’d been opened with something sharp only at its tip. Deep, but they didn’t look life-threatening. They hadn’t cut through to any vital organs.

The bruising was pretty bad. There were huge purple black marks along his ribcage. Looked like boot marks, and she wouldn't be surprised to find they were. The injuries had the air of something done deliberately.

"Any identification on him?" Erin asked the EMT, who was standing to the side filling out the paperwork on the new arrival.

"Nope. And no name from the callers, of course."

A John Doe, then. They'd find out who he was when he woke up.

When the doctor took the gauze off his back, they found similar wounds to the ones on his chest. A double set of long cuts, raked down the length of his back.

"What happened here?" she asked the EMT. "Any ideas?"

He stepped around to stand with her, looking at the wounds.

"Our best guess?" he said, looking at her sideways. "They look like something with claws took a pretty strong disliking to him. Except that those are definitely boot prints. So, we really have no idea.”

“Wolverine?” the intern who’d just walked in to observe suggested.

"Claws," the doctor said flatly, ignoring the attempt at humor. 

The EMT nodded.

That was, Erin decided, what they looked like. Four parallel marks, opened by something with a pointed tip. But there were the bruises, which were definitely boot imprints.

The lacerations needed to be cleaned and sutured, and bloodwork sent to the lab. When that was done, the doctor and the intern left, and Erin was alone with the patient. She checked the IV levels, made sure he was resting peacefully, and stood for a moment, silently studying him.

He was a good looking guy, even bandaged up and laying in a hospital bed—strong cheekbones, a straight Grecian nose, a thick head of curling brown hair. Erin turned away. She had other patients to see to, after all.

Chapter Two

Back in high school, Erin had a friend who'd confessed a secret to her.

She remembered the day all too clearly. They'd been sitting outside on the swings behind her house, swaying gently back and forth in the slanted golden light of late afternoon. The day was warm, but not hot, one of the last good spring days before summer would set in and fry everything to a crisp. It had rained in the morning, and everything felt fresh and new and clean. The flowers were blooming in the flower beds, and the trees were in blossom.

"I have to tell you something," Jenna said very quietly.

Erin turned to look at her past the chains of the swings, her hands curled around the plastic-covered part of them. They were really getting too big for these things, and the seat wasn't exactly comfortable. The edges cut into her hips.

"Tell me. You know you can."

Jenna was looking down at her lap, where her fingers were twisting together, her dark hair, a contrast to Erin’s blonde, pulled forward over one shoulder. She tugged at her lower lip with her teeth.

"Yeah. I know I can, or I wouldn't have said it."

She took a breath and let it out again slowly. In the little copse of trees to their left, birds called back and forth. Erin waited for her to speak.

"You know how I'm always missing school for a few days every month?"

Erin knew. She'd asked about it before, and Jenna always had an excuse, but she'd never given her a straight answer. Erin felt her heart beat pick up a little, and at the time she hadn't been sure why.

"Well, there's a reason."

"What?"

Jenna was silent again for a long moment, swaying restlessly.

"I…" She seemed to have trouble getting the words out, stopping and clearing her throat. Cleared it again. "I'm not sure I know how to say this," she confessed after a moment.

"Just tell me, Jen. I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Erin lifted her hand and drew an X over her heart. They hadn't done that since they were ten, but she hoped it would let Jenna know that she was telling the truth. Jenna could tell her anything. They'd been friends since kindergarten, and she didn't like the distance that had been growing between them over the last couple years, since Jenna had been in that accident while she was camping.

"It's hard," Jenna said, hardly more than a whisper. "I mean, I've never told anyone this, Er. And telling you could get me in a lot of trouble."

"Only if someone knows you told," Erin argued gently. "And I'm not going to tell them. Really. I promise."

What could be so big that Jenna couldn't tell her?

"This is going to sound stupid."

"I don't care how it sounds."

Jenna nodded, the motion of her head abrupt and jerky. Nervous. Erin was growing nervous too, watching Jenna's hands twist in her lap, listening to the too-quick sound of her breathing.

"So. Um. The days I'm gone. They're always the full moon."

Erin blinked. She looked at Jenna.

"The full moon?" she echoed, to be sure she was hearing it right.

Jenna nodded.

"Is that… What exactly are you trying to say?"

Jenna opened her mouth to answer, but the honk of a car horn stopped her. She looked up at Erin, apology drawing her eyebrows down and twisting her mouth.

"I'm sorry. That's my mom. I have to go."

"Wait. Jen—"

But she was already up from the swing and running across the yard, her ponytail swinging.

Erin never had found out what Jenna was going to say. She hadn't come back to school after that. But she'd turned the words over and over in her mind, trying to see the conclusion they came to, wondering what they could mean that wasn't totally out of the realm of possibility. It always came back to one idea, though. An idea that couldn't possibly be right.

It was a strange thing to be thinking about, that day in her backyard, as Erin went about her rounds. She hadn't thought of Jenna in a long time. But for some reason the memory was teasing at her, pricking her thoughts. She shrugged and continued on to the next patient.

-------

When Erin returned, the recent John Doe arrival was awake, sitting slightly up in bed. She was on her way out for the night, but she’d wanted to check in on him and see how he was doing. He looked groggy, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus on her. When they did, he frowned.

"What happened?"

"A couple of bikers called in a finding of an unconscious man on the side of the rode. You're in the hospital."

His expression shifted from confusion to alarm.

"The hospital?"

Erin’s eyebrows lifted. "Yes."

He moved to rise from the bed, and she hurried across the room to stand over it.

"You shouldn't get up yet," she chided. "You have broken ribs, and there were some pretty bad lacerations on your torso."

The expression on his face said he'd discovered the broken ribs when he moved, but he shook his head.

"I really can't be here."

"You want to explain just what you mean by that?" she asked.

The John Doe took a sharp breath, like he was trying not to say something angry.

"I'm checking myself out," he said, voice even.

She couldn't stop him. It wasn't as though he was dying in the bed. But when he stood, she saw him sway, clutch at the railing of the bed for support. For all his size, he looked almost fragile in the paper hospital gown, with his hair ruffled and his face sheened with sweat. The faint flush in his cheeks concerned her.

"I really can't advise that," Erin said firmly. "You're not well. You look like you have a fever, and you're only going to make yourself worse if you go running off right now."

"Where are my clothes?"

Erin huffed, but he didn't seem to hear it. She turned and pulled his bagged effects from the cabinet next to the bed. His shirt, of course, was gone. They’d cut it off of him to check his injuries. There had been a wallet in his pocket, but no ID. No credit cards. She handed the bag to him.

He took it and glanced through it, making sure everything was there.

“I’ll say it one more time,” Erin said, more gently than she had spoken before. “Checking yourself out will be against the advice of the hospital staff, and you should reconsider staying.”

He pulled on his clothes under the paper gown, grimacing as the movement pulled at the sutured lacerations and jostled the broken ribs. Erin gave him a look that was definitely of the ‘I told you so’ sort.

“I can’t stay,” he said, and his expression was almost apologetic.

“Care to explain to why?”

“That’s not really something I’m at liberty to share.”

Erin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You have boot marks on your ribs and claw marks on your chest and back. They're a little contradictory. If I guessed your reluctance to stay has something to do with that, would I be right?"

He stopped fastening his jeans under the paper gown and looked up at her. His head was tipped slightly to the side, his expression searching.

"I'm more open-minded than some, I think," Erin said, hoping to encourage him to speak.

"And what do you think would cause my injuries?"

Erin took a deep breath. She wasn't going to say it. No matter what she had wondered since Jenna had disappeared that day in high school, she wasn't going to admit it out loud. Certainly not to a stranger who was her patient. Or not her patient, for much longer. She shook her head. She shouldn't have pushed it.

"You think you know, but you're too afraid to say the words," he said, pulling the hospital gown up over his head and dropping it on the rumpled bed. Even with the bandages on, she could see the cut of his muscles. He was in good shape. He would heal quickly. She supposed that was something to be happy about if he was checking himself out of the hospital's care. But he still looked ill and hurt, and she didn't think it was a good idea.

"Tell me what happened," she said.

He shook his head. "I can't. If you don't know it, then I can't say it. And I have to go. I don't have time to stand here arguing with you. Sorry."

He stepped past her, his shoulder brushing lightly against hers. His skin was very warm. Too warm. Erin turned and followed him from the room.

"You have a fever," she said as he walked ahead of her, straining her legs a little to keep up. She wasn't a short woman, but he was well above average height, and he moved with long, easy strides, even with his injuries. She was forced into a near jog to walk alongside him.

"I have a fever," he agreed. "It won't kill me."

She let out her breath through her nose, and then considered the fact that he was
absolutely
infuriating. She didn't have to follow him around, or try to make him see sense. If he wanted to check himself out and drag himself home to suffer alone, that was really his problem. Erin was off duty. She was supposed to be home watching TV and eating takeout, not chasing a John Doe around the hospital trying to make him stay in bed.

"Your choice, I guess," she said.

Erin turned and walked in the opposite direction. It wasn't her responsibility. It wasn't her problem to take care of. She told herself that over and over as she walked out to her car and slid into the driver's seat, then turned the key. She sighed. He was clearly in pain, and clearly afraid of staying in the hospital. Her memory and his injuries kept sliding to the forefront, trying to tell her something she was refusing to acknowledge. It was silly. It was absolutely fantastical, and she was a grown woman. She should not be entertaining children's fancies.