WAR: Intrusion (49 page)

Lachlan gave Natchaba his coldest smile, channelling his father. “Are you so certain?” But even as the words came out of his mouth, Lachlan knew that Natchaba was right. He could justify the violent beating he’d given the convoy leader because he’d needed information that would lead to Helen’s rescue. Not only did Lachlan not have the heart or the will to perform such butchery, but if he killed Natchaba now it would not be justified. It would only be a selfish attempt to satisfy his own thirst for vengeance. For violence.

“You’re right,” Lachlan said. “I won’t kill you. Because I’m a better man than you are. I don’t kill for the thrill of taking a life. I kill to survive or to protect the lives of others.” His father’s darkness might live within him, but it was Lachlan’s choice whether or not to let it rule him.

Today, he chose to rise above the darkness. He would knock Natchaba out, tie him up, and hand him over to the—

“Lachlan, behind you!” Helen cried out.

At the sound of his name, Lachlan threw himself to the side and rolled away as a bullet whizzed past. What the fuck was Helen doing here? He’d thought she was safe.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

HELEN
HAD CRACKED open the infirmary door when she first heard Natchaba’s voice out in the corridor. Once she’d determined that no one was looking in her direction, she’d watched the enfolding action, hoping for a chance to stop Natchaba. But Lachlan had things well under control. After a brutal one-on-one fight during which Helen had barely dared to breathe, Lachlan finally pinned Natchaba beneath him.

Motion caught Helen’s eye. Across the corridor, a rebel had stepped into the ruined doorway to the escape tunnel. He surveyed the scene, then raised his pistol toward Lachlan.

Helen threw open the door to the infirmary. “Lachlan, behind you!” she cried, pulling the gun out of her pocket.

Lachlan rolled off Natchaba as the rebel fired. Helen shot the rebel, firing twice before he fell.

“Helen! To your left!” Lachlan yelled.

She pivoted. Natchaba had scrambled over to the rebel he’d shot earlier. He snatched the man’s pistol and pointed it at Helen. Before her brain even had time to register the danger, Lachlan dove in front of her, his hand extended as he fired at Natchaba.

But Natchaba had already pulled the trigger.

Lachlan’s body intercepted the bullet. He collapsed.

“Lachlan!” Helen reached for him, then turned the motion into a drop and roll as Natchaba fired again at her. She settled onto her belly, aimed her pistol at Natchaba, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

Lachlan’s hand rose from the floor, still holding his pistol. He fired. Natchaba crumpled to the ground. Lachlan’s hand fell.

Helen crawled over to Lachlan.
Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead.
Her hands were fumbling at Lachlan’s chest when Natchaba’s hand came into her peripheral vision. He was trying to place the tip of the gun against Lachlan’s temple, but his hands shook too much.

“Leave him alone!” While Natchaba steadied his grip with his other hand, Helen reached into her pocket and pulled out the scalpel. She slashed it along the side of Natchaba’s neck, pressing hard so that it cut deep, then jabbed the scalpel into the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

Blood spurted over her hands before Natchaba collapsed next to Lachlan. Helen released the scalpel, warm with Natchaba’s blood, and sat back on her heels. Natchaba glared at her, then the life slowly drained from his eyes.

She shuddered. How many men had she killed today? Two? Three?

A hysterical laugh broke free from her throat. Her skin crawled. She had to get the blood off her hands. Now.

She snatched at the hem of Natchaba’s shirt and tried to scrub her hands clean. But the blood-soaked cloth only smeared more blood on her hands. Another hysterical laugh bubbled up, which abruptly cut off as the smell hit her. Suddenly she was back in the hospital again, helpless to save her friends as the rebels cut them into pieces.

Her whole body flushed hot, then cold. She swayed under a bout of dizziness, then lurched forward, barely avoiding Natchaba’s lifeless legs before she retched. All that came up was stomach acid. She’d expunged everything earlier. Still, her body convulsed until tears streamed down her cheeks and her throat burned.

“Helen…” Lachlan gasped. Helen’s gaze flew to his. My. God. How had she forgotten about Lachlan?

“My brave…lass…” He blinked at her through eyes cloudy with pain.

She crawled over to him. “Shh. Don’t talk.”

“Have to…dying…love you.”

“No. You’re not going to die.” With quaking hands, she turned him onto his back so she could examine him. The motion caused him to lose consciousness. Heart in her throat, Helen checked Lachlan’s pulse and found the veins distended. Oh, God. The bullet had entered his chest and it was likely he had blood backing up in his heart sac. He needed immediate medical attention. But the thought of spilling any of Lachlan’s blood, even to save his life, had her stomach threatening to heave again. Silver spots danced in front of her eyes.

No. This couldn’t be happening. She was a doctor. She saved lives. She couldn’t suddenly develop a revulsion for blood just as Lachlan needed her. Yet her entire being cringed away from handling any more blood. She couldn’t do it. She would pass out.

“Lachlan, please. Tell me how to contact your team. You need a hospital.”

His eyelids fluttered open. “Team radio…silent…you have to…save…me…until…they follow…the watch…signal…”

Tears dripped off the end of her chin. “Oh, God.” She held up her hands, which were visibly shaking.

Lachlan lifted his right hand and weakly grabbed hers. “Look…at me.”

She stared into his eyes and gasped. Such trust. Such love.

“I…trust you…Dr. Kirk…with…my heart…with…my life…” He squeezed her hand. “You can…do it.”

Then he lost consciousness again.

She stared at him, stunned by his confession. A thin tendril of joy pushed through her fear. “I love you, too,” she murmured, even though he couldn’t hear her.

She glanced down at his chest wound and flinched. Her muscles tensed, ready to flee from the blood.

Move. Do not let Lachlan to become another victim of those rebel butchers.

But even though she told herself to call for Mrs. N’Dorah so they could get Lachlan into the operating room behind them, her body remained frozen in place.

No. Please, no. She had to stay strong. For Lachlan. For herself. Healing was her primary function.

Yet her body simply would not move.

A gunshot rocketed Helen’s heart into overdrive. She whipped her head to her right and saw Mrs. N’Dorah standing a few feet away. She held the pistol Helen had given her in a shaky, two-handed pose and fired again at a second rebel who had appeared in the entrance to Natchaba’s escape tunnel.

He toppled onto his back. Mrs. N’Dorah walked over to confirm that the man was no longer a threat, then peered into the tunnel. “That is all for now,” she announced. She checked the other bodies and kicked their weapons away, before coming to stand beside Helen.

The gunshot had galvanized Helen and she was finally able to move. She pushed to her feet. “We need to get Lachlan into the operating room.”

They raced into the infirmary, grabbed one of the unoccupied gurneys, and rolled it to the door.

Helen skidded to a stop. Four men in rebel uniforms stood in the corridor, studying the carnage. An older man knelt by Natchaba, head bowed. He looked vaguely familiar.

She grabbed the pistol from Mrs. N’Dorah and aimed it at the older man, who she judged to be the leader.

“Climb slowly to your feet and back away or I’ll shoot,” she ordered.

The man glanced at Lachlan, frowned, then turned his head to look at Helen. “I do not wish to harm Commander MacKay, Dr. Kirk. If I had wanted him dead, my men would have shot him when first we arrived.” He held his hands out to her, palms first to show that he was not armed.

“Then what do you want?”

He shook his head. “It is better if I not answer that question. However, if you and Mrs. N’Dorah will bring that gurney over here, I will assist you in transferring MacKay.”

Not entirely certain she trusted this man, and uneasy that he knew their names, she nodded because Lachlan’s life hung in the balance. While Helen kept her pistol aimed at the stranger, Mrs. N’Dorah lowered the gurney to ground level. Then the stranger and Mrs. N’Dorah lifted Lachlan and placed him on the gurney.

Lachlan’s eyes opened briefly as they settled him on the mattress. He peered up at the stranger as the man helped wheel the gurney into the operating room. “You…” Lachlan murmured.

The man gave Lachlan a nod of acknowledgment. “I give you my thanks, Commander MacKay.”

Lachlan closed his eyes. “We’re…even…now… Catch you…some day…”

“Perhaps, Commander MacKay. We shall see.” The man bowed to Helen and Mrs. N’Dorah, then walked away.

Helen frowned after him, still plagued by that sense of familiarity.

Shaking off the sensation, she scrubbed up at the sink in the corner, relieved to find that there was still running water. The interaction with the stranger had settled her and she found herself sinking into the familiar calm of her surgical routine.

Mrs. N’Dorah returned from the other room, where she’d gone to fetch surgical gloves. “Those men took Natchaba’s body away,” she announced as she helped Helen glove up.

Ah. Of course. “I think their leader was Natchaba’s father.”

As Mrs. N’Dorah took her turn at the sink, she looked a question over her shoulder at Helen.

“No. I have no idea how he and his men knew to come here. But I expect Lachlan could tell us.”

As Helen approached the operating table, fear pulsed through her. Lachlan lay so still. He’d lost so much blood. It was her worst nightmare come to life. Lachlan on her operating table. Dying.

Her limbs froze.

No. She was stronger than her fears. Lachlan trusted her. She could do this.

She took a deep breath. Would she honestly want another surgeon operating on Lachlan right now? She glanced down at him. No. Because who except the woman who loved him would fight until her last breath to save his life?

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

WAR
Headquarters

The Democratic Republic of the Ivory Coast

West Africa

“
LACHLAN
IS OUT of surgery.”

“And…” Kris prompted. God, he hated being hundreds of miles away from his men at a time like this. It made him resent the fact that he was the only one currently able—or willing—to do this job.

“The stubborn Scotsman will make a full recovery,” Dev said.

“Thank fuck.”

“No. Thank Dr. Kirk. Even working under what Lance called sub-optimal conditions, she stabilized Lachlan enough that he survived the helicopter ride.” Dev chuckled. “I swear, both she and Mrs. N’Dorah turned out to be bloody fierce warriors. When JC and I burst into the infirmary the women each had a pistol aimed at us. We barely avoided being shot.”

“I wish I’d been there.” Kris tried to keep the wistfulness out of his voice, but didn’t think he quite succeeded.

“Anyway, everyone was so focused on keeping Lachlan alive that no one realized Dr. Kirk had also been shot until she fainted while escorting Lachlan’s gurney into the hospital.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Last time I checked, she was sleeping. Had a bunch of those IV drips running into her. Mrs. N’Dorah was checked out by the doctor, cleaned up, and after giving us a brief statement, was released into the loving bosom of her large family. The government also sent along a couple of bodyguards to protect her.”

“Excellent. So what’s the bad news?”

Dev sighed. “Call me crazy, but the number of weapons recovered was smaller than expected based on the size of that cave system.”

“Agreed. The team I assigned to work with the government on counting and divvying up the weapons also suspects several shipments of weapons were not accounted for. Based on a quick spot check, it appears as if the unaccounted-for weapons are the ones supposedly purchased by Morenga.”

“Is that right?”

Kris narrowed his eyes. There was something slightly off in Dev’s response. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Yeah. Put that together with the disappearance of Natchaba and the absence of that batch of miniature explosives and it’s got both me and Azumah worried. You’re certain you don’t know where Natchaba went?”

“Sorry. Both Dr. Kirk and Mrs. N’Dorah were too busy trying to save Lachlan to watch over Natchaba.”

Again, something didn’t quite ring true about that statement. Dammit. What was going on? “All right,” Kris said, not letting his suspicion color his voice. “Tell the team they’ve done a good job. We’ve put a crimp in at least one tentacle of the rebellion and hopefully all of the men responsible for the slaughter at the hospital are in jail.”

“Right. Later, then.” Dev signed off.

Kris stared at the map on his wall for a long while after the call ended. He didn’t want to think that Dev had lied to him, even by omission. Yet he understood that sometimes a mission went sideways and that the team might be reluctant not reveal all the details, particularly if the overall objective had been achieved.

The team’s objectives for the raid on the cavern had been to recover both the missing weapons and the miniature explosives. No one had assumed that all the weapons would be stored in one place. Some of them likely had already been distributed to rebels in the field. Others might have been used in attacks.

Yet Kris had learned to never ignore his instincts. It spoke well of the team’s cohesion if they’d chosen to withhold information in order to protect one of their own. And if Kris felt a flare of jealousy that Lachlan had earned such loyalty after a mere six months in command, then it only proved that Kris was human.

But it was not a good sign for the overall effectiveness of WAR if the various teams thought it was okay to hold back crucial information.

Kris sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d wait and see what Lachlan and Dr. Kirk had to say. Perhaps his instincts were wrong.