The girl.
She flinches at the word.
I pull her closer.
“Her name’s Allie.” My words are quiet, but they have an edge that warns him to get it right.
“I’d also like to take a look at this other place.” She points to a small trace of blood farther up on Allie’s arm.
“That’s nothing,” Allie insists.
Once more I shrug.
The medic rinses the graze with a quick splash of saline, wipes away the excess blood, and presses a bandage into place.
Then she nods. “Bleeding’s manageable for transport.”
I slide my arms beneath Allie and lift her.
She curls into me instantly, exhausted, terrified, trusting me more than she should.
And as I carry her toward the waiting helicopter, one thing is brutally clear:
We’re not out of this.
Not even close.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Stryker
The rotor wash tears at us as I climb the last few steps into the helicopter, Allie tight in my arms, her face buried against the side of my neck like she’s trying to disappear inside me.
The medic reaches for her.
I bare my teeth. “Back off.”
Hawkeye’s voice cuts through the roar before the medic can answer. “Let him be.”
Right damn order.
I move to the bench seat along the wall, strap in, and keep Allie anchored in my lap, her legs draped over mine, her fingers still fisted in my jacket like she’s bracing for an impact that hasn’t come yet.
The doors slam shut.
The world shrinks to metal and vibration and the deafening thump of blades.
Allie flinches hard at the noise, and she curls in more tightly.
“Hey,” I murmur against her ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Hawkeye drops into the seat across from us, strapping in with the efficiency of someone who’s done this too many times to count. His eyes go straight to Allie, assessing, sharp.
“How’s the arm?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even lift her head.
I tighten my hold, glaring at him. “She’s in shock.”
