She trembled against him and he felt her breath come faster. “Y-you took forever.”
Her words pushed a huff of a laugh from him, but it sounded more like a cry of pain.
Rivers met his stare. “You good?”
“Just worried about her.”
Voices filled his comms. “Lost him.”
“He used a thermal blanket to try to conceal the heat register.”
“He’s headed into the mine shafts.”
“Get authorities and dogs on him.”
Archer heard all of it and ingested none. All that mattered was Jolie was alive and in his arms.
Rivers checked her pupils and ran his hands over her ribs and arms.
Archer met his stare over Jolie’s head.
He turned his attention to the bullet wound bleeding freely down her arm. With efficient moves, Rivers ripped open packages of gauze and staunched the bleeding.
She let out a low hiss of pain, and Archer cradled her head to his chest.
“How bad is it, brother?” Archer grated out.
Rivers flicked a look at him. “She’s going to be fine. She’s good enough to move. Can you tell me what happened?”
Jolie exhaled, but Archer still couldn’t find enough oxygen. As she stuttered through the story, he gently enfolded her hand in his.
“H-he drugged me. I woke up tied to the chair. He must have heard you coming—I don’t know how. But suddenly he pulled out his gun and fired. I threw the chair over and the bullet just tore past me.” She blew out a breath that sounded like she realized how close she’d come to dying today.
The knowledge sat like concrete in Archer’s gut, making it difficult to breathe.
He looked from the broken chair to her face. The image of her—drugged, bound to that chair, bleeding—would not be leaving him anytime soon.
Rivers pressed a bandage over her wound, and Jolie twisted her head to look at her shoulder.
“There go those summer tank tops,” she added weakly.
A huff of a humorless laugh escaped Archer, and Rivers chuckled. “We’ll get you back to base and I’ll fix you up right. Get some antibiotics into you.”
Her brows pinched together. “Antibiotics? I was thinking grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
“I was thinking whiskey,” Archer muttered.
Rivers laughed again.
Archer brushed her hair back from her forehead, hand shaking once before he forced it to steady.
She searched his face. “How did you know?” she whispered. “How did you know I was missing, let alone how to find me?”
O’s voice preceded the thud of his boot on the floor. “He called and you didn’t answer.”
Her mouth curved faintly, eyes still hazy from whatever that bastard had drugged her with. “So confident. What if I was ghosting you?”
O snorted. “Then we found your phone in the motel room and a witness saying you were signaling for help.”
