Page 97 of Brutal Truths

I immediately check for a pulse. Nothing. So I put my palms on his chest again. “Starting compressions.”

This happens three more times before I find a pulse and fall back onto my heels.

“You stubborn bastard.”

Aiden pulls me into a tight hug, and the dam breaks as uncontrollable sobs wrack my body.

We land on the helicopter pad and the door opens.

“Somebody better explain why you’re landing here without authorization.”

So, I do.

We get out, and they move fast, transferring him onto a real gurney before rushing him inside. I stay right on their heels.

No way are they losing him on my watch.

If I have to climb onto that gurney and keep compressions going in the lift, I will. I didn’t get him this far to lose him now.

No dying allowed.

Chapter 29

Aiden

When I accepted this assignment, it never crossed my mind that Trent Doyle would get what was coming to him by having a heart attack.

When we lost him mid-flight, and Izzy started CPR, I had a decision to make. Stop her… or let her save the one man she needs answers from. If it were anyone else, I’d have pulled her off him without a second thought.

She’s still healing. Pushing herself like that could set her back.

But she’d zoned in, had already decided he lived. Stopping her was pointless. So I stayed ready, waiting for her to show the first sign of fatigue, so I could take over.

If he arrests again, I don’t know if he’ll make it.

At least it won’t be because she failed. She won’t have to carry the guilt now.

My girl has too much on her shoulders as it is.

Teddy’s voice cuts through my headset. “You staying or coming with me?”

“Staying.” There’s no way I’m leaving Isabel here alone. “You heading back for Rurik?”

“I am. Lane reported in. They tried to move him, but he came to fighting. Jen tried to calm him down, but he lost it. So, Gabriela tagged his sinus point.” He can’t help but chuckle. “She’s something else. Both of them.”

“Crazy, right?” I give my head a good shake. “Go. They’ll need the help. We’ll touch base later.”

He nods as I remove my headset and hand it back. Once I’m clear, he takes off before someone stops him.

This hospital is small. They probably transport more patients away by helicopter than they bring in. The sound of the blades fades as the doors swish open and I step inside.

I spot Isabel immediately. She’s squaring off with a man in a white coat, engaged in a heated discussion.

I move toward them quickly, ready to defend her if necessary. “What’s the problem?”

“And you are?” the man asks, gripping both sides of his stethoscope.

“Mr. Doyle is my employer.” I hold his gaze. “That man is Trent Doyle. The Irish mob boss. Sound familiar?”