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“Careful,” Rome warns. “Let’s not make it worse.”
“We need to get her to Caernbro Ghyll,” I growl. “Check if Magda has a blanket or anything.”
Moments later, the pilot is alongside us with a folded car blanket. “Here, wrap her in this. I radioed the mansion. Megan is still there.”
“Thank God.” I ease Jenna from the cramped confines of her prison and hope I don’t make her injuries more serious than they are. She shows no sign of regaining consciousness. I lay her on the blanket, then gather her in my arms.
We’re airborne as soon as we’re all in the cabin.
The trip to Caernbro Ghyll takes just a few minutes, and Megan is waiting for us on the lawn when Magda gently touches down. She clambers up to examine Jenna in the chopper.
“Breathing and heart rate are stable. Has she come round at all on the way here?”
I shake my head. She hasn’t so much as stirred.
Megan checks Jenna’s blood pressure. “It’s too low. Possible internal injuries. We definitely have some fractured ribs here as well.” She meets my gaze. “We need medical facilities I don’t have here. I can examine her properly on board and keep her comfortable, but we’ll need X-rays and blood tests. Magda, can you provide transport to the Richmond?”
“Of course.” The engine sound increases again in readiness for takeoff.
“I want her to stay here,” I protest.
“Not possible.” Megan is adamant. “We can bring her back here after, but I need those diagnostic tests to make sure I don’t miss anything. And if she needs any fractures resetting, that’ll require a general anaesthetic.” She puts her hand on mine. “It’s for the best.”
She’s right. I can see that. I nod grimly. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Megan can have my seat.” Rome is already climbing out. “I’ll wait for a call from Casey and follow up anything we can learn from the phone.” He offers me a grim smile of encouragement. “Take care of her, my friend.”
He’s already jogging across the lawn by the time I manage to mumble my thanks.
The Richmond staffare their usual discreet selves. The private clinic is much frequented by organisations such as ours who regularly sustain injuries we prefer not to discuss with the authorities. Magda has called ahead, and we are met by three nurses and a consultant who wheel a trolley out to the landing pad.
Still unconscious, Jenna is transferred into their care and rushed inside.
Megan accompanies her into the operating theatre, but I’m obliged to pace the corridor outside, waiting for news.
It comes an hour and a half later when Megan emerges, still clad in surgical scrubs. She meets my worried gaze and smiles. “It went well,” she announces. “She’s bad, but she’ll be okay.”
I hug her. “Tell me,” I groan.
We take seats in the waiting area.
“Right,” Megan begins. “She took a severe beating, but you figured that out for yourself, right?”
“Right.”
“She has a monster concussion that’ll keep her in bed for several days. I don’t want her on her feet for at least forty-eight hours.”
“You got it.”
“She has four broken ribs which we’ve strapped up, and a broken wrist. They’re setting that now.”
I sigh in relief. It could have been much worse. I’d thought it was. When I saw her crumpled body dumped in the boot of her own car, I really thought I’d lost her.
“Her blood pressure is still low, but stable, and tests haven’t shown any evidence of internal bleeding. She’s been incredibly lucky.”
That’s not how I’d have described the situation, but I get what she means. “Is she comfortable?” I ask.
“Heavily sedated, so yes. She’ll need a lot of pain relief in the coming days, though, once she starts to come round.”
