Page 51 of Asher

Marlowe pushed Asher over, carefully not manhandling his injured arm and shoulder. Mounting him as quickly as she could, she pressed his back flat to the mattress. He didn’t need more pain, and panic was killing him. Licking her lips, she did what any red-blooded American woman would do when faced with a suffering war hero.

He believed he was suffocating? Well, Marlowe had a cure for that. Tossing caution and her fear of rejection to the wind, she sank carefully down onto his heaving chest, tilted his chin upward, and she kissed him. Open-mouthed. Her lips coveringhis, as tightly as she could, given his sweaty condition. When he struggled to inhale again, she forced her breath into him, filling his lungs with air until his chest lifted.

She did it again and again. She knew rescue breathing. She’d learned it during that free Red Cross class she’d taken way back when. There were no obstructions in his throat, and he wasn’t choking. He was trapped somewhere in his past. This was a panic attack, and this time, she was going to save him.

As she forced another breath down his throat, she reached for the call button and rang the nurse. With every breath Asher accepted, his body relaxed. Her technique might be risqué, but she didn’t give a damn. She’d keep doing what worked until it stopped working, but somebody had better show up to help by then.

All at once, bright light flooded the room. Someone had opened the door. About time. A woman in scrubs came to Asher’s side. She didn’t say anything to Marlowe, just adjusted one of the machines and leaned over him with a small flashlight.

“Asher,” she said with authority, shining that light in his eyes “Snap out of it. You’re scaring Marlowe.”

Marlowe tipped back on her haunches. “You know who I am?” she huffed.

“Sweetheart, everyone knows who you are, now stop. Take a breath. Relax. He’s breathing on his own now. You did good. He’s okay.”

Marlowe did as she was told. “He was asleep one minute, but the next, he couldn’t breathe. He was panicking. I didn’t know what else to do.”

The nurse or whoever she was, cocked her head, and Marlowe became acutely aware of where she was sitting, and that Asher’s hands were still on her hips. He had a good strong grip. His fingertips were dug into her backside. His thumbs were planted inside the crease between her thighs and her belly. Thank heavens, she was dressed. His eyes opened.Oh, my.

Still shaken and sweating now too, she told him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry about that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Then swallowed again. “Panic… attack.”

“Yes, and a vicious one,” the woman in scrubs said. “I wish you’d take that drug we talked about.”

“No drugs, Doc Fitz. Got what I need…” He squeezed Marlowe’s hips. “Right here.”

Aww, that made her want to smile. Instead, Marlowe tipped forward, taking her weight mostly off of him. “You were trying to reach a woman, but you couldn’t. You were buried with her, weren’t you?”

He nodded, blowing out a breath between pursed lips. “Not a woman… A ten-year-old girl, I think... Alissa… my interpreter… Abdul’s daughter…” He huffed between each hoarse explanation. “Bomb… whole building… collapsed… Basement… couldn’t breathe… dust… dirt… in my lungs… mouth… nose…” He coughed. “Walls weren’t concrete… earthen… just dirt… Lots of dirt.”

Dr. Fitz unclipped the oximeter from his finger. “Your stats are close to normal again. Do you know what brought this one on?”

“Never get… warnings… Just hits when… I least expect it.”

Marlowe settled back onto his hips. If he wanted her there, then there she’d stay. Dr. Fitz didn’t seem to mind.

Asher’s eyes welled with tears. “Couldn’t reach her, Marlowe. Couldn’t move. We were both buried up to our necks. Shit, she was on Abdul’s shoulders when the bomb went off. He never stood a chance and neither did she.” His tears spilled over. “God, I yelled and yelled but… every little noise only brought more dirt down on us.”

Marlowe tipped onto Asher and laid her ear against his chest. “You thought you were going to die.”

“Yeah.” He coughed. “But Heston… He’s a jarhead. I’m Army. He shouldn’t’ve been there. Don’t know why he was, but he… but he…”

“He saved you, Asher,” Doc Fitz murmured. “Oh, honey, he saved you, didn’t he?”

“But not her.” Asher choked. “He should’ve saved her first, but by then… by then… God. He should’ve saved her and her dad, not me.”

Marlowe pushed herself up into Asher’s arms and under his chin. She clung to him. Words were useless in the face of tragedy. There weren’t enough‘I’m sorrys’in the universe to change what happened. How well she knew.

The door whooshed shut and she knew Doc Fitz had stepped out, either for something to put in Asher’s IV or to give them privacy. Taking a deep breath, Marlowe said, “Life is hard, and it isn’t fair. I’m sorry that happened to you and Alissa. Where was it?”

He wiped his face. “Somalia. Three years ago. April seventh. We were hunting the warlord, Ali Akbar.”

Marlowe could tell by the taut stretch of muscles in his neck that he was looking at the ceiling. “Ah, the butcher of Kabul. I’d heard he fled to Somalia.”

Asher nodded. “Yeah, him. Can’t tell you anything else. Sorry. Classified.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s the same story the whole world over. Evil destroys everything it touches.”

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