Page 57 of Flint's Battle

Bowie sighed. “About a minute out.”

Which was sixty second too long in Flint’s book and could easily be the difference between life and death. How he’d felt trapped on the bottom of the ocean, waiting for the wave to let him up with Emery dead in his arms.

Kian had brought her back. But what if he couldn’t this time? Flint had called. Woken the poor guy up. Though his friend hadn’t complained, telling Flint he’d meet him at the station. That he’d see if Blake was up to grabbing her chopper and heading over…

Just in case.

God, Flint hated thinking this might be another epic mistake.

“Stop.”

Flint jerked out of his thoughts, glancing at Bowie. “Stop, what?”

“Replaying everything in your head. Running through all the what-ifs. Blaming yourself. We all made the best decisions we could at the time with the intel we had. If shit’s gone sideways, we’ll assess the situation and react accordingly. Period.”

“And if I’m the reason she’s dead?”

“She’s not. You heard Lewis. If the bastard’s telling the truth, and that’s a fucking huge if, then Emery’s their insurance policy. Which means they need her alive. But regardless, we’ll see they get it all back ten-fold.”

Bowie turned into the station lot, then squealed to a stop. “Shit.”

But Flint was already out and hoofing it for the main bay doors. Catching Jack as the man stumbled through, shirt soaked with blood. His skin so white it was tinged blue. Flint managed not to drop the guy, easing him onto the pavement just inside the opening. Keeping him out of the rain and the fog. What was shaping up to be a monstrous storm.

Jack fisted Flint’s shirt, trying to shove him off. “I’ll… be fine. Go…” He coughed — spit out some blood — then collapsed, his hand falling to his chest.

Flint ripped the man’s shirt open, taking the packet of Quick Clot Carter handed him. At least they had a nicely stocked first aid kit. What might be enough to keep Jack alive until Kian arrived.

Quinn moved in beside him. “I called nine-one-one. They’ll be here within five.”

Flint scoffed, kneeling on the wound in order to stop the bleeding. “He doesn’t have another five minutes.”

“Christ…” Jack coughed, again, finally looking up at Flint. “Talk about… dramatic.” He groaned when Flint put more pressure on his shoulder. “I’m not… not dead… yet.”

“And if you want to keep it that way, you’ll shut up and let me try to stop the bleeding. Even a guy as stubborn as you will run out, eventually.”

Jack snorted, but it was weak. As if speaking those few words had taken half the strength out of him. “Go. Em.”

“If they took Emery, then she’s alive and has a few minutes to spare. You on the other hand, don’t.” Flint kept up the pressure when a truck skidded into the lot, the headlights cutting a path through the fog.

Quinn looked up and over his shoulder. “Kian’s here.”

Flint nodded, sending up a silent prayer when Kian took Quinn’s place and laid a mammoth bag on the ground beside him. He didn’t talk, just went to work. Less than a minute and he had an IV set up — was packing Jack’ shoulder then wrapping it tight. Bowie must have updated Kian once they’d arrived, or the guy just knew things would go for shit, because Raider showed up a minute later with a few pints of blood. Flint wasn’t sure where they’d gotten it. If Kian kept a personal stash someplace or Raider had robbed a blood blank on the way over. Regardless, it might be the only reason Jack didn’t die in the next two minutes.

Jack grabbed Flint’s wrist, glaring at Kian when the man tried to get him to relax. “Bates…”

Flint frowned. “Bates? As in the officer from the hospital?”

Jack nodded, nearly passed out, but managed to blink — look up at Flint. “Took her. Morgan…”

“Bates is the asshole who took her? With some guy named Morgan? Did they say where they were going?”

Jack shook his head. Not much, but Flint got the message.

He leaned over. “Did you see which way they went?”

Another shake but he did his best to tug Flint closer. “My… vehicle.”

“You want me to take your SUV?”

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