Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,37
passed him a brown plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide. His girl was hurt and confused. Lost. Sad.
His chest aching as if he were the one with the bullet hole, he poured bubbling liquid over the jagged wound, front and back.
Syrone howled. “Yow! You disinfecting with battery acid?”
“Sorry. I know it hurts.” I’m hurting right along with you, pal. For entirely different reasons.
“You can say that again, Irish.”
Con constructed a pressure bandage. “There. That’s slowed the bleeding.” Too damn bad he couldn’t as easily keep his emotions from leaking out.
“Bailey, darlin’, hand me a quilt.” He swaddled Syrone as carefully as he would a baby while Bailey disposed of all evidence they’d been in the rock shop. “Okay, now shake out the others and layer them on the floor.”
They helped the injured man move to the center of the heavy, padded blankets. Pulling the quilts by the top, they used them like a sled to drag him over the slick floors to the Bedroom Furniture Emporium.
Near the back of the store, Con shoved a bulky mahogany double dresser a few feet away from the wall. “Solid cover to hide him behind.” He carried over a crib-size mattress and tore away the plastic wrapping. Bailey added four plump pillows.
They helped Syrone settle in. Con again checked the big man’s vitals. His pulse was stronger, but still rapid, and his respiration too shallow. His skin was cool and slightly clammy, though a little better than before. But he’d lost a lot of blood and needed medical care ASAP. “Your pants are damp. Not as bad as your shirt, but you’d be warmer with them off.”
“Nuh-uh. There’s a good chance I’ll be involved in another firefight before this is over. Marines don’t get caught with their pants down.”
“Your call. We’ll layer on another blanket. That should help.”
Bailey fetched an additional quilt and covered Syrone while Con barricaded one open side of the mattress with another dresser.
Syrone shifted restlessly. “I’ve got a powerful thirst.”
Con stood back to survey his work. Even this close, the makeshift bunker wasn’t obvious. For Syrone’s sake, the less obvious, the better. “I know. It’s common with severe injuries and shock. But you can’t have anything by mouth. Grady will be transporting your butt to the hospital in the ambulance. I don’t want baby brother ragging on me for breaking medical protocol.”
“Lord forbid.” Syrone succeeded in his attempt at a grin this time. “That boy does take his doctoring seriously.”
Bailey smiled. “My sympathies. There’s nothing Grady loves better than a patient to poke and prod.”
Con hated to spoil the camaraderie, but they had to get moving. “Do you have your key card?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t work. The robbers jammed the circuits. And they took my keys, including the manual override. Lifted my radio, too.”
Con swore. There went his hopes for getting Bailey out and letting SWAT in.
Syrone shifted. “You need an escape route, I have an idea.”
“I’m all ears.”
“There’s an access door at the bank end of the mall. It’s hidden behind a panel on the wall behind the fountain. We use it for bringing in equipment and pipes when the fountain needs cleaning or repairs. It’s locked, but not on an electrical circuit. A hammer and lock punch should do the trick.”
“Or my Swiss Army Knife.” Con nodded, his spirits rising. If he had to be trapped without his piece and a limited means of communication, a mall wasn’t the worst place in the world. “I’m sorry, buddy. We’re gonna have to park you here for a while.” He despised leaving his friend in such a bad way, but had no choice.
Bailey gasped. “We can’t leave him alone and defenseless!”
“Don’t sweat it, Bailey. I already figured as much.” Syrone hesitated. “If I…don’t make it, tell Jazelle she’s always been the only woman in the world for me. Make sure my Jazzy knows I loved her right to the end. And the rug rats. Tell ’em their daddy loved ’em, and did his best.”
Bailey’s chin wobbled. She gave Syrone a gentle hug. “Nothing will happen to you.”
Con checked the injured man’s vitals one last time. Again, slightly improved, but still far too weak. Without surgery, and maybe a transfusion, he might not last long. “You can personally deliver the message after we get you out of here.”
Syrone’s wise, dark eyes locked on his. “Don’t blow sunshine up my skirt, Irish, I know I’m not doing all that great. Even if my injuries don’t send me to the final roll call, the