Sam

As I work my way back toward the path and in the direction of the shooter, I’m reminded of my days in the Rangers when I trained endlessly for this kind of guerilla combat. And here I am, right back in the thick of it. Only this time, Cooper’s life is on the line. I don’t have much time. I need to neutralize this shooter quickly so I can get Cooper the help he needs. I have no illusions that he can survive for long out here in the cold, damp forest. Even with the pressure bandage, he’s still bleeding pretty badly, and he’s likely already in shock.

Keeping low to the ground, using the natural ground cover for camouflage, I make my way back to the path. I wait patiently for an indication of where the shooter is located, but I hear nothing. And as I don’t have time to wait for him to make a move, I have to force the issue.

It’s hard to believe he made it this far north, but my gut tells me we’ve located Roger Stevens. He must have seen us leave the apartment building and followed us to Harbor Springs.

“Show yourself, Stevens! Come out in the open and face me like a man, instead of hiding like a coward!”

The sound of a rifle shot coming from my right helps me pinpoint his general direction. I want to move the fight to him, to push him farther from Cooper’s location.

Leaving my cover behind, I dart across the open path, risking exposure, and am met with two more rifle shots in rapid succession. He’s not far from me, and he must have decent visibility. The shots sounded like they were coming from ahead and to my right. Using the undergrowth as cover, I make my way in his direction, hoping I can push him back a bit and eventually pin him down. Whatever I do, I have to do it quickly, as time is working against me. Cooper needs help fast.

“Is he dead?” Stevens calls out. “I know I hit him. I saw him go down.”

I refuse to answer, instead using the sound of his voice to narrow down his general location. I keep moving in his direction, keeping low to the ground and moving as silently as possible. When I pause to get my bearings, I peer out from behind a tree trunk, and a rifle shot hits the trunk, splintering the bark off the tree several feet above my head.

“You’re a fucking coward, Roger!” I yell. “Ambushing us in the woods, instead of facing us head on. That’s what a coward would do. You’re a coward now, just like you were forty years ago when you threw two teenage boys off a bridge to their deaths!”

“Shut up, you pervert! You’re no better than Cooper! After I take you out, I’ll find Cooper and finish him off, if he isn’t dead already!”

I’m running out of time, so I step out into the open again, taking a chance as I attempt to draw him out. I’m close enough now to Roger that I can hit him at this distance with my nine millimeter if I can get a clear line of sight on him.

Just as he steps out from behind a tree, lifting his rifle in my direction, I shoot him square in the chest, sending him flying back onto the ground. Cautiously, I make my way forward, pretty sure he’s dead, but not taking any chances. If I screw up there, Cooper’s a dead man.

I quickly locate Roger Stevens’ body, and sure enough, with a slug right to his heart, he’s dead. I check his pulse, just to be certain, then quickly cover his body with branches and leaves. After cutting off a strip of my red plaid shirt, I tie it around the trunk of a sapling just a couple feet from the body so that the authorities will be able to locate it later.

* * *

“It’s all right, babe—it’s me,” I say loudly as I stomp through the undergrowth on my way back to Cooper, making plenty of noise to alert him to my presence. It wouldn’t do for him to shoot me now by mistake. “He’s dead, Cooper. Roger Stevens is dead.”

“Sam.”

I drop down beside Cooper and retrieve the penlight so I can shine it in his face. “Yeah, it’s me, babe. Damn, you’re pale.” I press two fingers to his carotid artery to check his pulse, which is slow and thready. He’s in shock. Not a surprise. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Cooper grabs weakly at my arm. “Sam, just go. Get back to the cabin. Radio the sheriff. I’ll be okay.” He’s shaking so hard, his words are barely legible.

“Fuck no, I’m not leaving you here! Are you insane?”

I brush the leaves and twigs covering Cooper aside so I can examine his wound with my light. “That fucker followed us here from Chicago. So much for the reports of him roughing it back in Sweetwater.”

“He’s dead?”

“Extremely.”

I can sense the tension leaving Cooper’s body at my declaration.

“Sam, you’ve got to leave me here,” he says. “Go back to the cabin—”

“Shut up, Cooper.” I relieve him of the Beretta I’d left with him and put it and one of my two guns back into the pack. I still have the one tucked into the back of my waistband…just in case Stevens wasn’t out here alone. “All right. Let’s go. We’ll have to leave your pack here.”

I rise to my feet and lift Cooper up and over my shoulder into a fireman’s carry.

“You can’t carry me all the way back to the cabin,” he says, gritting his teeth against the jarring agony.

I scoff. “Hell, I carried guys bigger than you much farther distances back in my Army days.”

Cooper bites back a cry with each agonizing step, and I feel awful for causing him more pain. But we have at least two miles of rough, downhill terrain to go. The fact that it’s getting dark now just makes the job that much more difficult.

Whenever I stumble, coming into contact with a half-buried root or a stone, I quickly right myself, but not before causing Cooper more pain. “Shit, I’m sorry, babe,” I say.

Every step I take pains him, and it kills me to add to his suffering. The trail is littered with fallen branches and roots and stones, making it difficult for me not to jostle him.

I’m grateful when I realize he’s finally passed out.

I trudge ahead at a steady pace, using the penlight stuck between my teeth to light the way. I’m glad when we reach the falls, because that means we’re just a couple miles from the cabin now, and the path is easier. I carry him over the bridge, then pick up the trail once more, heading for the cabin.

When we arrive back at the cabin, it’s dark. I carry him inside and lay him down on the bed in the back room. Then I grab the sat phone and call 911 to request emergency medical evacuation. The dispatcher calls for paramedics and Sheriff Mitchell. Then I hang up so I can call Shane.

“Hi, Sam. How’s it going?” he says.

“Not good. Cooper’s been shot. Roger Stevens ambushed us in the woods.”

“How bad is it?” Shane says, his voice now sharp and clipped.

“He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s in shock. Medical evac is on the way. They’ll transport him to the hospital in Stowe.”

“What about Stevens?”

“Dead.”

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can, via helicopter. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Next, I hear the ping of the penthouse elevator doors, followed by the sound of muffled crying. I feel like an eavesdropper when I hear him say, “Sweetheart, no,” in a gentle voice. “Stay here. Lia’s on her way up. She’ll stay with you until I get back.”

Then I hear more crying.

“I know, honey,” Shane says. “But you can’t come with me. Cooper’s going to be okay, I promise. Sam knows what he’s doing. Please don’t worry.”

Shane returns to the line with me. “The helicopter’s being prepped now. I’ll be in the air within a half hour. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“All right. I’ll see you there.”

As I hang up with Shane, I hear a siren in the distance, alerting me to the arrival of Sheriff Mitchell. I leave Cooper just long enough to unlock the door and let him in.

“James Mitchell, sheriff,” the man says as he comes inside. “Where is he?”

“Back bedroom.”

The sheriff follows me to the bedroom and heads right for the bed. “How long has he been out?” he says.

“A little over two hours.”

Mitchell turns to me. “What happened. Who shot him?”

“It’s a long story, but I can tell you that the shooter is dead. I shot him myself.”

“Do you know where the body is?”

I nod. “I can direct you to it—I marked the location—but he’ll be impossible to find in the dark. You’ll have to wait until morning. He’s deep in the forest, and I covered his body with brush. But I left a clear marker.”

Mitchell removes his hat and scratches his short blond hair. “I’ll give it to you McIntyre Security folks. There’s never a shortage of excitement when you guys come to town.”

The emergency squad arrives just minutes later, and the paramedics perform a quick assessment of Cooper’s condition, checking his wounds and his blood pressure, which is dangerously low.

“He lost a lot of blood immediately after he was shot,” I say. “I managed to get a pressure bandage on him pretty quickly, though.”

After getting his vitals and calling them in to the hospital’s ER, the paramedics set up an IV, then transfer Cooper to a stretcher to take him out to the ambulance. I follow, locking up the cabin as I leave, taking only our wallets and phones.

“Where are you taking him?” I say, sticking close to the stretcher as they load him into the ambulance. Wherever they’re going, I’m going too.

Sheriff Mitchell pats me on the back. “The nearest hospital is twenty minutes away, in Stowe. You can ride with him in the ambulance, and I’ll follow in my squad car.”

When we arrive at the hospital, Cooper is wheeled directly to the emergency room and immediately taken back for assessment. I stop at the registration desk just long enough to give the receptionist some basic information. I fill out his intake form and give them information about our health insurance.

“Who’s his next-of-kin?” the woman asks.

I feel a moment of sheer panic, realizing they might keep me away from him as I have no legal claim on him. Technically—legally—I’m nothing to him. I don’t even give it a second thought. “I am.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sam Harrison.”

“And what’s your relationship to Mr. Cooper?”

“I’m his husband.” And even though it’s a blatant lie, I didn’t hesitate for a second. My throat tightens, and I feel tears forming. It shocks me how much I want it to be true.

The woman’s eyes widen just a tad, and she gives me a sympathetic smile as she makes a notation on a paper attached to a clipboard and hands it to me. “Can you sign this, authorizing us to treat him?”

When I hand the signed authorization form back to her, she says, “Don’t worry, Mr. Harrison. We’ll take good care of your husband.”

* * *

I head into the ER treatment area, desperate to find Cooper. When I finally locate him, he’s lying in a hospital bed, deathly pale and still unconscious. They’ve already cut away his jeans and removed my make-shift field dressing.

An African-American woman is examining the entry and exit wounds. When she sees me, she glances up and smiles. “I’m Dr. Steadman. I’ll be treating Mr. Cooper.”

A nurse—Amanda according to her name tag—is taking Cooper’s vitals, while someone else changes out his IV bag.

As I stand there watching them work, my heart pounds, and I feel light-headed. The doctor peppers me with questions about Cooper’s general health history as she inspects the holes in his leg.

“The artery has stopped bleeding,” she says to the nurse. “Let’s get these wounds cleaned, and then we’ll suture them.”

Dr. Steadman removes her gloves, then offers me her hand to shake. “And you are?”

“Sam Harrison,” I say. “I’m his husband.”

She nods at me. “We’ll take good care of him Mr. Harrison. No worries.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Stedman leaves, and Amanda, the nurse, directs me to sit down in one of the two guest chairs in the room. Stress and crashing adrenalin are catching up to me, fast, and I feel like I could keel over at any minute. I drag a chair to the side of his bed and take a seat.

“When was the last time you ate something?” the nurse says, smiling sympathetically.

I shrug. “I had a trail bar this morning and a sandwich.”

She shakes her head. “I think you should eat something before you pass out, too.”

At that moment, Shane walks into the small, curtained-off room, his gaze quickly assessing Cooper, then me. Dressed in a suit and wearing a scowl, he looks intimidating as hell. I give him a quick run-down on Cooper’s status.

“You don’t look so hot yourself,” Shane says, eyeing me. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Shane levels a glare at me. “Because you look nearly as bad as he does,” he says, nodding toward Cooper. “Sam, go get something to eat. I’ll stay with Cooper.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m not—”

“I’m not asking you, Sam,” he says, slipping into what Beth calls his bossy CEO mode tone. “I’m telling you. You can’t help Cooper if you end up hospitalized for exhaustion. Go eat something. Now. That’s an order. I’ll stay with him.”

I know Shane’s right, but I hate leaving Cooper. I want to be there when he wakes up. I take the elevator down to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich and a cup of coffee, inhaling both and burning my tongue in the process. Then I’m back upstairs, all in under twenty minutes. Shane gives me a look when I rush back into the room.

“Is he still out?” I say.

“Yes.” Shane rises from the chair beside the bed. “Here, sit down, before you fall down.”

I take the chair Shane vacated and reach for Cooper’s free hand. His right arm is immobilized now by an IV drip and secured to the bed. “What are they giving him?” I say, eyeing the bag of clear fluid hanging from an IV stand.

“It’s saline,” Shane says. “He’s dehydrated. Plus, they’re giving him an antibiotic and some pain medication. The wounds were pretty dirty. They’re mostly worried about infection.”

I watch the nurse as she continues cleaning the wound. I guess it’s a good thing Cooper’s still out cold, as I’m sure it would hurt like hell to have someone cleaning the entry and exit holes.

Just as the nurse finishes applying a fresh dressing, Cooper groans. I shoot to my feet and lean over him. When he does open his eyes, his gaze is unfocused, and he starts to struggle.

“Whoa, babe,” I say, holding him down. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. Just relax.”

“Sam?” His voice is as scratchy and dry as sandpaper.

“Yeah, it’s me. Shane’s here too.”

Shane moves to the foot of the bed so he has a clear line of sight to Cooper. “Hey, buddy. Welcome back. You took a pretty long nap. I was getting worried.”

Cooper looks at me, then at Shane, his brow furrowed. “What happened?” he says.

“Do you remember being shot while we were hiking? Roger Stevens ambushed us on the trail.”

Cooper’s color is rapidly coming back. He’s no longer sickly pale, but rather looking a bit flushed now. I lay my hand on his forehead and glance back at Shane. “He feels hot.”

Cooper shifts his position in bed and groans. “Damn, my leg hurts.”

“You’ve been shot, babe. What did you expect?”

“I’ll get a nurse,” Shane says, walking out of the room.