No answer.
She began to wonder if an animal had made that noise. She could easily imagine rats scurrying around down here. The mere thought made her skin crawl. But this was more of a dragging sound. “Hello?” she said again, her voice shaky and as uncertain as her rioting stomach. She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Whoever had hit her had really clobbered her. The pain was so bad she felt as if her head would explode.
And then she remembered. Nate. They’d shot him.
A sob caught in her throat. Was he dead?
More movement.
“Nate?” She was afraid to even hope. But she couldn’t refrain from calling the one person she wanted more than any other.
The dragging sound started again. Someone or something was trying to reach her. Although she knew it might cause her to pass out again, Rachel was about to scramble to her feet so she could evade what was coming, if she had to, when she finally received an answer. “It’s…me.”
Nate was alive. But he was also in a great deal of pain. She could tell that crawling over to her was taking every ounce of energy he possessed. Recalling the hail of bullets that’d cut him down, she was almost afraid to learn the extent of his injuries. She didn’t want him to die but, even more than that, she didn’t want him to suffer.
Her concern for him somehow muted her own pain. She’d been struck, but she hadn’t been shot. She needed to bear up, be tough. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
He grunted, but she didn’t know whether that grunt signified yes or no.
“Don’t move. Stay where you are. I’ll come to you.” Wincing against the dizziness and nausea that descended when she rolled onto her hands and knees, she paused to brace herself against her body’s revolt. Then she began to feel her way across the dirt floor in the direction of his voice.
She found him a few feet away. His breathing was labored, and he was sweating despite the cool air. Or…no. The dampness on his shirt wasn’t sweat; it was blood. “Where’d they hit you?”
“In the chest.”
Carefully modulating her voice, she snuggled close. “Do you know if…do you know if the bullet’s still inside?”
“I have no idea. The way…my chest burns…you’d think so.”
Warning herself to remain calm, to sound unafraid, she took a deep breath. “You—you’re still bleeding, then?”
“A little. It’s more of a…a slow leak or…I’d already be dead.”
Squeezing her eyes closed, Rachel said the humblest prayer she’d uttered in years—and felt tears roll down her cheeks despite her best efforts to stifle them.
“What about…you?” he asked. “You…okay?”
She didn’t see any point in mentioning her wound when he was in far worse condition. “I’m fine.” Locating his arms, she traced them to his fingers. He was applying pressure to the wounds in his chest.
Rachel could tolerate a certain amount of blood and gore, but the thought of Nate bleeding out almost made her faint. She couldn’t distance herself from what it might mean; she cared too much about him.
“You—you’re going to be fine,” she said. “I’ll take care of you.” She didn’t know how she’d do that, but she wanted to bring him all the comfort and reassurance she could.
“See if…if the bullets came out.”
Carefully rolling him toward her, she felt along his spine, then worked in a grid pattern over his broad back. She wasn’t sure whether to hope for exit wounds or not. It would’ve been comforting to think the bullets were out of his body. But more holes meant more blood.
When her fingers encountered a large wet spot on his shirt, she knew she’d found where one bullet had made its exit. “One’s gone.”
“And the—” his gulp was audible as he struggled to speak “—other?”
She finished her search without finding a second hole. “Must be inside.”
“Am I bleeding…very badly…back there?”
“No, but I’m going to apply some pressure, just in case.”
She felt his muscles bunch when she did, knew it hurt like hell and couldn’t stop herself from bending to kiss his forehead.
“Rachel?” He forced her name through gritted teeth.
“What?” She was praying again, praying as hard as she could, begging God to forgive her if her father was right and she was wrong. But not for her own sake. For Nate.
“For what it’s worth…I love you,” he said. “I’m…pretty sure I’ve loved you since…that night at my condo. I just didn’t want to…to let you down if…I wasn’t ready.”
“God, now I know you’re really hurt,” she said with a sniff.
He attempted a laugh, but it came out as more of a rattle. “No…I mean it, okay?”
Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she eased herself out from under him. “Don’t move,” she said. “I’m going to find a way out of here. I have to get you to a hospital.”
“It’s a…a pit, Rach. Only…one door.”
“There’s got to be something I can do.”
“You could…tell me you love me…too,” he said. “I threw those words…back in your face…once. I’m sorry about that.”
Swallowing against the hard lump in her throat, she rocked onto her behind. “Stop it. You don’t need to hear it, because this isn’t goodbye. You’re a tough son of a bitch. So prove it, okay? Hang on until I get back.”
He seemed to be trying to speak, but the effort was too much. He went limp and silent.
Afraid that he’d died, Rachel scrambled to find a pulse—and almost collapsed in relief when she felt one beating softly in his neck.
He wasn’t gone yet. But unless she could figure a way out of this place, it wouldn’t be long.
Rachel was curled around Nate when he regained consciousness. She’d been holding her hands to the bullet wounds in his chest while trying to keep him warm. She couldn’t let his body temperature drop, couldn’t let him slip into shock.
“Hey,” he mumbled. “We home yet?”
“Not yet. But don’t worry. I—I’ve got it all worked out,” she lied. She couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t admit that they were in a ten-by-ten-foot cell without so much as a blanket or a bowl of water. He’d know that meant they had no chance whatsoever.