Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 62

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Her Obsession.

Medic In Action.

Matteo

The second call came while we were still arguing about doing anything at all. Unknown number again. Same clipped breathless quiet on the other end. “They’re out,” she said, and every muscle in Conner’s jaw locked at once. “Not good. Meet me halfway.”

I was already grabbing the go–bags,

“Old quarry frontage road, mile marker twelve. North gate side. Twenty–five minutes from my end. Don’t be late.”

The line died. I felt three sets of eyes.

“Well?” Liam.

I pocketed the phone. “Time to move.”

The drive was a grinding blur of headlights and white lines. Should’ve been four hours; Liam made it in a growling three, the needle flirting with the red and my knuckles white on the back of the seat, more from planning than fear. I mapped it in my head. If this was halfway, then another four hours in that direction would put us…don’t finish that thought, not yet. Bank it. Use it when we’re not bleeding out in a ditch. Nico rode shotgun with the laptop balanced on his knees, cycling through dead ends and static, swearing under his breath every time a breadcrumb dissolved into dust. Conner was silent in the back with me, a loaded weapon with nowhere to aim, eyes like burnt coals. We hit the marker to find nothing but scrub and the black lip of the quarry road. Then headlights crested the bend and ate distance in a heartbeat. The sedan slewed sideways into a stop, gravel spraying our bumper. Conner was out before we fully stopped, ripping open the back door like it was a throat. Sage was there. Or what was left of her. Swollen, blood–slick, limp as a ragdoll. He gathered her like something made of glass and regret. The driver’s door opened and a blonde woman in a charcoal pantsuit slid out and came around the rear door. Recognition hit like a smack. Last time I saw her she was younger, soaked in someone else’s blood with mine on her shoes after I’d stitched her femoral in a shipping container and told her to breathe. She didn’t look at me now, no time…and that was fine. She hauled Naomi out in a smooth, practiced cradle. Naomi’s face was a ruin, but she managed a groan that sounded like a hello and a threat. I wanted to ask questions. I’ve never been that stupid.

“On me,” I said instead, voice gone clinical. “Nico, blankets from the trunk, the orange Pelican and the soft pack. Crack two saline, get them warming against the floor vents. Also heat packs, lots.”

He ran.

“Liam, move the SUV forty feet to the left, nose into the wind. High beams off, hazards off. Kill the dome lights. Heater maxed. Back seats down, you’re turning it into a field bay,”

“On it.” He jumped back into the driver’s seat and yanked us into position like he was dancing with the wheel.

“Conner, lay her here.” I slapped down a tarp. “On her back, head toward me. Keep her midline, don’t twist the torso.”

He followed like I was giving him the only religion he’d ever believe. Sage’s weight hit the tarp and I was already at her airway, two fingers to the angle of her jaw, ear to her lips. Shallow. Fast. Radial pulse, thready. Skin cool, clammy. Impact bruises everywhere. Scalp laceration, temple split, periorbital swelling, shoulder bandages half–soaked through.

“You,” I clipped, without looking up. “What did they do to them?”

“Stoning to the gate, two bouts water, cold box, sticks, treadmill, ice baths, low–voltage electrocution, then the yard again,” she replied in a flat cadence that didn’t try to hide the disgust. “No hospital.”

“Yeah, I got that memo.” I snapped a cervical collar loose and eased it under Sage’s neck. “Conner, keep her head neutral. If she wakes, don’t let her twist.”

Nico skidded back with the gear. I ripped open the soft pack, slapped a nonrebreather over Sage’s face and twisted the O2 on. “Nico, clean hands and gloves.

Tear open that IV kit. If I miss, you’re ready with the IO.”

“I won’t miss,” I muttered to nobody and everybody. Tourniquet above the antecubital, vein popped blue under grimy skin. Catheter in, flash. Good. Line flushed. “Normal saline, 500 cc bolus, then slow. Warm the bag against the vent first; I don’t want to cool her core more than she already is.”

1/2

7:27 pm D

Medic In Action.

Conner hovered like a storm. “Is she…”

“She’s alive,” I said, not stopping. “Help me keep her that way.”

Naomi was a few feet away on the tarp Ari had unrolled. Liam was dropped to his knees beside her, hands hovering like he wanted to help but didn’t know where to touch. Good instincts. Head laceration, possible concussion, probable rib fractures. I jerked my chin at him. “Pressure dressing right temple, be gentle. Don’t press the eye. Then hands on her shoulders, keep her still. Talk to her.”

“I can do that,” he said, voice suddenly soft, and Naomi made a sound that was definitely flirting if you spoke her language.

I cut Sage’s shirt free with trauma shears. Chest rises uneven, left side guarding. I pressed two fingers between ribs, listening for the wrong kind of crunch. No flail segment, thank God. Abdomen tender but not board–hard. Pelvis stable on gentle rock. Extremities: bruised to hell, knuckles split, fingernails broken. Ankles swollen. Feet abraded, treadmill skin. I slid a blanket under and another on top, tucked heat packs in to warm the core.

“TXA’s in the orange,” I said. Nico snapped to it, handed me the amp. “One gram slow IV. Conner, you’re going to feel her twitch. Hold steady.”

He braced her shoulders with a reverence that made my throat tight. The blonde crouched at Naomi’s head without touching. “She’s stubborn. She pretends to be weak so she can watch who underestimates her.”

“I know,” Liam said, and the way he said it put a flag down I wasn’t going to address right now.

IV #2 into Sage’s other arm, vein rolled, I chased it, got it. I taped both lines hard. “She’s dehydrated and shocky. We go slow with fluids, titrate to radial pulse. If her lungs wet out, we’ll hear it.”

“Matteo,” Conner said, voice quiet, dangerous. “Do I need to worry about her… stopping?”

“You always worry,” I said without looking up. “That’s your job. Mine is not letting it happen.”

Once I had Sage in a somewhat stable state, I moved over to Naomi to check her. She wasn’t in half the condition Sage was in, but she still looked like she had been through the ringer. Liam swung into the driver’s seat, engine already growling. Naomi took the front passenger. That left the back for the three of

1. us.

“Conner get ready to move Sage, rear bench. Now,” I said. Conner slid in first and I lowered Sage across his lap, oxygen mask fogging with shallow breaths. I climbed in after, knees braced on the floor, one hip half off the seat so I could keep a hand on her carotid and an eye on both IV lines.

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7:27 pm

Her Obsession.