With instincts firing and years of training kicking in, Ryan locked his body around the rope and launched himself out the door. Nothing else held his focus except the urgent need to hit the ground and get to his teammate.
Glancing to the horizon, he saw a rocket heading right for their Black Hawk and paused on the rope. “Incoming!” he roared, looking up to where Monty stood at the open doors.
The Black Hawk lurched upwards, tilting to the left and the rope Ryan was still attached to jerked wildly.
“We have to pull out!” the pilot called out.
“No!” Monty shouted.
For the first time, Ryan caught a slip of panic in Monty’s calm demeanour. At that exact moment, a searing pain burned through Ryan’s shoulder. They were shooting at him!
“Sonofabitch,” he growled, his stomach rolling as pain engulfed his entire body.
Another burst of sharp agony hit his leg, and then another, until he lost count of how many bullets were slamming into him. His grip slackened on the rope.
“Kendall!” he heard Monty roar from above.
Fuck. Time was running out. He needed off this rope before his entire team was shot down.
Ryan looked up, breathing hard as he met Monty’s eyes for a split second that stretched for an eternity.
“Don’t you fucking dare let go!” came a furious growl right in his ear.
“Jake?” he whispered.
His grip slackened further as the edges of his vision began to blur. He could feel the blood pumping out of his body. It was seeping through his clothes and dripping down his arms and legs.
“We have to get out of here!” the pilot screamed.
“Damn you, Kendall,” came a deep growl—Jake’s growl—in his ear. “Don’t you let go.”
With hands slick from sweat, Ryan slid further down the rope. His muscles burned and his mind screamed at him to hold on, but his body wouldn’t obey. “I can’t,” he gasped.
His body was weakening with every breath he drew in, and Ryan knew he couldn’t possibly survive this. He wouldn’t be going home—not alive. He would never see Fin again, never hold his son or daughter, and the agony had him crying out.
“I’m sorry, Fin.” Taking a deep breath, Ryan felt tears burn his eyes and he lost all focus. “I’m so sorry.”
Four hours later
Fremantle, Western Australia
Fin stood in the middle of the freshly painted nursery, eyeing the walls with satisfaction. The creamy lemon colour she’d chosen contrasted prettily with the white trim around the windows. She’d bought a set of sheer lace curtains that would sit over a set of white timber blinds. Fin could already see the window open, the lace billowing in the warm summer breeze.
“Alright. Time to leave and let the paint dry,” her dad ordered and began shooing her out of the room.
His efforts at getting her away from the thick, caustic fumes irritated the excitement right out of her. Wait for the paint to dry! Was he serious? She wanted to curl up on the floor—right in the middle of the room—and imagine Ryan was there with her. She could see him laughing at her as he worked at putting their baby’s cot together, or hanging blinds, his brow furrowing as he concentrated.
To her surprise, two deliveries had already arrived a couple of hours ago. The minute her dad and Rachael took off, she was going to start putting together as much as she could.
Fin winced when her belly twinged. It was a painful reminder that she wasn’t supposed to be doing anything except resting in bed. The maternity leave from her Government job started four weeks ago, but she hadn’t made the reason for her early departure public knowledge.
It hadn’t been long past the seventh month mark, just four weeks ago really, that her doctor sat her down and explained the problem.
“You have preeclampsia.”
Fin’s brows flew up. “Pre what?”
“Preeclampsia,” her doctor repeated.
“Uh, can you explain what that is?”
“It’s serious, Fin. If you hadn’t missed your last two appointments, we would have detected this earlier. You—”
“I didn’t mean to miss them,” she cut in, anxiety creeping into her voice. “It was work. They know I’m leaving and I swear they’ve loaded me under until I can’t breathe. How serious are we talking? Do I have to take a couple of days off?”
“Fin.” Her doctor arched a brow in stern disapproval. “You’re done with work. As of right now. You’re on strict rest until your baby arrives.”
“But …”
“Your blood pressure is extremely high.”
“It’s stress. I just feel so anxious all the time. I can’t relax. Not until Ryan’s home.”
“According to your urine test today, the high levels of protein are telling us it’s not just stress.”
“So if I just lie around for a bit, it’ll go away?”
Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple, and now the birthing plan she had mapped out—from the music, to the levels of pain relief, to who she wanted with her—was all moot. Her baby’s growth level was starting to drop off, and the twinges in her belly were becoming more frequent.