Radclyffe - Oath of Honor

and uncertainty didn’t bother her, as long as she knew she was prepared.

And she planned to be.

Forty minutes later, the motorcade pulled off the highway onto

a wide drive and stopped in front of a row of large stone buildings.

Car doors slammed, and Wes saw the group from the first car moving

inside. Evyn opened the door and said, “You’ll stay here with one of the

military aides. If you’re needed, he’ll inform you. I hope you brought

something to read.”

“It never occurred to me I’d need it.”

Evyn laughed. “Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to kill on this

assignment. I recommend an e-reader. Travels easily and holds up

well.”“I’ll make a note of that.”

Evyn closed the door and disappeared inside along with several

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Oath Of hOnOr

other agents. Wes settled back to wait, watching out the window. No foot

traffic. An occasional car passed along the drive. She wasn’t sure where

they were. The uncertainty heightened all her senses. Her pulse was a

little faster than usual, and tension in the back of her neck indicated her

blood pressure was probably slightly higher than normal too—nothing

to worry about as long as the tension didn’t escalate into anxiety, which

blunted response time. A certain degree of stress augmented essential

reflexes. She felt on edge but sharp. The way she needed to be.

An hour passed before the main doors of the building opened and

Evyn walked out, followed by the president and a phalanx of agents.

A blur of motion cut across Wes’s field of vision, shouts erupted, the

loud crack of gunfire shattered the quiet. Evyn crumpled, the president

staggered, and Wes grabbed her FAT kit and bolted from the SUV

along with a sea of agents from the other cars. Agents converged on the

president, others swarmed a young man holding a pistol and dragged

him to the ground. Wes raced up the sidewalk, scanning the injured,

automatically triaging. Only those who would die without immediate

attention could be treated. Those who would die despite emergency

care and those who would survive without it were passed over.

Evyn lay on her back, eyes closed, the collar of her shirt soaked

in blood. Neck or chest wound—likely fatal without urgent treatment.

Another agent, a man she didn’t recognize, curled on his side, clutching

his abdomen. A second potential fatality. The agents with the president

pushed past her toward the vehicle she’d just vacated. The president

seemed to be moving under his own power—injury status unknown.

Without medical treatment, Evyn and the other agent would likely die.

Wes stared at Evyn—she was still breathing, but for how long?

Ignoring her instincts, ignoring all her training, she ran for the SUV

with the president inside and jumped into the back. The doors slammed

shut, tires screeched, and they jolted forward. The president was supine

on the rear seat, and the duty nurse already had an oxygen mask on his

face. Bracing one arm against the side of the speeding vehicle, Wes

dragged the FAT kit closer. “Status?”

“GSW to the leg,” Thompson, the nurse, replied.

“You,” Wes said to the closest agent, pulling gauze from the field

trauma kit, “hold this over the wound, press hard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

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“Get us to the nearest trauma center.” She didn’t wait for an

answer. After grabbing a stethoscope, she pushed closer and slid a hand

behind the president’s back to check for any wounds she couldn’t see.

Nothing else. The leg wound was the only injury, but in that area, if he

didn’t bleed out, he could lose his leg. She found an intravenous pack

in the kit and tossed it to another agent. “Hold this up.”

“Got it.”

She quickly connected intravenous tubing to the bag, opened the

line and let the fluid run down, and clamped it off. With scissors, she cut

the president’s coat and shirt sleeve up to the level of his shoulder and

wrapped a tourniquet around his arm. As she unwrapped a large-bore

intravenous catheter, an agent gripped her wrist.

“I think you can hold up there, Doc.” He grinned. “Dave here is

afraid of needles and we wouldn’t want him to faint on us.”

Thompson removed the O2 mask, and the agent playing the

president grinned at her. He could pass for Andrew Powell at a distance,

but this close, she could see he was younger and a little heavier. “How

are you feeling, Mr. President ?”

“I’m doing great, Doc. So are you.” The presidential double pushed

up on the seat and swatted at the man holding the compression dressing

on his groin. “Let up there, will you? My toes are falling asleep.”

The agent holding the gauze laughed, said something into his

microphone, and the vehicle slowed. “Nice work, Doc. We’d be arriving

at the trauma center about now with the president stabilized.”

“What about the two we left behind?” Wes asked, thinking of

Evyn and the blood running down her throat. Everything in her rebelled

against leaving a dying patient in the field.

His grin faded. “They’re not your concern.”

“Understood.” Methodically, Wes packed up her kit, the image of

Evyn bleeding to death on the sidewalk burning in her mind. The next

time she had to leave her behind might not be an exercise. She wasn’t

sure how to square that with her conscience, or her ethics, or her heart.

v

“Nice job, Doc.” Vince, the agent who had assisted Wes during

the resuscitation of the “president,” veered off toward the ready room,

leaving Wes alone.

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“Thanks,” Wes called after him. She headed for the locker room

to store her gear. After the exercise had ended, their SUV had turned

around and followed the limo back to DC. She hadn’t seen Evyn since

she’d left her on the sidewalk, but if Evyn wanted her for anything else,

she’d no doubt find her.

The locker room was empty, except for a navy blue polo shirt and

khakis folded neatly on a bench in the center of the room. The shower

ran in the adjoining room. Those clothes were most likely Evyn’s. She’d

seen a few other female agents in the halls, and they’d all been dressed

the way Evyn usually was—in jackets and pants. She wanted Evyn’s

take on the morning’s scenario, and she didn’t want to spend the rest of

the day with the mental image of Evyn bleeding out on the street. She

knew it was all a fabrication, but on some instinctual, primitive level,

she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling she’d let her die.

Wes leaned against the lockers and reran the incident again.

She’d been doing that all the way back in the SUV while the agents

relaxed, cracked jokes, and gossiped. Someone had speculated on

where Evyn had spent the night of the storm, noting she’d turned up for

work wearing her emergency change of clothes and they hadn’t had an

emergency. Wes tried to tune out the good-natured griping about some

people having all the luck. If Evyn had spent the night with someone,

it was no business of hers. She blocked the chatter the way she did the

constant hum of voices during a trauma alert and concentrated on what

she had done earlier, and why. She still wasn’t happy with the choice

she’d made, despite knowing she’d made the only choice open to her.

And would make it again.

“You planning on taking a shower?” Evyn walked in with a white

towel wrapped around her torso, covering her to mid-thigh. She pointed

to a closet. “In there.”

“No, I’m fine. I wasn’t out there long enough to work up a

sweat.”

“I wish I had.” Evyn opened a locker across from the pile of

clothes on the bench and stowed a bath kit on the top shelf. “I froze my

ass off lying on that sidewalk, and it was wet.”

“And of course, there was the blood.”

“Since it wasn’t real, it wasn’t even warm.” Evyn glanced at Wes

over her bare shoulder, loosened the towel, and let it drop to the floor.

“You sound a little pissed.”

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RADCLY f FE

Wes jerked her gaze up to Evyn’s face, but not before she’d taken

in the entire naked panorama of Evyn’s back and backside. Smooth

skin, toned muscles, all blending into inviting tanned curves. “Not

exactly pissed. Just not sure of the point.”

“I thought the point was obvious—GSW is still the most likely

form of assault on POTUS.” Evyn slid black panties from an open

nylon bag inside the locker and pulled them on. They were cut high on

the sides, accentuating the expanse of honed thigh from hip to knee.

“And do you really think if I’d been briefed beforehand, I

would have reacted any differently?” Wes shook her head. “I’m sure

you practice that scenario regularly—knowing what is coming—and

without the benefit of simulated blood.”

“You’re right—we do. Dozens of times, for months, before we

ever ride in a vehicle on PPD.” Evyn grasped the khakis, pulled them

on, and slipped the polo shirt over her naked chest. “You haven’t.”

Wes watched. Evyn didn’t seem to mind, and pretending she

wasn’t watching would only make her interest even more apparent.

Evyn was beautiful and looking at a beautiful woman came naturally.

Pretending she didn’t want to would be unnatural, and she wasn’t any

good at pretending. That’s what bothered her about the morning. She

had done the right thing and her instincts screamed otherwise. “Had it

been real, you would have died out there.”

“This is where I say something like, ‘That’s my job. You shouldn’t

worry about it.’” Evyn regarded her across the small room. “Do you

believe that?”

“Yes, and I respect your bravery.”

Evyn waved her off with a snort and tucked her shirt into her

pants. She zipped and buttoned and sat down to fish socks and shoes

out of her locker. “It’s not a matter of bravery, it’s a matter of training.

When you’ve done it enough times, you don’t think about it. Isn’t that

the way it is for you?”

Wes moved down the row of lockers, wanting to see Evyn’s face as

they talked. “Yes, that’s exactly how it is for me. Only my training says

I don’t leave a seriously injured patient in the field when my attention

could make the difference between life and death.”

“You see,” Evyn said lightly, “that’s the whole point. Your training

might get in the way, and we can’t let that happen, can we?”

“You’re purposely being obtuse.”

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Evyn grinned. “Is that painful? It sounds painful.”

Wes smothered a laugh. Evyn was very, very good at deflecting the

conversation from topics that touched on the personal. “Any emergency

physician could have handled that situation this morning. And any ER

doc—”

“But that is the point, isn’t it, Dr. Masters?” Evyn stood, zipped

her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. “You aren’t just any doctor