Chapter 19
The man who knocked Maya out of the line of fire was the same one who had once pulled up in a Range Rover and rushed her to the hospital so she could see Belinda one last time.
Though it had been pouring that night, he rolled down the window and asked where she needed to go.
Out of gratitude, Maya remembered his clean-cut face and left all the money in her wallet on the passenger seat before she left the car.
“Hi, I’m Jasper Keaton,” he said.
“I’m Maya Reed,” she answered. “Thank you for saving me. We met back home. You drove me to the hospital. Do you remember?”
Jasper chuckled. “I remember. Didn’t think we’d cross paths again.”
He did remember. He was on leave that day. While driving, he saw her soaked, panicked, and barely
holding on.
So, he pulled over and drove her to the hospital. He found the stack of cash only after she was gone.
“Stay safe,” he said, already pivoting back toward the fight.
Maya swallowed the surge of recognition, then turned and got back to work.
The next day, a tall peacekeeper in olive fatigues barreled through the doors with a man slung over his
back, blood dotting the floor behind them.
Maya happened to be passing by. The moment she recognized the face over that shoulder, she ran to
meet them.
Jasper was injured.
She steered them straight into the surgical bay and had the carrier ease him down. She was already
cutting through his torn shirt when she asked, “What happened?”
“Gunshot to the abdomen. Knife to the chest,” the peacekeeper quickly answered.
Maya had already assessed Jasper’s condition. A long, ragged slash split Jasper’s chest, and there was a
bleeding hole in his belly.
She needed an assistant, and there were none to spare, so she nodded at the peacekeeper who’d carried
him in. “You’re with me. I’ll call instruments, and you’ll hand them over.”
As she laid out the tray, another problem hit her. “We’re out of anesthetic. The resupply hasn’t landed.”
Jasper forced his eyes open and said with gritted teeth, “Do it anyway…”
“Understood.” Maya didn’t even blink. This wasn’t her first time doing this.
She wedged a length of wood between his teeth so he wouldn’t crush his tongue, ran the peacekeeper through the names of what she’d need, and started.
Steel parted torn flesh. Jasper made a low sound but held steady.
The peacekeeper proved rock solid, placing the right scalpel or clamp into Maya’s palm the instant she asked for it.
An hour later, Maya finished the chest repair and tied off the final suture.
“I’ll find you a bed. You need to stay and let this stabilize,” she said as she moved on to tend to other patients.
Even so, a new worry threaded through her focus. They were desperately short on antibiotics. If infection set in, there might be no pulling him back.
In this place, people didn’t just die from bullets. They died because supplies ran out.
She was still elbow-deep in triage when a cheer rose from the gate.
Someone shouted that a convoy with medical cargo had arrived.
Maya broke into a run. They needed antibiotics.
The truck doors opened, and a man stepped down. She caught sight of his back first, though the way he
moved seemed familiar.
No, it couldn’t be.
She told herself she was imagining it. He would never show up here.
Then, the man turned, lifting another man down from the truck, and the lines of his face became clear. Maya stopped cold. They were Cole and Carter!
