"What?"
He palpated the glands in her neck. "Pneumonia most likely. Not to mention a vicious double ear infection. This kid's not in any shape to fly."
Horror sliced through Lori like one of those scalpels in the instrument tray. "You're joking, right? Have you listened to what's going on out there? We can't leave her here."
"Hold it down." Gray held his hands up. "I didn't say she wouldn't fly. Just that regulations say she shouldn't."
The sick twist of her stomach eased, only to knot again. Regulations. "What can you do?"
He scrubbed a hand over his bandanna and glanced at the tray of supplies beside him. "Screw the regs. Pump her full of meds. Keep quiet. Pray like hell."
She prayed—prayed for the day to end, so children like Magda could crawl into a safe warm bed, so she could crawl into her own … alone. Far away from having to watch Gray be the honorable hero of the day, saving and charming children with heartbreaking ease.
A cleared throat sounded just behind Gray. Lori jumped and peered over his shoulder as he glanced back.
Lancelot stood behind them, a ridge creased between his brows. "Problem with this one?"
"No problem." Gray filled a syringe and pierced Magda's arm before she could blink, much less cry. He flung aside the empty needle. It clattered to rest in a tray. "All set."
"Good, 'cause we're gonna have to clear out. Now. Radio report says…" He paused, his gaze flickering to Lori, then back to Gray. "We should start packing. Load 'em up and finish the rest in-flight."
An eerie quiet mushroomed in the warehouse.
Panic pierced her like that needle he'd tossed aside, seeping fear into her veins. Not exactly what she'd wished for with that prayer, but then, things rarely turned out as she hoped around Gray.
He shoved to his feet, his body humming with tension. "Roger that, Lance. Ready to roll."
Gray extended a hand to Lori just as an explosion ripped the air outside the hangar.
Chapter 3
"Incoming!"
The warning echoed through the hangar, in Gray's ears. Lori's horrified eyes met his. Too distracting.
Gray kicked aside his chair. He flung his body over Lori and Magda, pinning them to the gurney.
Braced his arms. Cursed. Prayed.
A whistling premonition increased. Incoming. Another explosion. Metal walls rattled like a drum.
Reverberated. Waned. Silence.
Then shouts and orders for evacuation zipped around them. He couldn't afford mind-numbing fear for the woman beneath him. He had to get her out. Fast. Gray hauled himself off Lori.
"To the plane," he barked. "Now!"
He yanked her up, trying to pry Magda from her arms. Spindly arms and legs held tight.
Lori shoved his shoulder. "Just go! I can carry her." With a terse nod, Gray grabbed Lori's hand. He called on his training to overcome emotions that could dull his reactions. He bolted forward. They followed loadmasters herding clusters of children out the door. Local officials darted through the crowd, scooping up children.
Sunlight and carbon-tinged air assaulted his senses. A distant explosion plumed smoke. Damn, why hadn't he pushed to leave sooner?
He checked left, right and sprinted, Lori's hand locked in his. A few more feet to the cargo plane.
Whump, sounded just beyond the trees. Mortar fire launched.
Lori's soft hand felt too mortal in his.