Page 82 of Freeing Lark

Her mind raced. “No. Think.” She needed help. Her gaze fell on his phone. “Maybe this will work.” She picked it up and held it toward his face. Nothing. She adjusted the angle and tried again. Still nothing.

“No Face ID?” She stared accusingly at the unconscious man. “Seriously? You have a survival kit in your pants, but you don’t have Face ID?” But she supposed in a way that was the safest option. Otherwise, anyone could get into his phone by doing what she had just tried.

“Password,” she muttered. “You could have at least shared that with me before passing out.” Unfortunately, she’d discovered earlier after pulling Cormac from the creek that her phone was long gone. Probably halfway to North Carolina by now.

She dropped her head back with a frustrated groan. “Cormac Shibley, you are officially the most inconvenient man I’ve ever met.”

The fire crackled. Rain battered the roof. Cormac remained motionless. Lark looked at him again. Her anger dissolved into worry.

She moved closer and sat on the floor beside the couch. She was exhausted. Bone tired. Her entire body hurt. She leaned her head against the edge of the couch. Just for a minute. She’d close her eyes for one minute. Then she’d figure out what to do.

Her eyelids grew heavy. The last thing she felt was the warmth of the fire against her damp skin and the faint pressure of Cormac’s hand resting near her shoulder. Then sleep claimed her.

CHAPTER 26

Something woke her. Lark didn’t know what. For several seconds, she lay on the floor, staring into the darkness, disoriented. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and rain still hammered the roof hard enough to make the entire cabin seem to tremble.

Then she remembered. Cormac.

She scrambled upright. He was still on the couch. But something was wrong. His skin glistened with sweat, his hair damp against his forehead. Even from where she stood, she could see the flush on his face.

Lark pressed her palm to his forehead. “Oh, God.” He was burning. Not warm. Not feverish. Burning.

“Cormac.” He didn’t respond. Her panic surged.

She grabbed the water bottle and crouched beside him. “Come on. You need to drink.” She lifted his head carefully and pressed the bottle against his lips. “Just a little.”

Some of the water went in. Some dribbled down his chin. “That’s it. Come on.”

He swallowed weakly. Lark breathed out. “Good.”

She gave him another small sip before setting the bottle aside. Her gaze dropped to his wound. The makeshift bandage was soaked. “Not good.” She peeled the fabric away. The sight beneath it made her stomach roll. The wound was ugly. An angry and swollen kind of ugly. The skin around it mottled with bruising. Blood still seeped from the opening.

Lark swallowed hard. She had no idea what she was doing. But doing nothing wasn’t an option. She carefully touched the skin around the wound. Cormac didn’t react.

She pressed a little farther. There. Something hard. Her breath caught. “Is that...”

She touched it again. Hard. Solid. The bullet.

Her gaze flicked toward his face. “I’m sorry.”

She grabbed the flashlight and held it over the wound. “God, that’s disgusting.” But there it was. Something metallic glinted deep inside. The bullet appeared to be close enough to the surface that she could see part of it.

Lark sat back on her heels. Every rational part of her brain screamed that this was a terrible idea. She wasn’t a doctor. She wasn’t a medic. She wasn’t even particularly good with blood.

But Cormac was getting worse. And they were stranded in the middle of nowhere during a storm. She had to try.

Her eyes landed on the old washbasin beneath the cabinets. There was a battered bar of soap beside it. Lark grabbed it and poured some of the collected rainwater over her hands. She scrubbed. And scrubbed. Until her fingers were raw.

“Okay.” She stared at her trembling hands. “You’re really going to do this.” Her voice shook. “Yes.”

She went back to Cormac. His knife lay nearby. So did the lighter. Lark picked up the knife. She’d seen something like this done on television. That counted for something. Probably not much. She flicked the lighter. The flame caught.

Holding the blade over it, she waited until the metal was hot. She knew enough to understand that this wasn’t actual sterilization. But it was the best she had.

When the blade cooled, Lark took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. “Please let me not make this worse.” A tiny but very much needed prayer.

Then she opened her eyes. “Okay, Cormac.” Her hands trembled. “Here goes nothing.” Or everything.