Page 83 of Freeing Lark

She worked slowly. Carefully. Painfully. It was awful. There was blood. There was tissue. There were moments when she thought she was going to be sick. But somehow, the bullet shifted. Just enough.

Lark’s breath caught. “I see you.”

She repositioned her fingers. Her fingertips found metal, and she grabbed it. Pulling as gently as she dared, the bullet came free. Lark stared at it in disbelief. “Whoa. Did that just happen?” She dropped it onto the floor. “I actually did it.”

The wound remained open and ugly. And now it was bleeding harder. “Oh, crap.” She grabbed the cleanest towels she could find and pressed them firmly against the wound.

Cormac groaned. Lark froze. “I’m sorry.” She pushed harder. “You’re going to hate me when you wake up.”

The bleeding gradually slowed. She kept pressure on it. Minutes passed. Or maybe longer. Time had stopped making sense.

After a while, the bleeding became a slow ooze. Lark sagged with relief. “Okay.” She looked at him. “You really need a hospital.”

Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains. Rain continued pouring from the sky. There was no way out. No phone. No vehicle. And she had no idea where they were.

Lark picked up the water again. She carefully coaxed another few sips between Cormac’s lips. “That’s it.” His throat worked. “Good.”

She touched his forehead again. Still burning. She looked toward the cabin door. Surely his team was looking for him. They had to be. She knew enough about Cormac to understand that people didn’t simply disappear from his life without someone noticing.

Maybe they’re at the island. Maybe they’d found the boat. Or the crates filled with who knows what. Maybe they’d seen the men. Maybe they’d figured out she’d been taken. Maybe they were already searching the river.

But what if they weren’t? What if the storm had made everything impossible? What if they didn’t know where to look?

Lark looked back at Cormac. His face was pale beneath the flush of fever. “You have to wake up,” she whispered. He didn’t listen. Typical man.

She reached out and brushed damp hair away from his forehead. “They’re coming.” She didn’t know if it was true. But she needed to believe it. “They’ll find us. Right?” She couldn’t help the note of vulnerability in the last word. She was scared as hell and had no idea what to do next.

Lark curled up beside the couch, keeping one hand over his. The fire had nearly gone out again. She was too tired to care. Her eyes drifted shut.

And somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, she imagined the sound of engines. Boots outside. Voices calling her name. Cormac’s teammates bursting through the cabin door. A rescue. Safety. Home.

She held onto the dream as tightly as she could. Because when she finally slipped into sleep, she had no idea whether anyone was coming for them at all.

CHAPTER 27

Hoot woke with the distinct impression that death had already claimed him and was simply waiting for the paperwork. Every muscle hurt. His head throbbed. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and something deep in his shoulder burned with every breath.

For several seconds, he had no idea where he was. Then memory came rushing back. The shot that sent him into the river. The trek to the cabin. Lark.

His eyes opened fully. He took stock automatically, the way he’d been trained to do. Pain in his shoulder. Limited movement. No immediate threat. Strange cabin. Fire nearly extinguished.

Then he noticed something on the floor beside the couch. A lump. No, a person. Lark.

His heart kicked. He felt something warm against his hand. Her fingers. He turned his hand beneath hers until his palm covered the back of it and squeezed. Lark’s head shot up. Her eyes found his. For one second, she simply stared.

Then her face crumpled with relief. “Oh, thank God.”

Hoot studied her. She looked terrible. Her hair was tangled and mussed, her eyes bloodshot with exhaustion, and dark circles bruised the skin beneath them. Dirt streaked one cheek, and scratches marked her arms.

She’d never looked more beautiful. Because she was alive. Unharmed. She’d survived.

He tried to sit up. Lark immediately pushed a hand against his chest. “No.”

“I’m fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with that again. You’re absolutely not.”

He managed a weak grin. “Nice to see you, too.”