His straight black brows dipped a little at her request. There was hesitation in his gray eyes. Sarah touched her aching throat where the bastard had gripped her and held her down.
“Tell you what,” Ethan murmured. “If any of those Black Hawk drivers give you grief because I’m carrying you over to the dispensary, you let me know.” He gave her a slight grin. “I’ll settle it out with them privately and personally. Okay?”
Sarah sighed. “Are all SEALs stubborn?” She heard and felt him laugh.
“We’re a hardheaded bunch, I suppose. I’d like to think we’re focused and intense about our objective.” And right now, he couldn’t believe he was carrying Blue Eyes in his arms. He was in another kind of shock. A good kind, but he wasn’t about to share his euphoria with her.
Ethan turned a corner and up ahead was the two-story dispensary that had been built out of cinder blocks. It wasn’t very large, with only two Navy doctors and a small staff of two nurses and several combat medics manning it. When any serious medical issues came up, the person was flown directly to Bagram Air Base near Kabul.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, glancing down at her. She was very pale. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers were shadowed and frightened-looking.
“Whipped,” Sarah admitted, feeling safe enough in his arms. She would never admit that to the male pilots she flew with. They’d call her weak once they found out what had just happened to her. And then they’d brutally tease her or tell her it was her fault, that she’d invited the attack. She hated that.
“I’m Ethan Quinn. What’s your first name?”
She looked up and drowned in his soft gray eyes. Opening her lips and then closing them, Sarah felt an incredible sense of protection surrounding her. It was him. Reeling from the attack, she didn’t have her normal defensive walls in place. “Sarah Benson.”
He nodded. “My teammates call me Hawk.” And then he smiled a little. “You have a beautiful name.” To go with your incredible blue eyes. But he didn’t add that, seeing her eyes widen as if in wonder for a moment. There was a definite connection between them. He could feel it. The sensation, whatever it was, was palpable and it felt damn good.
Ethan knew where the E.R. was located; he’d been there the other day with Tolleson, escorting another SEAL because he’d twisted the hell out of his ankle.
He walked up to the sliding doors, then waited as they opened. Inside, there were a number of military guys waiting for medical attention at the clinic. They looked up in unison at him as he entered the air-conditioned dispensary.
Moving through another entrance, Ethan carried Sarah directly into the E.R. area.
It contained four curtained cubicles. A Navy nurse at the nurse’s station in the corner saw him arrive. She was older and had peppered hair of black and silver.
“Chief Benson needs medical attention right now,” Ethan told the nurse. “Which cubicle can I put her in?”
Sarah felt his authority even though he spoke quietly to the nurse. The older woman quickly looked her over.
“Cubicle one, Petty Officer.”
“One it is,” Ethan said.
The nurse called for an orderly—a young man—and by the time Ethan had gently deposited Sarah onto the gurney, a woman doctor had arrived. He stood back, letting the medical team help Sarah.
“What happened?” Dr. Johnson asked Sarah.
Sarah told her, mumbling through the bandanna. The doctor scowled, then glanced over at the SEAL and asked, “Who is he?”
“Petty Officer Quinn. He broke up the attack,” Sarah told her. “And he brought me over here. I’m not walking very well right now.”
“I see.” The doctor stared at Ethan. “You need to leave, Petty Officer. Thank you for your help.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan murmured, starting for the opening in the curtain.
“Wait,” Sarah called, gripping his arm as he passed her. She looked at him. “There’s going to be an investigation. Can you tell the MPs where I am? I know they’ll want my statement.”
Seeing the exhaustion settling into her blue eyes, Ethan nodded. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll tell them and get things in order so you don’t get overwhelmed by the paper chase.” He gave her a brief smile and felt her hand drop from his arm. His flesh tingled where her long fingers had curved around his biceps. Ethan saw something else in her eyes, something he couldn’t translate. Her lower lip trembled as she took the bandanna away for a moment. He wanted to say to hell with it, slide his arms gently around her shoulders and just hold her. She needed that right now, and they both knew it. But it wasn’t going to happen.
“I’ll check in on you later,” he promised.
Sarah nodded, pressing the bandanna back to her nose, which continued to bleed.
As he stepped out into the E.R., Ethan noticed two medics carrying in the Army guy he’d punched. The man was semiconscious, muttering and cursing. Ethan stopped and watched where they put the bastard. Lucky for him it was cubicle four, as far away from Sarah as he could get. Flexing his fist, his knuckles swelling and bruised, Ethan wondered if he should stay. Just in case the Army jerk started to make more trouble for everyone. He was sure the assailant didn’t know he’d just brought Sarah in. The guy was ballistic in his opinion and not to be trusted.
Two Army MPs entered the E.R. Both had grim looks on their faces. They went directly to where the Army guy was being taken. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ethan knew the MPs would stand guard over him. He felt better about leaving Sarah alone now. Tolleson had done his job and gotten security in motion.
To say that security was in chaos was a mild understatement when Ethan arrived at the single-story building. Four Army guys, probably friends of the assailant, argued heatedly with a Army lieutenant, with an MP armband on his left arm, outside the office. They didn’t know he was the one who had decked their friend. He moved past them and went into the MP office. He spotted a young woman with red hair behind the desk. Ethan told her who he was and what had happened.
“You’re the guy we want to see,” she said, gesturing to an office on her right. “Lieutenant Taylor will want to take your statement. Can you tell me where Chief Benson is?”
“The E.R.,” he told her. “She’s pretty shaken up and she’s been injured.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, leading him to the office and opening the door. “I’ll go over in a while and interview her. I’m sure she’s feeling pretty ragged at this point.”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah, but the bastard that attacked her is feeling even worse.” And he smiled a wolf smile.
* * *
“Well,” Dr. Johnson told Sarah an hour later after examining her. “No permanent damage done, Chief Benson.”
Sarah was sitting on the gurney. “That’s good news. I have to fly tomorrow.”
“No way,” Johnson said. “I think you’ve suffered a mild concussion even though the X-ray came back normal. I’m giving you a sick chit for four days without flight duty. Then you will come back and see me on the fourth day. The nurse will give you an appointment.”
Stricken, Sarah slid off the gurney, her legs none too steady. Too fast a movement—her head began to throb. She touched the area where the man had struck her. “But...we’re short-handed in our squadron, Dr. Johnson. I can’t be put on flight waivers.” She gave the Navy officer a pleading look.
“No can do, Chief Benson.” Johnson handed her the chit, which would be given to her CO, Major Donaldson. “Rest,” she