Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(62)

“Your heart stopped. I couldn’t get it goin’ again.” There was a world of dark, gritty anguish in his stark reply.

My heart stopped? I died?

She shook the possibility off.

No way. I’d know if I died.

“I’m awake. Alert. So you must have gotten it going again.” She tried for a teasing tone to lighten his mood, because it was impossible to take his account of what had happened seriously. Not when she felt better than she had in—well—ever.

“I didn’t. Kait did.”

So they were back to that again, were they? Faith shook her head. “It was probably beating, just so faintly you couldn’t hear it without your stethoscope. It must have recovered on its own, given time.”

“Sure.” Pure dryness condensed the words. “I reckon all that CPR I did was just for show.”

He’d done CPR on her? Faith focused on her chest. If he’d done CPR, there should have been some lingering sense of pain. Bruising or aching. She sure as heck wouldn’t feel like she’d spent the last month at a spa.

He must have picked up on the skepticism in her silence.

His voice cooled. “Have you forgotten I’m a medic?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten. It’s just—”

“—easier to believe I couldn’t find your heartbeat than Kait healed you?”

Well . . . pretty much.

But guilt stirred. By everyone’s account, he was a very good medic. Which made sense since he’d gone through medical school and into his third year of residency. Not to mention all those years keeping his teammates alive on the battlefield.

Against her will, common sense stirred. Someone with those kinds of credentials would know if a heart was beating. It wasn’t fair to just dismiss his opinion like that.

No wonder he hadn’t appreciated her disbelief.

“Okay. Let’s agree my heart did stop. Maybe your CPR took effect at the same time Kait arrived.” She offered the alternative tentatively.

With a snort, he picked up his pace. “Anythin’s possible.”

While he didn’t sound like he believed her new explanation, that earlier tension seeped out of his muscles.

Faith relaxed against him again. He appeared to carry her with no effort, but it wasn’t fair to let him do all the work. She was perfectly capable of walking—even if she didn’t want to. Even if she’d much rather lie here and wallow in the pleasure of his closeness and the feel of his hard, warm muscles rubbing against her body. Drown in the hot, musky scent swirling around her head.

Good lord, did the man ever feel and smell delectable.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she finally forced herself to admit.

“I’m sure you are.” He stopped long enough to give her a subtle hug. “Just kick back and relax. No sense in tuckerin’ yourself out. Everyone’s waiting for us just up ahead.”

She glanced down the dusky tunnel, for the first time realizing there was a flashlight beam bouncing around up ahead—leading the way. Which explained why the area around them was dusky rather than dark. Some of the light ahead must be filtering back.

“Who’s up there?” she asked. All she could make out was a bulky shadow.

“Cosky and Kait.”

Oh . . .

Her mind shifted gears. “Was anyone hurt? Did everyone make it out of the cabins okay?”

“Everyone else is fine.”

Everyone else, as in she wasn’t fine. Possibly her willingness to remain in his arms was giving him the wrong impression.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Put me down.”

“No.” His arms tightening, he continued walking.

Well, fine then. She’d just enjoy the ride. With that in mind she looped her arms around his neck and settled back down to enjoy his muscles and scent. Her momma hadn’t raised a fool.

The silence that fell between them was easy. Comfortable. She gave in to the impulse to close her eyes and doze.

“Faith.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Do you remember anythin’ from when you were out? When your heart stopped?”

That question brought her head up. “What do you mean?”

He was quiet for a moment. And then a shrug lifted the arms curled around his neck. “You have any weird dreams? Any stray memories? Anythin’ odd happen back then?”

She frowned. “Like what?”

Stillness fell again, only this time it lacked the ease of earlier.

“Any . . . you know . . . out-of-body kinda experiences?” he finally asked after the silence had dragged on far too long.

She raised her eyebrows at the combination of curiosity and discomfort in his voice. “You mean like an NDE?”

“Yeah, like that.”

“No. There was nothing like that.”

What an odd question. Why in the world would he ask about near-death experiences? But his question elicited another memory.

The rifle lifting. Rawls spinning in a circle shouting a name. Pachico. Pachico—who was dead and apparently acting as Rawls’s ghost.

Suddenly the question about NDEs made sense.

And just like that it was her turn for curiosity. She tried to frame her question as tactfully as possible. “Is that what happened to you that night you were shot in the woods? Is that where you picked up your ghost?”