Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar. Lindsay McKenna
strike the sternum with a fist. Sometimes, though rarely, the hard, shocking blow would get the heart restarted. It was risky. She noted the strain on Mike’s face, the glistening sweat on his wrinkled brow. His eyes had turned a dark, stormy blue, and she knew all his focus was on his abilities as a paramedic, despite the many other emotions he had to be feeling.
“Is he a friend of yours?” she asked, holding the man’s head steady as Mike prepared to strike his chest.
“Yes. A damn good friend. God, I hope this works,” he said.
Mike measured where his fist would strike the man’s sternum. He gripped Tony’s shoulder to hold him in place. Raising his arm, he smashed his fist downward in a hard arc. Flesh met flesh. He heard his friend’s sternum crack loudly beneath his assault.
“Come on! Come on!” Houston snarled as he gripped the man’s lifeless shoulders and shook him hard. “Damn you, Tony!” he breathed into the man’s graying face, “don’t you dare die on me!” He put his fingers against his neck.
“Nothing,” he growled.
“Do it again,” Ann ordered in a hushed tone. She saw the fear in Houston’s eyes.
“He’s dumping on us….”
“I don’t care. It’s all we got! Hit him again!”
For a split second, Ann met his distraught eyes. And then he balled his fist again. Once the sternum was broken there was a danger that any further strikes to jolt the heart could create lacerations in the liver and possibly the heart itself, from fragments of bone that had been broken by the first blow. Antonio could bleed to death as a result.
“You mean son of a bitch,” Houston growled at Tony as he raised his fist. “You live! You hear me?” Then he brought his fist down just as hard as the first time.
The man’s whole body jarred and jerked beneath the second blow. Ann held the man’s head and neck in alignment and continued to pump oxygen into him. She watched as Mike leaned over to check for pulse and breathing. Whether it was because she was already numb with tiredness and drained emotionally, she didn’t know, but for a split second as he leaned down, snarling in Spanish at his friend, she thought she was seeing things.
Houston’s growling voice wasn’t human any longer. It sounded to her like a huge jungle cat. It shocked her, the primal, sound reverberating through every pore in her body as he leaned over and shook Antonio. She sensed an energy in the air, pummeling her repeatedly like wildly racing ocean waves. She realized it was emanating from Houston as he leaned over Antonio, almost willing him to breathe again.
“You’re not dying on me,” he rasped, striking him even harder than before, in the center of the chest. “Live! Live, you hear me?”
Ann blinked belatedly. As Houston struck the man a third time, she knew she was seeing things. His head disappeared, and in its place she saw the golden face of a jaguar or leopard, black crescent spots against gold fur. She was hallucinating! Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and opened them again. Mike was leaning over his friend, his fingers pressed insistently against his neck. My God, what was happening? What was she seeing? For the first time, Ann clearly realized that she was on a mission with an incredibly attractive man whose power was beyond her own rational mind.
“Tony!” he pleaded hoarsely. “Don’t die on me! Don’t!”
Houston’s plea shook her. Gone was the hard soldier’s mask. She trembled at the raw emotion of his voice. Tears stung her eyes. What a horrible thing to come home to—seeing a good friend go into cardiac arrest and then watching him die. Ann was ready to tell Mike that it was too late. Only seven percent of people suffering from a heart attack ever revived with the help of CPR.
Again she gazed up through her veil of tears. She no longer heard the onlookers or felt them closing in on them, inch by inch. She watched as Houston hunkered over the older man, gripping him by the shoulders and giving him a good, hard shake. Yet again Houston struck him in the chest.
“Mike—” she begged.
“Wait! A pulse! I’ve got a pulse!” He gave a cry of triumph and watched intensely as the man’s face began to lose some of its grayness. “Bag ’em hard,” he snapped. “Pump all the oxygen you can into him.” He grinned tightly and put a coat beneath the man’s legs to elevate them slightly. Leaning over him again, he called, “Tony? Tony, you hear me? Open those ugly eyes of yours and look up at me. It’s Mike. Mike Houston. Come on, buddy, you can do it. Open your eyes!” And he shook him again, all the time keeping a firm grip on his friend’s arms.
Houston watched the dark lashes tremble against the man’s pasty features. “That’s it, open your eyes. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay. Come on, come on back. You’re too mean to die yet….” Then he grinned as Tony opened his dark brown eyes and stared groggily up at him.
Almost immediately, the patient started gagging. Ann removed the bag-valve mask from his face, took out the breathing appliance and threw it aside. She quickly replaced the mask, holding it there until she and Mike were both sure he was getting enough oxygen and was breathing well on his own.
Houston heard Elena cry out her husband’s name as she bent over him.
“Calm down, Elena,” he coaxed, reaching across and soothingly moving his hand against her thin shoulder as she gripped her husband’s hand. “He’s okay….” Mike wasn’t sure how okay Antonio really was. He knew the man had suffered a massive heart attack. How bad, they’d only know after a series of tests at the hospital.
Risking a look up at Ann, who was still kneeling at Tony’s head, delivering the life-giving oxygen, he saw tears sparkling in her eyes. They caught him completely off guard. Returning his attention to his friend, he reached down, got his stethoscope from the bag and listened intently to his heart. It was a good, strong beat. Then Mike took his blood pressure.
“Eighty over sixty,” he announced with satisfaction.
“It could be better,” Ann said.
Grimly, Mike deflated the blood pressure cuff. “Give him five minutes. He’s not dumping on us. Color’s flooding his face. His capillary refill is better,” he murmured as he pinched the index fingernail of Tony’s right hand. Normally, the capillary refill took two seconds or less to flow back into the pinched area. It was a good indicator that the heart was pumping strongly and normally, supplying the life-giving substance to even the farthest extremities of the body.
“Three seconds?” Ann asked.
Houston nodded. He waited to recheck the blood pressure, but five minutes seemed to take forever. Glancing at his watch, he wished the second hand would move faster.
Elena was speaking in hushed tones to her husband. When Tony tried to reach up and touch his wife’s wet, pale face, Mike grinned. “You’re gonna be fine, Tony. But right now, keep your hands off Elena, you hear me? Just lie there and let your strength come back.” He glanced at Ann. “Stop bagging him.”
She nodded and watched as he took another blood pressure reading. Houston’s expression was intense and hard now. She was seeing his professional side as a paramedic once more. He was very good at what he did. He had an incredible confidence that radiated from him like the sun sending energy earthward. She watched as his thinned lips relaxed. A cocky, one-cornered smile tugged at his mouth as he removed the stethoscope from his ears and settled it around his thick, well-muscled neck. When he looked in her direction, she felt incredible tenderness coming from him. It wasn’t for her, but she basked in that invisible glow just the same. In that moment, he looked like a little boy, his blue eyes sparkling with unabashed joy.
“One-ten over eighty. He’s stabilizing. He’s through the worst of it.”
“Yes,” Ann quavered, giving him a trembling smile of triumph. “He’s going to live….”
Houston stood with Ann at his side as the ambulance paramedics took Antonio Valdez away on a gurney. Most of the crowd had disappeared