Flash Marriage To The Alpha Colonel

Instead of the bone-shattering crash of concrete, Caroline felt a sudden, violent shift in the air. A heavy weight slammed into her from the side, knocking the remaining breath from her lungs. An arm like a steel band wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a solid wall of muscle. The world spun out of control as they tumbled down the stairs together, a tangle of limbs and fabric. She heard the sickening thuds-his body hitting the steps, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact, his back slamming into the railing. But the arm around her never loosened. He curled his body around hers, shielding her head with his hand, absorbing every blow. The noise was deafening. The clatter of their descent echoed in the concrete shaft, mixed with a low, guttural grunt of pain from the man holding her. Then, suddenly, it stopped. They came to a rest on the landing below. Caroline was pinned beneath him, her face pressed into the collar of his uniform. She could smell the sharp tang of blood, the metallic scent of gunpowder, and the clean, woodsy scent of cedar. She opened her eyes. Jarrod Romero was lying on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He was heavy, his dead weight pressing her into the cold floor. He wasn't moving. "Colonel?" she whispered, her voice trembling. He groaned. It was a low, rough sound that vibrated through her chest. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on his forearms. His face was inches from hers, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. His eyes opened. They were dark with pain, but the first thing he did was look at her. His gaze swept over her face, down to her neck, checking for damage. "Are you hurt?" he asked. His voice was strained, tight. Caroline couldn't speak. She could only shake her head. Her heart was racing so fast she thought it might burst. The adrenaline was a live wire in her veins, making her shake. Above them, the stairwell door burst open. Heavy boots thundered down the steps. "Colonel Romero! Are you hit?" K.C. Bell, Romero's security chief, skidded to a halt on the landing above them. He took in the scene-his superior officer lying on top of a nurse, both of them battered and bleeding-and his eyes widened. Romero pushed himself up, his jaw clenched against the pain. He sat back on his heels, holding his right arm against his chest. The shoulder of his uniform was torn, the fabric dark with blood. His arm was hanging at an unnatural angle. "Status," Romero barked, his voice hoarse but commanding. "The target escaped through the east exit," Bell reported, his face grim. "We have teams sweeping the perimeter." Romero cursed under his breath. He tried to stand, but his legs buckled. Bell lunged forward, grabbing his good arm to steady him. "Sir, you need a medic." "I need that son of a bitch caught," Romero snapped. He pulled away from Bell, swaying slightly. He looked down at Caroline, who was still sitting on the floor, her dress torn, her neck bleeding. "Get her out of here. Now." Caroline stared up at him. He was standing there, his shoulder clearly dislocated or worse, blood dripping down his face from a cut on his forehead, and he was giving orders. He had just thrown himself down a flight of stairs to save her life, and he was acting like it was just another day at the office. "Can you stand?" Bell asked, offering Caroline a hand. She took it, her legs like jelly. She leaned against the wall, her eyes still on Romero. He was leaning against the railing, his breath coming in sharp hisses every time he moved. "Colonel," she started, her voice cracking. "Your arm..." "It's nothing," he cut her off. He turned his head, looking up the stairs. "Lock down the hospital. No one gets in or out. I want a full review of the security footage. Find out how he got past the checkpoint." "Sir, the doctors-" Bell insisted. "Later." Romero pushed off the wall, his face a mask of stone. He walked past Caroline without looking at her, climbing the stairs with a rigid, pained gait. "Get her to safety. And Bell," he added, his voice dropping, "keep a man on her. I want to know where she is at all times. That's an order." Caroline watched him go. She felt a strange, hollow ache in her chest. She wanted to say something-thank you, I'm sorry, something-but the words stuck in her throat. Bell guided her back into the ICU hallway. It was chaos. Doctors and nurses were rushing around, MPs were shouting into radios, and the wail of sirens echoed from outside. Brenna came running up, her face pale. "Oh my god, Caroline! Are you okay? I heard someone was attacked!" "I'm fine," Caroline said automatically. But she wasn't fine. She was shaking, her teeth chattering, her vision blurring at the edges. "Come on," Brenna said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Let's get you to the break room." Brenna guided her down the hall, away from the chaos. In the break room, Caroline collapsed onto the couch, her legs finally giving out. Brenna brought her a cup of water and a first aid kit. "Let me see that neck," Brenna said, dabbing at the cut with an antiseptic wipe. Caroline hissed in pain. "How bad is it?" "Just a scratch. It stopped bleeding." Brenna taped a gauze pad over it and sat down next to her. "Caroline, what happened in there?" Caroline stared at the wall. The image of the killer's eyes, the feel of the scalpel against her skin, the sensation of falling-it was all on a loop in her head. "I don't know," she whispered. "I just... I saw his shoes. And the way he held the syringe. I knew he wasn't a doctor." Brenna stared at her. "You noticed his shoes? While he was trying to kill you?" "I noticed them before," Caroline said. "That's how I knew." Brenna shook her head in amazement. "You're something else, you know that? The rumor mill is already going crazy. They're saying the Colonel threw himself down the stairs to save you." Caroline's hand went to her chest. The ache was still there, stronger now. "He did. He just... wrapped himself around me. I don't think he even hesitated." "He's tough," Brenna said. "I heard K.C. saying his shoulder is a mess. Probably fractured his scapula. He'll be lucky if he can lift his arm for a month." Caroline closed her eyes. He was hurt because of her. He had sacrificed his body to protect her, a nobody nurse. Why? It didn't make sense. "You should go home," Brenna said gently. "You're in shock. You can't work like this." "I can't go home," Caroline said, her voice hollow. "I have a... a thing." "A thing? What kind of thing?" Caroline looked down at her torn dress, the dried blood on her neck. "A date. I have to apologize to a man who thinks I'm trash." Brenna's jaw dropped. "Caroline, you were just held hostage! You can't go on a date!" Caroline's whole body was trembling, a deep-seated shudder that came from bone-deep fear. "I have to," she said, standing up. Her legs were unsteady, but she forced herself to walk toward the door. "If I don't go, my mother will call the hospital. She'll call Cromwell. She'll make a scene that will echo through these halls for a month. I can't... I can't handle that right now. A public humiliation with Preston is better than a private war with my mother that could cost me my job. It's the lesser of two evils." She walked out of the break room, leaving Brenna staring after her in disbelief. She walked past the guards, past the police, past the chaos, and out into the cool evening air. She had survived an assassin. Now she had to survive Preston Finch.