[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
one of the undead.
After the restroom mercy stop, she was placed in a bare room. It smelled faintly of
disinfectant and not a nice pine scented one, more like straight bleach. Under the acrid odor
other, less pleasant, scents seeped through. The room was plain, done in operating room green.
The effect was pale and bright, like sickly moonlight. A few splatters that didn t bear thinking
about marred the perfection of the paint. She shuddered.
It was impossible for her to measure time inside the green room. She d been there long
enough to be tired of sitting on the metal folding chair. Long enough for the numbness to have
worn off completely, leaving her a throbbing lump on the side of her head, stinging scrapes on
her knees, one elbow, and the side of her face. And worst of all, a gaping hole of pain and fear
for Zach s safety ate into her heart. How could she have ever doubted him for even one minute?
Guilt over having suspecting him of being the blackmailer assailed her, adding another layer of
misery.
* * * *
Getting dressed with one arm took patience that was in damned short supply. Zach broke
out in a clammy sweat. His hand trembled from what should have been a snap job before he was
halfway done. Regan had gone to get his prescription filled. Then he could leave the hospital,
as soon as he managed to clothe himself.
McKnight stood, watching whatever sights the seventh floor window offered, tactfully
ignoring his struggle. Zach s feet were too far away. He skipped socks and pushed into already
laced running shoes.
You sure about this? the rookie asked, rotating to face him.
Yeah, Zach growled through clenched teeth.
The doctor said & .
I got shot in the arm, not the ear, Zach barked, and then counted to ten before
continuing. I ve been wounded before. I know the drill. The faster I get home, the faster I ll
get well.
I hear you, McKnight said equably.
Zach pulled his shirt over his head, shoving his good arm through the sleeve. The other
sleeve flapped over the bad arm under the shirt. Good enough. He stepped back, grateful for the
chance to sit on the hospital bed for a few more minutes.
He eased himself down, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. No panting like a
dog. No groaning like an old man. Getting shot aged a guy. He sure as hell felt old enough to
groan. It would get better. It always did.
The trip from the hospital bed to Ian s rig took a lot more effort than it should. Once
situated, his breathing evened out fast, and thoughts beyond the logistics of moving a too large
body with one bad arm resurfaced.
He wasn t in the best of moods. Things hadn t been going all that well lately. First, he
got to choose between vacation, or administrative leave. Next came the ambush where he got
DANGEROUS SURRENDER Evanne Lorraine 138
shot twice. Once in the back. Then he lost blood he was very fond of, he d suffered a
concussion, and had a large nasty hole in his left arm.
The only bright spot on the horizon was that he didn t have to worry about being attracted
to a reporter. Funny how a woman shooting a guy turned him right off her.
Or at least, it should.
Putting his perverse taste in women aside, her serving time would put a definite kink in
their relationship. Apparently, he d been a lot less fussy when he was unconscious. He still
hadn t assimilated what McKnight had told him about Ciara giving him first aid. It made no
kind of sense. Why would she shoot him and then try to save his life?
There were infuriating blanks in his memory. He remembered going to the meet.
Remembered thinking it had to be a trap. Remembered Ciara peering into the night from her car.
Remembered the noise and getting slammed in the back.
Thank god, he d worn body armor. He d gone down hard. The second shot must ve
clipped his arm, but he had no memory of anything between the first shot and the ambulance
ride. The doc said he d hit his head hard enough to give a thinner skulled guy serious problems.
The bad news was he d likely never remember any more than he already did.
McKnight had been suckered punched and had holes in his memory, too. By the time
McKnight had regained consciousness, Ciara had already been applying a tourniquet to Zach s
arm. The rookie maintained Ciara couldn t have been the shooter. Zach wanted to believe that
way too much to trust his conclusion.
On the way to his place, Regan tried to sit in the back with him. He d been forced to
claim he wanted to stretch out to keep her from mollycoddling him for the whole trip. She d sat
up front, but spent most of the time twisted around to face him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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one of the undead.
After the restroom mercy stop, she was placed in a bare room. It smelled faintly of
disinfectant and not a nice pine scented one, more like straight bleach. Under the acrid odor
other, less pleasant, scents seeped through. The room was plain, done in operating room green.
The effect was pale and bright, like sickly moonlight. A few splatters that didn t bear thinking
about marred the perfection of the paint. She shuddered.
It was impossible for her to measure time inside the green room. She d been there long
enough to be tired of sitting on the metal folding chair. Long enough for the numbness to have
worn off completely, leaving her a throbbing lump on the side of her head, stinging scrapes on
her knees, one elbow, and the side of her face. And worst of all, a gaping hole of pain and fear
for Zach s safety ate into her heart. How could she have ever doubted him for even one minute?
Guilt over having suspecting him of being the blackmailer assailed her, adding another layer of
misery.
* * * *
Getting dressed with one arm took patience that was in damned short supply. Zach broke
out in a clammy sweat. His hand trembled from what should have been a snap job before he was
halfway done. Regan had gone to get his prescription filled. Then he could leave the hospital,
as soon as he managed to clothe himself.
McKnight stood, watching whatever sights the seventh floor window offered, tactfully
ignoring his struggle. Zach s feet were too far away. He skipped socks and pushed into already
laced running shoes.
You sure about this? the rookie asked, rotating to face him.
Yeah, Zach growled through clenched teeth.
The doctor said & .
I got shot in the arm, not the ear, Zach barked, and then counted to ten before
continuing. I ve been wounded before. I know the drill. The faster I get home, the faster I ll
get well.
I hear you, McKnight said equably.
Zach pulled his shirt over his head, shoving his good arm through the sleeve. The other
sleeve flapped over the bad arm under the shirt. Good enough. He stepped back, grateful for the
chance to sit on the hospital bed for a few more minutes.
He eased himself down, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. No panting like a
dog. No groaning like an old man. Getting shot aged a guy. He sure as hell felt old enough to
groan. It would get better. It always did.
The trip from the hospital bed to Ian s rig took a lot more effort than it should. Once
situated, his breathing evened out fast, and thoughts beyond the logistics of moving a too large
body with one bad arm resurfaced.
He wasn t in the best of moods. Things hadn t been going all that well lately. First, he
got to choose between vacation, or administrative leave. Next came the ambush where he got
DANGEROUS SURRENDER Evanne Lorraine 138
shot twice. Once in the back. Then he lost blood he was very fond of, he d suffered a
concussion, and had a large nasty hole in his left arm.
The only bright spot on the horizon was that he didn t have to worry about being attracted
to a reporter. Funny how a woman shooting a guy turned him right off her.
Or at least, it should.
Putting his perverse taste in women aside, her serving time would put a definite kink in
their relationship. Apparently, he d been a lot less fussy when he was unconscious. He still
hadn t assimilated what McKnight had told him about Ciara giving him first aid. It made no
kind of sense. Why would she shoot him and then try to save his life?
There were infuriating blanks in his memory. He remembered going to the meet.
Remembered thinking it had to be a trap. Remembered Ciara peering into the night from her car.
Remembered the noise and getting slammed in the back.
Thank god, he d worn body armor. He d gone down hard. The second shot must ve
clipped his arm, but he had no memory of anything between the first shot and the ambulance
ride. The doc said he d hit his head hard enough to give a thinner skulled guy serious problems.
The bad news was he d likely never remember any more than he already did.
McKnight had been suckered punched and had holes in his memory, too. By the time
McKnight had regained consciousness, Ciara had already been applying a tourniquet to Zach s
arm. The rookie maintained Ciara couldn t have been the shooter. Zach wanted to believe that
way too much to trust his conclusion.
On the way to his place, Regan tried to sit in the back with him. He d been forced to
claim he wanted to stretch out to keep her from mollycoddling him for the whole trip. She d sat
up front, but spent most of the time twisted around to face him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]