Chapter Thirteen
Now
I know in movies they show a guy getting hit by a bullet and collapsing, and either it’s a scratch, an in-and-out that will heal cleanly, or the person dies, usually after delivering a melodramatic line or two.
That’s not real life.
Depending on the caliber, the load, the slug—and a variety of other factors, including where it hits and its trajectory—abullet might do little damage, it might shatter bone, or it could be one designed to somersault and expand and fragment upon impact, doing as much damage as possible. The exit wound could be neat and tidy, or look like some demon punched a fist through the victim’s guts.
Kevin was shot three times with a .380, fortunately cheap-ass range rounds made for target shooting from a short distance.
Thank god he wasn’t shot with something larger, or a hollow point.
Thank god the guy was a crappy shot, and that he was tackled and Jack got his hand over the gun, between the hammer and the slide, before he could squeeze off another round.
The main concern now is a risk of internal bleeding and infection. All three rounds hit him in the abdomen, two inside him, one in-and-out through his side.All three missed bones and, even more importantly, his spine, miracle of miracles.
But Kev lost a lot of blood, and there’s a very real danger of infection from the damage done to his intestines.
I can’t lose my boy.
Fortunately, Kev’s father lasts less than two hours before he stands and storms out without further word to me or my detail.
I leave orders with Secret Service and the hospitalthat the congressman isnotallowed further access to Kev unless I’m present.
I’ve also instructed Comms, through my staff, to put out hourly press briefings, and that we’ll hold an actual presser sometime tomorrow.
My chief of staff brings me an overnight bag and a change of clothes, my personal phone and charger, and my laptop, because I’m not going anywhere.
When Shae’s deputy chief of staffstops by and tries to suggest I go home because of the optics, I have to fight the urge to tell him to go to hell.
I don’t give a shit he’s right that Kev would say the same thing, were he awake.
The kids want to come visit Kev though. I tell them no, not yet. I feel guilty that I should be there for them, but honestly?
Ican’tright now.
Maybe that makes me a shitty dad, but my mental tankis empty. Shae will be home soon, and they’re surrounded by staff, agents, and they have Yasmine. I can’t be a good dad right now. They’re used to me or Shae being unavailable from time-to-time, so it’s not like it’s the first time this has happened.
I want to wait to let the kids come see Kev when he’s awake.
I absolutely do not want to admit to myself that the only way I want them to see himlike this is if we’re afraid he won’t survive, so they have time to say goodbye.
Or that I wantmyface to be the first Kev sees when he opens his eyes.
I ask the staff to bring in several chairs, so the agents can take turns sitting. We’re in a private room, with no one to spy on us, and I know they’re nearly as upset about this as I am.
Playing dirty, I make it a direct order. Since I outrankedthem when I was in, they eventually give in and sit, all but one, who stays on the door, and they take turns at that post.
“It’s not y’all’s fault,” I say to John, giving voice to what they’re all thinking. “It’s mine.”
John wearily shakes his head. “No, Mr. Bruunt, it’s—”
“Chris,” I insist, looking at each agent in turn. “While we’re alone in this room, it’s fuckingChris, all right?”
Thesefour agents are my primary detail and see me nearly every day, and when I leave the residence. When I travel, they are ones who accompany me.
I specifically requestedthesefour men, because I knew, next to the agents I requested be assigned to The Shift for Shae, these these guys the best at what they do.
