“You’re his wife. That should be reason enough.” He coughed up blood, spitting it off to the side and away from Ryder.
“No, I’m not. Not anymore, and he knew I was—”
“Leaving him? But he didn’t sign those papers, now did he? So guess what that makes you? Still. His. Wife. Under the eyes of the law and”—he looked up at the ceiling—“under God. You’rehis.”
“Get her out of here,” Ryder ordered. “I don’t want her seeing what I’m about to do.”
“Wait ... you said being his wife ‘should’ be reason enough—but it isn’t the actual reason, is it?” Her voice was so damn fragile it painedme to hear. I was worried she’d break. Yet she kept her chin up and remained boldly staring at the traitor.
Unable to handle her being in his presence any longer, I opened the door and urged her to step out so Ryder and Reed could talk to him.
I let her lead the way to Room 3 since she was familiar with the layout. “Are you all right?”
“Not sure I can be okay after learning my husband may be alive,” she murmured as she let us into Reed’s room.
I unhooked the radio from my side and tossed it onto the bed before dropping down next to it.
“Take off your jacket and shirt.” She wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans as if it were no big deal she was wearing my blood, then removed her jacket and knelt in front of Reed’s duffel bag.
“I see what you’re doing,” I said with a laugh, pretty sure I was losing more than blood now—losing my mind, too. “Venganza. Payback for seeing you naked.”
Her hands went still in her pursuit of the cure that would hopefully fix my sanity as well. “Thought we were supposed to forget that happened?”
“Imposible.” Why’d I keep switching back and forth between the languages? I needed to get a grip. Clearly no grips to be had, because I went and shared, “Well, I did see you, so ...” I unzipped my jacket, trying to stifle a groan at the pain the movement caused. “I’m trained to key in on every detail in a matter of seconds, and now I’ll never forget.”
Another round of blink,shock, blink from her.
I had to stop oversharing. Had to stop speaking in both English and Spanish altogether. At least, nothing about us or my feelings.
I pointed to the bag, forced myself to get with the program, and told her what she needed to get from the medkit and how to use it to stop the bleeding and seal the wound.
“If Mitch is alive,” she said in a soft voice, changing the subject, “then I guess I really am still his wife?”
“If he’s alive, he won’t be staying that way.”
She stood and faced me as I tossed my shirt. “Alejandro.”
“Don’t ‘Alejandro’ me,” I grunted, looking down at my hand to find it covered in blood, like a metaphor for what I planned to do to Mitch if he still had a pulse.
“Shoot, I better move faster. I’m so sorry.” She dumped the supplies on the bed, then ran into the connecting bathroom and returned with wet towels.
Sitting next to me, she began cleaning the wound, and now I was the one feeling lightheaded. Groggy. A little blink,shock, blinking myself as she doctored me.
“Mind if I ask how you got this original wound?”
I do.I swallowed, eyes nearly rolling to the ceiling. “Beth. It’s from Beth.” I reached for her forearm, hating myself for opening up as easily as this old wound had.
“Who’s Beth?” she asked while using the syringe on me next, injecting the trauma gel into my wound.
“My ex-wife.” My head rolled forward. “She tried to kill me last fall. She was CIA. Betrayed our ... like Mitch ... and apparently, they’ve been on an op together.” I had no idea what words made it from my mouth to her ears, but clearly she understood enough, because she was staring at me with narrowed, sad eyes.
“Oh.”
Yeah, that was about the only thing one could say.
A vowel sound of shock.
“There,” she whispered after covering the wound with a bandage. “Bleeding has stopped. Really no stitches needed, huh?”
