The shooter ignored him. His gaze continued past the injured man and focused across the room.
On Sharyn.
“Thank you, Ms. Karr, for protecting the book.” Professor Julian Wright held out his hand. “But I’ll take it back now.”
Seventh
66
November 4, 1:25 p.m.
Cortina d'Ampezzo, Italy
Naomi rode in the back of the ambulance. It raced with sirens blaring down the winding mountain road. She clutched Tag’s hand as he lay on the gurney beside her. His face remained tinged blue, but the hue had faded slightly.
Keep hanging in there.
The closest hospital lay eight miles away from San Vito, in the larger town of Cortina d’Ampezzo. They had just arrived at the city’s outskirts after a jarring twenty-minute drive along roads with steep drops along one side.
An EMT crouched by Tag’s head and adjusted a nasal canula inserted into his patient’s nostrils, delivering a heavy flow of oxygen. The same man and another medic had stabilized Tag back at the hotel, bagging him fiercely until the last of the sedatives had worn off, enough for him to begin breathing on his own.
Prior to their arrival, Antonio had given Tag mouth-to-mouth while Chiara monitored his pulse. Once the authorities closed on the hotel, Naomi had sent the pair off. They didn’t deserve to be dragged further into all of this. She was ready to assume all responsibility herself.
Which she had done.
A member of the Italian national police and an armed Carabinieri officer shared the cramped back of the ambulance. Naomi’s right wrist had been handcuffed to a steel bar secured to one wall. She had pleaded to be allowed to come along with Tag. The EMT supported her, insisting Tag would have died if not for her efforts to keep him breathing. Still, this leniency was more likely born from the simple reason that the closest jail cell was also in Cortina.
Fingers tightened on her hand.
She stared down as Tag tilted his head, his eyes focusing more fully on her. He had faded in and out since stirring out of the sedation.
“Hi...” he said hoarsely, his gaze swinging around, looking confused. “Th... Think you may need to fill in some blanks.”
A short laugh—full of relief—burst from her.
Thank god . . .
She squeezed his hand in turn. “It looked like you were dead back there for a minute.”
He coughed softly. “On... on my bad days, people often think that. Even when I’m standing up. And this has been a bloody bad day.”
“You weren’t breathing. Your eyes were all glassy and unblinking.”
“They drugged me. And not with the good stuff,” he reminded her. “The palsy... it compromises my rib muscles, constricts my chest. I was probably breathing, but so weakly it looked like I wasn’t. Those bastards probably thought I was dead, too.”
“Maybe because you were so blue.”
“Cyanosis.” He waved his other hand dismissively. “I turn that color at the drop of a hat. You’ve seen it. Just climbing up to our flat. Plus, living like this, my body’s acclimatized to low O2 by now.”
“Tag.” She lowered her voice with concern. “You had a seizure. At least, that’s what the bitch told me.”
She pictured Burman’s body being hauled into another ambulance. Shockingly, the woman lived, too. Her neck had been secured in a red cushioned brace as she was whisked away. If she lived, she would surely be paralyzed, a quadriplegic for the rest of her days.
For Naomi, that wasn’t punishment enough.
“I get seizures sometimes,” Tag admitted. “It’s just my body being irritable. Probably trying to shake off the drugs, in this case.”
Despite attempting to downplay everything, Tag’s face shone with fear—and not for himself. He swallowed, then spoke even more softly. “Naomi... I think I told them where the others went. Not sure.”
