The nurse gently moved his hand away. “Be careful with that.”
He glared at her.
The sound of tennis shoes on tile squeaked outside and then a man strode in. The guy wore a green velour leisure sweat suit beneath an unbuttoned white lab coat, had to be about ninety years old, and carried a tablet in his hands. “It’s about time you woke up. I’m Dr. Snoggles, and you’re keeping me up.”
Huck blinked. Once and then again. “Is this a joke?”
“No.” The doctor lifted two fingers. “Follow my hand.” He performed several tests and checked Huck’s memory, which was fine up until the time his truck had flipped over. “The MRI ruled out other potential injuries, but you most certainly have a concussion. I want to keep you for a day or so to watch you.”
“No.” Huck would leave now, but he didn’t want to wake Laurel.
She stirred anyway, her eyes opening sleepily. “Hi. You’re conscious.”
“Yeah.” He looked at her cast. “How bad?”
“It’s a distal radial fracture.” She looked down at her arm. “I’m on pain medication and rather enjoy the sensations.”
Deidre chuckled. “Good to hear.”
“It’s a Colles fracture,” Laurel said. “I’ll have to wear the cast for approximately six weeks.”
His head still ached hollowly. “How did you return fire?”
“I’m ambidextrous but just discovered that I need additional practice with my left hand,” she said drowsily.
Deidre stood. “All right. Captain Rivers woke up just fine, and now you’re coming home with me. It’s time to get some rest.”
Laurel yawned and stood, her laptop bag falling to the side. “I’ll retrieve you when you’re discharged tomorrow morning, and we can spend the weekend reading through the phone records of pretty much everybody possibly involved in this case.”
The doctor finished making a notation on his tablet. “If you leave tomorrow morning, I’m dismissing you without medical consent.”
“That’s fine.” Huck wasn’t staying longer than that.
The doctor shrugged very thin shoulders and walked out of the room, followed by the nurse and Deidre.
“Laurel?” Huck said.
She paused at the doorway and turned, her hair a wild reddish brown. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
* * *
Fury felt like needles being jabbed in his balls. He’d made the perfect plan to take out the cop and that bitch FBI agent. He’d followed them to the restaurant and then had found the exact place to wait. So many nights he’d practiced his shooting, and it should’ve taken only two bullets. But it was harder to shoot at a moving truck than he would’ve thought.
He jogged through the night, snow falling on him, his breath puffing into the cold air.
The stupid bitch had shot him. He’d had to sew up his own damn arm, and it hurt. Right above the elbow. Sure, she’d just grazed him. Anybody who was a halfway decent shot would’ve got his head. Of course, she had been falling in the snow.
He needed them dead. They were getting too close, and he couldn’t let them stop him from finding the one. The real one.
Keeping his head down, he ran beneath streetlights gathering snow. To anybody watching or any cameras, he would be just a blur. He was careful and smarter than them all.
He had wanted to spend more time with this one, following her, learning everything about her. But he had to try now. Had to be whole. She was calling to him. Hadn’t she smiled at him just the other day?
It was true.
He climbed the fence around the subdivision, his pack safely over one shoulder. The one that didn’t hurt right now. The stitches in his elbow made his entire left arm ache.
