“He done got his ass into a sling. But he’s talkin’. And cursin’ Ry for benchin’ him. Damn fool has a hole clean through his thigh and he still thinks he should be with West for the interrogation.”
I’ve met Wyatt a few times while treating his girlfriend, Hope. Nothing Raelynn says surprises me. “He’s about as stubborn as McCabe.”
“Damn straight.” She offers me a tight-lipped smile. “But he’s only been with us a few months. He ain’t figured it out yet.”
“Figured what out?”
Raelynn accelerates onto I-5, quickly gunning the Mustang up to eighty miles an hour. Thank God it’s so early in the morning.
“There ain’t nothin’ more important than comin’ home.” She shakes her head softly. “Hope is his everythin’.Shee-it.He wouldn’t even commit to joinin’ us until Ry announced he wassteppin’ away. But Wyatt hasn’t been with us long enough to know wealwayshave each other’s backs. He don’t have to go on every mission to be a part of things.”
We don’t speak again until she turns onto Industrial Way. “Uh, Doc, there’s one more thing you should know.”
I tighten my hands on my thighs, digging into my quads hard enough to leave bruises. This isn’t going to be good. Not with the way her shoulders hunch.
“Spit it out.”
“Your couch, television, and fridge are about as useless as teats on a bull. You’re gonna want to replace the carpet too.”
“Is that all?” My grip relaxes, and I let out a chuckle. “I always hated that carpet. Those assholes did me a favor.”
“Stay the fuck down.”McCabe’s booming voice ricochets off the high ceiling as I follow Raelynn into the warehouse. It’s not my first time here, but I still gape at the sheer enormity of the space.
The climbing wall rises more than thirty feet, and I spare it more than a passing glance. The one at the little gym by my place can’t compare. A boxing ring sits in the center of the building with large mats on either side of it. But what’s most impressive is the quarter mile track that runs around the perimeter.
Close to the kitchenette, Wyatt lies on a table with McCabe standing over him and Murphy, Wyatt’s Belgian Malinois, whining softly from the floor close to the man’s head.
Not far away, Ripper is hunched over his computer with Charlie lying at his feet.
“About damn time,” McCabe mutters. “If you won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to the doc.”
I drop my bag on the chair. Wyatt’s black pants are ripped open up to his briefs. Around his thigh, two ofmyt-shirts are held in place with a tight length of cord.
“Fucking hell. If the bullet caught your femoral artery?—”
“It didn’t,” Wyatt grits out. “Know what that feels like.”
Thatwasn’t the answer I was expecting. “All right, then. Let’s take a look.” I point to a spot close to Wyatt’s balls. “McCabe, put pressure right there.” I half expect one—or both—of them to refuse, but Ryker moves into position as I don a head lamp and shine the light directly on my patient’s leg.
“Do. Not. Move.” I glare at Wyatt until I’m sure he understands how serious this is. “And you owe me two new t-shirts.”
“Put them on my tab,” Ryker says. “Along with…uh, never mind.”
“Raelynn already told me I’d need to redecorate.” I cut the cord and pull the first soaked shirt off the top of Wyatt’s thigh. “Jesus Fucking Christ. This wasn’t a 9mm.”
“Nope. Sombitch had a .45.” Wyatt’s words are starting to slur. I don’t dare delay long enough to give him a shot of morphine if he’s this close to passing out.
It takes me an hour before I add the final stitch and wrap his leg in several layers of gauze and surgical tape. He’s conscious, but mostly quiet now. Worn out from the pain, I’d guess.
“He’s benched for at least two weeks.” I wash my hands at the sink in the kitchenette while Ryker starts a pot of coffee.
“I’ll tell West.” The big man runs his palm over his bald head. His fingers trace several of the deeper scars the Taliban left him with after fifteen months of what I suspect was constant torture.
“You really are out, aren’t you?” I lean against the counter, watching some sort of struggle play over his features.
“Advisory capacity only,” he says. “West has run every op since the day he joined Hidden Agenda. He’s more than capable.”
“McCabe, we’re not friends. I don’t know much more about you now than I did when you hired me four years ago. But Idoknow that you’re not the type of guy who just…retires.”
