“Is Maverick here?” I ask.
“Right here, brother,” he says from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.
“Do you think you can gain access to the feed from those snipers and their scopes?” I ask.
“Already have men working on it,” he admits. “The live feed was cut, but that doesn’t mean they stopped recording. Why do you ask?”
“I want to know which one of those men fired the bullet that hit my woman,” I growl.
“Consider it done,” he says calmly. “Even if the recordings are gone, we can reconstruct the shot. Bullet trajectory, entry angle, firing position. There were only two shooters, and we know where each one was set up.”
“Good.”
“Alright,” Patch cuts in. “You’ve had your visiting time.”
He folds his arms, doctor mode fully back in place.
“You all need to leave so I can actually take care of my patient. Tank, you can stay if you keep your mouth shut.”
He shoots Abby a pointed look.
“And you? No more talking. Your vocal cords are already inflamed and strained from coughing. If you keep rasping like that, you’re going to cause damage that won’t heal quickly.”
He places the stethoscope against her chest.
“Deep breath for me.”
Abby obeys.
Patch listens, his expression tightening slightly.
“I don’t like the sound of those lungs,” he mutters.
That gets my attention immediately.
“Relax,” he adds when he sees my reaction. “It’s not pneumonia. Yet.”
Yet?
“Normally I wouldn’t be too concerned,” he continues, moving the stethoscope to her back. “But right now your body is trying to do three things at once…fight an upper respiratory infection, recover from a gunshot wound, and replace a lot of lost blood.”
He sighs quietly.
“That’s a heavy workload.”
He straightens and pulls the earpieces out.
“There’s a transfusion on the way,” he says, hanging the stethoscope around his neck. “You’re going to need at least two units of blood to get your levels back where they should be.”
He scribbles something on the chart.
“I’m also ordering a chest X-ray and a CT scan just to make sure nothing traveled where it shouldn’t have.”
Abby rolls her eyes weakly.
Patch ignores it.
“I’m prescribing antibiotics for the infection, steroids to open your lungs, and breathing treatments every few hours. If your oxygen levels dip, we’ll move you to respiratory monitoring.”
