Lance relinquished the stun gun once he’d sucked every drop of juice out of it and finally let a cold smirk curve his lips as he made a show of flexing his hand. “That wasn’t very nice of you, Morty.” He clicked his tongue. “Matter of fact, it was pretty fucking illegal, I’d say. You just assaulted a patient in his hospital bed. And given that you admitted you planned to kill me, I’m guessing that qualifies as attempted murder, right?” Lance shoved the IV bar off and let it clatter to the floor. “You tried to kill me. Wouldn’t it be self-defense if I struck back?”
Morty swallowed hard and dropped his eyes to his weapon. His brows pinched when he clearly realized the thing was dead. “What the hell? How…?”
“Do you think,” Lance continued, leaning forward, “you could even take me in afairfight, Morty?”
Morty’s face turned red and he roughly shoved the useless tool into his coat pocket. “You’re one of them, like that Johnson boy!”
Lance kicked up a brow. “What I am, Morty, is a highly trained Marine who is rightfully pissed off. You may want to modulate that tone.” He really wanted to plant his boot in the sheriff’s ass, but he wasn’t currently wearing his boots and he was stilla bit too unsteady on his legs for that maneuver. It grated on him to think that the bastard had waltzed into a hospital with the intention to murder a patient, fully confident in his own protection under the same government Lance had risked his own life for for years. It was harder to accept that, for the time being, he may well have no choice but to chase the bastard off.
Morty took another step back, until his ass was probably visible past the doorway he’d left open, and his hands flexed as they shook at his sides. “Was I not clear?” he said, suddenly spitting like a feral cat. “I can’t have anyone, let alone you superpowered freaks, messing up what I’ve got going.”
Morty reached for the gun holstered at his hip at the same time as Lance noted movement behind him, in the doorway.
A witness Morty would inevitably decide had to go.
Lance flexed his hand as Morty drew his weapon, and both men went still for a beat when Lynn walked into the room from behind the sheriff. It was clear immediately that her eyes had been down, aimed toward whatever papers were in her hands, and she was much too damn relaxed for the situation.
“Sheriff, we’re trying to discharge—”
Morty flicked off the safety and pivoted in place, his arm raising. “Sorry, darl—”
Lightning snapped from Lance’s fingers, slamming into the sheriff’s chest and knocking him into the far wall before the bastard could close his own finger on the trigger. The gun dropped, skittering across the floor.
Lynn jumped about a foot in the air and stumbled back, paperwork flying. “Holy shit! What the hell?”
Lance lowered his arm and heaved his legs around the side of the bed. The extra juice he’d stolen from the stun gun had given a nice boost to his lacking reserves, but if the law had become the enemy outright, he needed more than a temporary fix. There wasn’t much to be done about that, though.
Lynn rounded on him as he grabbed his socks out of the tub. “What thehelljust happened?” She pointed at Morty’s slumped, unconscious form. “I swear it looked like he was about to shoot me!”
Managing to maneuver so that he didn’t flash the only surprise he had left to offer, Lance tugged the easier sock on first and said, “That’s because he was. Can you see where his gun went?” He switched legs, moving with no less urgency but enough of a twinge to remind him he wasn’t done healing yet.
“That’s insane,” Lynn said even as she dropped to a crouch. She began grabbing up the papers she’d flung, and paused when she should clearly have been shuffling to the side. “Be careful, it’s practically behind your left foot.” She raised her gaze up to his with narrowed eyes. “None of this makes sense. Why would he even be here? Why was his gun drawn? And what the hell happened to him?”
Lance rocked forward to ascertain the position of the handgun, then reached back and swiftly ripped the casing off the pillow he’d been sleeping on. It was imperfect, but it’d do. While he worked on securing the gun, he said, “I bet you know the answers to all of those questions, sweetheart. For what it’s worth, though I’m sure he deserves it, I promise he’s not dead.”
Lynn stood and eyed the sheriff again. “I should check on him. I’m not sure what you did, but he hit his head and he hasn’t stirred.”
“He’s unconscious, the head bump was a nice bonus, and I know how to modulate my voltage,” Lance said, going for honesty as much because time was of the essence as because he didn’t want to lie to her. He snapped the tag off his new pants and shook them out so he could tug them on.
“Your voltage,” Lynn repeated, as if the words were foreign.
He paused and looked up to meet her gaze, offering her a flash of a grin she probably wasn’t in the headspace to appreciate.Then he asked, “What’s the hospital’s policy on attempted murder?”
Her eyes widened before he returned his focus to his task, but he heard the glare in her tone when she spoke again. “Please don’t tell me you held back only to avoid us cuffing you to a bed and calling the police.”
Lance barked out a laugh as he worked his belt through the loops on his new pants. “No,” he said. “I mean, you’ll probably need security to restrainhim.” Finally dressed enough to be decent, he ripped off the damn hospital gown and dropped it onto the bed he’d be happy to leave behind. “Counting aiming at you, he made two attempts to end a life in this room in less than five minutes. He openly confessed to me his whole intention in coming here today was to end my life. Unfortunately for him, he overestimated his abilities.” He tugged his shirt over his head and swiftly tucked it in before securing the belt buckle. “Worse for him, I’m clear-headed and my chart will back that up if we finish this the legal way and I get to testify.”
Lynn pursed her lips, looking between them like she didn’t know how to process the situation for a long second. Her brow dipped and she stepped up to him, pressing what he assumed to be his prescription papers and whatever other discharge paperwork was standard into his chest. “These are for you, don’t lose them.” Then she shifted to the side and grabbed the pillowcase. “I’ll take this and fetch security. Try not to touch the sheriff again unless he forces your hand.”
Lance bit back a smile. “Yes, ma’am.” He’d tell security about the stun gun in the sheriff’s pocket, rather than put Lynn’s fingerprints on it. Once Lynn was out of the room, Lance grabbed his phone to shoot off a quick text. Jon needed to know that the sheriff had heavily implied his involvement in some shit.
Asshole Senior took a shot at me in the hospital and missed. He should be off the board for a minute. Buthe made some implicative comments in the process that have me thinking there’s a deeper reason the department refused to take that report. You’re not just up against the cartel, Jon. Be careful.
I’m good, by the way. Stalled, probably, but good.
Commotion in the hall had Lance dropping his phone into the nearest accessible pocket. He still needed his boots. He quickly pocketed his wallet and charge cable, snatched up the boots, and hobbled to one of the two guest chairs.
He had the first one half laced when two men filed in. They looked at the sheriff who’d started to groan by their feet, then across at Lance, who continued lacing his boot.
