“You were about to.”
“I was calling to offer my wisdom, since apparently my body is under house arrest.”
“Your body has eight stitches and forty-eight hours off roster.”
“Eight stitches is a tailor’s problem, not a ranger’s.”
“The doctor said that yesterday.”
“The math has not changed.”
Sarah looked down at her clipboard. Her mouth did not move, which meant she was enjoying herself professionally.
Mbeki exhaled hard through the phone. “I can monitor from the south blind.”
“You can monitor the inside of your cabin.”
“A man can rot from boredom faster than blood loss.”
“Test that theory quietly.”
Daniel made the mistake of laughing into his coffee.
Mbeki heard it. “Is Daniel there?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Tell him a wounded lion still has teeth.”
Daniel leaned toward the phone. “A wounded lion is usually lying down.”
“I am not lying down.”
I stopped writing.
Silence.
Then the faint creak of a mattress came through the line.
Bloody hell.
“Mbeki.”
“I was preparing to rise with dignity.”
“Prepare horizontally.”
Sarah finally turned away, shoulders tight with contained laughter.
I lowered my voice. “You scared the younger rangers last night.”
The line quieted.
“They need to see you sit down when you’re hurt,” I said. “Or they won’t.”
Mbeki said nothing for three seconds.
Then, softer, “Forty-eight hours.”
