Page 30 of 72 Hours

​​​Chapter 13 -Tuesday 11:30

Hans the disbarred doctor had arrived, worked on me, and left. He’d been a small, quiet man, but his stitching was exemplary. Guess it had to be, because Niall stood over him like he was pretending to help, though he was really waiting for the first mistake, probably for an excuse to castrate the guy. We could all see his suspicion; it was palpable, like a blue cloud around him, but I didn’t have the energy to tell him to back off. I just grit my teeth and thanked some God or other that I only needed four stitches. Any more and I’d have been biting my lip to stop my eyes watering like before. Hans cleaned up, pumped me full of something that had the incriminating label soaked off the bottle, and left me a handful of unmarked pills for good measure. I started to relax a little. Whatever the stuff was, it did its job swiftly and well.

I’d already been blessed with visits from Ruthie’s grandkids, but only until Junk lost patience and threw them out bodily. Now some of his own family had drifted back to the park and came over to my trailer for curiosity’s sake. I knew them all and liked them too. The door was half open, and I could hear the sounds of usual life returning to the site. I’d have looked out as well, but the light was blocked by Junk’s heavy frame where he’d taken up residence in the doorway as some kind of unofficial bouncer. So I lay in just my sweatpants and socks, smiling stupidly at my visitors. A couple of the girls seemed upset at the sight of my bandaged arm. Or maybe it was the dried blood still spattered here and there on my chest. Anyway, I doubted they were moved by the state of my manly torso. Not that I wanted them to be; I’d held off their romantic advances pretty well so far.

One of them kneeled down beside the couch and took my hand. My smile was genuine this time. She looked up at me through a younger replica of Junk’s fierce eyes, albeit they were set in a damned sight prettier face. His eldest daughter, Sheri. She had full lips and bright, inquisitive eyes, and her dark red hair was twisted into a braid at the nape of her head. Leaving aside the low-cut shirt and the skirt that wasn’t much deeper than one of her father’s scarves, I thought she was gorgeous. Not so gorgeous with the scowling, of course.

“What’s happened to you, Mac? What bastard did this?” She couldn’t seem to decide between anguish and personal affront.

That’s Sheri all over. Says what she likes, bold and brave. “I don’t know.” I tried the innocent smiling again but she looked fiercely at me, as if I were deliberately keeping a secret from her. As if I’d dare.

Sheri was Junk’s most reliable companion, always there with him, even as his lovers and other family members came and went. Or so he used to tell me when he was drunk and maudlin and determined to tell me his life story for the umpteenth time. I’d seen their neighbour Phil watching her with some kind of lovestruck helplessness whenever he was around at Junk’s. A lot of the guys were like that with Sheri, like moths to her flame. She took lovers occasionally, though I wasn’t one to check up on her or anything, but she didn’t take anyone for a more stable relationship. Too busy with her family, maybe. She looked after the whole damned lot of them, it seemed.

By now, the other girls had lost interest in me and turned their attentions to Niall instead. Guess he looked a better specimen than I did at that moment. I watched him try to ignore them and still be civil, but it made my head hurt again, despite the drugs. And when one of them stepped up on her toes and kissed him goodbye full on the mouth, I didn’t like the feelings it inspired in me at all. Nausea, I expect. Having been shot, and all.

Within half an hour, everyone had moved out of the trailer, the morning’s excitement over. There was just me and Niall left, and Junk, who was still reluctant to leave.

And in the background to all this drama, acting under our orders, perched uncomfortably on the stool in the kitchen and effectively keeping out of the way of all the attention, was Greg.

NIALL STOOD BESIDE the couch, looking down at me. I was settled rather awkwardly, though Junk had gone to find me some more cushions from someone else’s trailer to make it easier on my back and arm. I glanced over towards the kitchen.

“What do you think?” I said quietly.

Greg had waited until my visitors had all gone, and then had appeared in the kitchen doorway. He hadn’t moved farther into the living room, and I didn’t think he could hear us properly. He was also a little distracted. Junk had left the door ajar when he left to get the soft furnishings, and Dylan had loped up my steps and into the trailer like he owned the place. He now sat a foot away from Greg, his tongue hanging carelessly from the corner of his mouth, his breath panting, and his eyes fixed constantly on the guy whose buttock he’d tasted once today already. When Greg had cast a pleading look in my direction, I’d told him Dylan had a very healthy appetite.

Now Greg just stood there, worried gaze flickering between us and the dog.

Niall drew breath and waited a few seconds before he answered me. He turned his body slightly so that Greg couldn’t see his mouth move. “I think he’s scared, but it seems he’s telling the truth. It sounds like something Simon would do. Greg was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A pity he got in the way, though. The real culprit might have been caught.”

“Why would Simon think we needed extra support? And only one young guy? Seems very odd.”

Niall frowned. “Yes. But it’s not good for us to discuss this now in front of others.”

I glanced back at Greg. “He’s hiding something,” I said, softly.

Niall tutted, but I think it was just an expression of his own frustration. “Do you think he recognised the attacker? Maybe he was a deliberate distraction. Maybe his orders are something more than just protection. Or he’s been used without realising it.”

I didn’t have the energy to ask him what he meant. That was Niall’s way, to analyse everything from a pragmatic viewpoint, to weigh up all the possibilities, not just the probabilities.

“It’s just Simon being a mother hen,” I said, wearily. “You wait until I next see him.”

“Meanwhile, we have his protégé here, apparently the only witness to another attack on the Project Team.”

I was startled at his frankness. “You think that’s what it was? They’ve tracked us down to here?”

“Tracked me.”

I didn’t know what to say. Things were moving rather like a movie—much too fast for real life. “I often wondered what potential Simon saw in Greg,” I murmured. “He’s way too tolerant with his guys. Kid was never the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.”

“Also a poor shot.”

I glanced at Niall in surprise. There was a wry smile on his lips, though I couldn’t see if it reached his eyes.

“I can’t think it was him shooting at you, Tanner. No one could rely on him hitting you, not judging from my experience. He had me watching him last month on the range, begging tips on better stance, holding the barrel far too high, time and again. I passed him back to the training board in the end. He needed another few months to be anywhere near Departmental standard.”

My eyes stung at the inside of my lids. “And that, after all, is the most important thing to you, isn’t it? To meet Departmental standard.”

Niall’s breath hissed a little. “Not now, Tanner. You’re hurt, I know, but don’t you think this situation is more critical than our own issues?”