“Did he take a bad hit to the head?” Wagner spoke, even though I had told him to keep his mouth shut. That had always been his problem. He talked when he got nervous. In the field, that meant he talked constantly during every fire fight.
“Wagner? I thought they cut you loose.”
“Yeah. He cleaned up though, and he’s back on payroll.” I shot a glaring glance at Wagner and he cut off whatever he was about to say. Roberts and no one here would know that Wagner wasn’t back on the payroll except for Dirk. Maybe Trace. And HR, of course.
“Yeah. Well, I heard he only had a broken arm and collarbone. Plus a nasty hit to the head. He’ll come through, though. He always does.”
“Anyone in there with him?” I asked.
“Trace is in there. Has been since he got here.”
“Why don’t you go get a coffee? Three of us should be able to keep the boss safe.”
“Thanks, boss.” He headed down the hallway in search of coffee.
I nodded, gave another stern look to Wagner, and opened the door to his room.
It was dim in the room. The shades on the window were closed tight. A light above the bed cast a dim light on its occupant. Dirk lay in the bed, quiet, almost peaceful. He had a cast on his arm and an IV tube ran into his opposite arm.
A figure rose from a seat between the bed and the window.
“Stu. What the fuck happened?” Trace’s tone was accusatory. I had been Dirk’s driver today. He expected me to keep him safe like every driver and security personnel at the company.
Trace was an imposing man. Dark skin. Bald black head. Broad shoulders and bulging biceps. If there was anyone I didn’t want to get into a fight with, it was Trace. He was a hell of a soldier.
Right now, he was a pain in my ass and stood in the way of my mission.
It actually surprised me he was here. I had hoped Wendy would keep him happy and occupied for most of the day.
“There’s no time for that. How is he?”
“He’s got a broken arm, broken collarbone, and they’re not sure when he will wake up. They’re going to do a brain scan soon to make sure he’s okay. He’s going to survive, but this is totally fucked up. Why weren’t you driving him?”
“Why the fuck did you call in sick?”
Trace’s face shifted. If the mother fucker could turn red, I’m sure he would have. It wasn’t from anger. I’d seen that look before and I knew he would let up on any accusations he wanted to hurl at me.
Wendy had done her job well enough, although I wished she would have done it better.
Now, I just needed to get him out of here.
“Why is he here? Stay the fuck away from that equipment.” Trace’s head turned to the hospital bed and Wagner checking out the monitors and tubes running into Dirk’s body.
Wagner jumped.
“I’m a medic, remember? Just checking his vitals.”
“I remember him patching up that leg of yours when you took shrapnel from that explosion in Kabul.”
“Yeah. I remember. I thought Dirk canned him weeks ago.”
“Months ago actually, but he’s clean now and Dirk gave me the okay to rehire him.” The lie couldn’t be verified if the LT never woke up.
Wagner’s cheeks and frame were thin and gaunt, and I could make out sweat on his brow. He was anything but clean, but hopefully Trace wouldn’t notice in the dim light.
“Okay. Cool.”
“Settle down, soldier. Why don’t you get a coffee or something?” Trace reported directly to Dirk now, but I had been Trace’s master sergeant. I was hoping that might help me get him out of here.
