Megan's mate

Pretty face like a movie star. Said we was to come here and look you up. We'd get double if we put you in the hospital.

Looks like you're not going to collect that bonus.

After releasing his arm,

Nathaniel dragged the man up by the scruff of his neck.

Here's what you're going to

do. You're going to go back to Boston and tell your pretty-faced pal that I know who he is and I know where to find him.

For the hell of it, Nathaniel rammed the man against the wall on the way out the door.

Tell him not to bother looking over

his shoulder, because if I decide he's worth going after, he won't see me coming.

You got that?

Yeah, yeah, I got it.

Now pick up your partner.

The other man was struggling onto his hands and knees.

And start running.

They didn't need any more urging. Pressing a hand to his ribs, Nathaniel watched until they'd completed their limping race out of sight.

He gave in to a groan then, hobbling painfully through the broken door and into the house.

I have not yet begun to fight,

Bird claimed.

A lot of help you were,

Nathaniel muttered. He needed i.e. he thought, a bottle of aspirin and a shot of whiskey.

He took another step, stopping, then swearing, when his vision blurred and his legs wobbled like jelly.

Dog came out of the corner where he'd huddled, whimpering, and whined at Nate's feet.

Just need a minute,

he said to no one in particular, and then the room tilted nastily on its side.

Oh, hell,

he murmured, and passed out cold.

Dog licked at him, tried to nuzzle his nose, then sat, thumped his tail and waited. But the smell of blood made him skittish. After a few moments, he waddled out the door.

Nathaniel was just coming to when he heard the footsteps approaching. He struggled to sit up, wincing at every blow that had gone unfelt during the heat of battle. He knew that if they'd come back for him, they could tap-dance on his face without any resistance from him.

Man overboard,

Bird announced, and earned a hissing snarl from Nathaniel.

Holt stopped in the doorway and swore ripely.

What the hell happened?

Then he

was at Nathaniel's side, helping him to stand.

Couple of guys.

Too weak to be ashamed of it, Nathaniel leaned heavily on Holt.

It began to occur to him that he might need more than aspirin.

Did you walk into a robbery?

No. They just stopped by to beat me to a pulp.

Looks like they did a good job of it.

Holt waited for Nathaniel to catch his breath and his balance.

Did they mention why?

Yeah.

He wiggled his aching jaw and saw stars.

They were paid to. Courtesy of

Dumont.

Holt swore again. His friend was a mess, bruised, bloodied and torn. And it looked as though he were too late to do anything other than mop up the spills.

Did you get a good look at them?

Yeah, good enough. I kicked their butts back to Boston to deliver a little message to Dumont.

Half carrying Nathaniel to the door, Holt stopped, took another survey.

You look

like this, and you won?

Nathaniel merely grunted.

Should have known.

The news made Holt marginally more cheerful.

Well, we'll

get you to the hospital.

No.

Damned if he'd give Dumont the satisfaction.

Son of a bitch told them they'd

get a bonus if they put me in the hospital.

Then that's out,

Holt said with perfect understanding.

Just a doctor then.

It's not that bad. Nothing's broke.

He checked his tender ribs.

I don't think. Just

need some i.e.

Yeah, right.

But, being a man, Holt was in perfect sympathy with the reluctance to be bundled off to a doctor.

Okay, we're going to the next-best place.

He eased

Nathaniel into the car.

Take it slow, ace.

I can't take it otherwise.

With a snap of his fingers, Holt ordered Dog into the car.

Hold on a minute while I

phone Suzanna, let her know what's going on.

Feed the bird, will you?

Nathaniel drifted between pain and numbness until Holt returned.

How'd you know to come by?

Your dog.

Holt started the car and eased it as gently as possible out of the drive.

He played Lassie.

No fooling?

Impressed, Nathaniel made the effort to reach back and pat Dog on the head.

Some dog, huh?

It's all in the bloodlines.

Nathaniel roused himself enough to probe his face with cautious fingers.

Where are

we going?

Whereelse?

Holt headed for The Towers.

Coco squealed at the sight of him, pressing both hands to her cheeks, as Nathaniel hobbled into the family kitchen with one arm slung over Holt's supporting shoulders.

Oh, you poor

darling!

What happened? Was there an accident?

Ran into something.

Nathaniel dropped heavily into a chair.

Coco, I'll trade you

everything I own, plus my immortal soul, for a bag of i.e.

Goodness.

Brushing Holt away, she took Nathaniel's battered face in her hands. In addition to bruises and scrapes, there was a jagged cut under one eye. The other was bloodshot and swelling badly. It didn't take her longer than a moment to see that the something he'd run into was fists.

Don't you worry, sweetheart, we'll take care of you. Holt, run up to my room.