Second Shot

“Not when there’s so much at stake,” the banker said. He coughed, as if forcing himself to regurgitate what he considered to be confidential information. “Whoever has charge of Ella also has, at today’s exchange rate, around twenty-five million dollars to play with.”

Matt eyed him glumly. “Looks like I’ve got a fight on my hands, then.”

“Not quite, old chap,” Harrington said, and I thought I caught just the faintest glimmer of a smile slide across his thin lips. “I’d say we’ve got a fight on our hands, hm?”

Seventeen

Ten days after I was shot, I signed the necessary papers and discharged myself from hospital, much to the disgust of most of the staff there, although my departure fell just short of being totally Against Medical Advice.

My father definitely disapproved of my actions-but what else is new? In fact, my decision caused what I suspected was another flaming row between him and Sean, but neither would admit as much and-this time at least-they conducted it well out of my earshot.

By the time I made my escape I’d more or less mastered the art of staggering along on one crutch, although stairs were something to be avoided at all costs. I was beginning to be able to bear a little weight through my left leg, but walking unaided still seemed a distant dream rather than a reality. I remembered once having been able to run with a kind of wonder.

They’d unplugged me from all the machinery and declared the danger of infection in my wounds was probably past. I’d regained partial strength in my right hand and could just about raise it to my mouth, but not if it was attempting to lift a cup of coffee that was more than half full. I couldn’t dress myself without help, could barely cut my own food up and doing anything at all for more than about five minutes at a time brought on pain in the bottom of my right lung like a hot blade, and exhaustion so extreme it made my hands shake.

They gave me pills for every occasion, announced they couldn’t be held responsible if I keeled over and provided an orderly and a wheelchair to take me down to the Ford Explorer Sean had waiting. I would have loved to have scorned their transport and gone on my own two feet, but the truth was I just didn’t feel up to it. I thanked everyone who’d helped get me this far, trying to gloss over their hurt responses, like leaving before I was ready was a personal insult.

Some of the staff came down to see me off-or maybe they were just waiting to see me collapse before I made it that far. To my surprise, the surgeon with the perfect smile who’d operated on me was one of those who stood in the pale sunshine by the Discharges exit and watched me struggle the short distance between wheelchair and passenger seat. He shook my hand, frowning at the limp grip that was all I could manage to offer.

“Well, good luck, Charlie,” he said in that grave tone they must teach them in surgical college. “If all my patients had your determination, their recovery rates would be even higher than they already are. Just remember that your body needs rest. You need to be gentle on yourself sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah,” I said with a touch of bitterness that surprised me as I settled back gingerly into my seat while Sean strapped me in. “Tell that to Si-mone.”

I sensed Sean’s sharp glance, but I was watching the doctor’s face. He nodded, a little sadly, and stepped back.

My father hadn’t joined the little farewell party. He’d said his piece earlier that morning and announced he would be spending the next few days visiting one of his old colleagues who was now based in New England. “Just in case you have need of me,” he’d added cryptically.

Now, Sean slammed the door and moved round to the driver’s seat. I gave the staff a final wave and a smile and then the engine was fired up and we were rolling the short distance towards the exit.

I let my breath out slowly and leaned back against the headrest, shutting my eyes.

“You can drop the act now, Charlie,” Sean said quietly.

I opened my eyes again, reluctantly, and turned my head towards him. He was in his shirtsleeves, despite the freezing temperatures and the snow outside, and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. I wished they weren’t. It made him even harder than usual to read.

“What act?” I tried.

He’d been leaning forwards slightly, looking for a gap to pull out into the traffic rolling down the hill past the hospital, and he didn’t answer for a moment. Then he turned and stared right at me. I fought the urge to squirm. Even without being able to see his eyes, his gaze was cold enough to make me shiver.