Night Hush by Leslie Jones Page B

various drips annoyed her. She’d been swarmed the moment the helicopter touched down. In short order, she’d been whisked from a rapid bedside ultrasound to a CAT scan, and in less than an hour she’d been in surgery. The doctor had taken one look at her battered body and been generous with the pain meds; the first days had passed in a blur.
    This time when the doctor made his rounds, she would be coherent enough to get some answers. She pressed the button that raised the head of the bed so she could sit up, wincing as her bruises made themselves known, and drummed her fingers against the bed rails.
    Finally, Dr. McGrath came in, followed by a straggling group of interns. He picked up her chart and flipped through it, then handed it to the closest one. “Dr. Sottile, run down the history for me.”
    The intern cleared his throat, glancing at Heather and away again. He ran quick fingers over his trimmed beard, the red in his face matching the red of his hair. “Patient is a twenty-­six-­year-­old female presenting with a grade three blunt trauma splenic injury, causing intra-­abdominal bleeding in the retroperitoneal space. Failed observation with dropping hemoglobin . . .”
    Heather tuned the intern out. She wasn’t interested in what had happened; she wanted to know when she could get out of the hospital. Finally, his litany and the subsequent questions died down, and the group turned to leave.
    â€œDr. McGrath,” she called.
    The group stopped and turned as one, staring at her with mild curiosity. Dr. McGrath came back to her bedside and gave her a gentle smile. “What is it, Lieutenant?”
    â€œWhen can I go home?”
    The smile turned into a grimace. “I’ll move you from ICU onto the medical-­surgical floor tomorrow, but only if your vitals remain steady and the infection in your shoulder starts responding to treatment. If you continue to improve, you might be released as early as Friday or Saturday. Just so you know, though, the base Public Affairs Officer approached me about moving you into an inpatient room to control media access when I feel you’re fit enough for that particular impending circus.”
    Four more days. Heather groaned. Military health care was much more conservative than its civilian counterparts; in the civilian world, she would probably be home already. Still, she was not a hundred percent yet. A lethargy that had nothing to do with the morphine running through her veins tugged at her. Her skin felt hot and dry.
    Dr. McGrath checked her wrists, rewrapping them in soft gauze. “These are healing nicely.”
    Heather frowned. “Can you at least make that beeping noise go away?” she grumped.
    â€œSure. The danger’s past. Try to get some rest.” He patted her hand and left.
    As soon as Dr. McGrath closed the door behind him, it opened again. Expecting the nurse, Heather sat up, ready to yank the leads off her body.
    â€œHello.”
    Her head swiveled around in surprise. The broad shoulders filling the doorway sent an immediate wave of relief through her. Jace.
    â€œHi.”
    â€œYou’re awake,” he said.
    â€œFor the first time in days, I think. I’ve been pretty much out of it.”
    â€œI know.” He entered, glancing around a room that suddenly seemed smaller. He rolled his shoulders, looking uncomfortable. “So, ah, how are you?”
    â€œI’m doing all right.”
    The banal chitchat felt odd to her, as though somewhere in the past week her veneer of civilization had slipped.
    â€œThey still have you on pain meds. That’s not the same as being all right.” He pointed to the IV in her arm. “Demerol, right?”
    She nodded. Her head felt too heavy, so she eased it against the pillows.
    â€œCan I, uh, get you anything?”
    â€œA little water, please.” Her skin prickled as he came closer and filled her small cup from the