judging everyone.
When Patrick groaned and stirred a little, the strange woman exchanged a glance with her significant other and broke off to come to them. She crouched down next to him as his eyelids fluttered, and he groaned again. She probed his head injury carefully, then nodded.
“No fracture I can determine, but there could be swelling,” she said, “and almost certainly a major concussion. You should take him to a hospital as soon as possible to rule out any permanent damage. He has been unconscious for too long for it not to be serious.” Her American accent was, of course, flawless.
“Thanks, Doctor, but we’ve got this,” Bryn said. She was guessing, but the woman’s brisk, calm manner was something that seemed very familiar to her. Not that she had any fondness now for the medical professions. “He’ll be fine.”
The woman raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and went back to her cold-war spouse. It was good of her to have made the overture, though; she didn’t have to, by the letter of her verbal agreement with Brick.
Bryn knelt down next to Patrick as his eyelids fluttered again. He wasn’t quite out of it, and wasn’t quite in it, either. She checked his pupils. They were equal, which was good news, but the Russian doc had been right; he needed to be seen by someone qualified to check him over in detail. Field medicine could do only so much, and then it got its patient killed from the myriad of deeper complications that weren’t immediately obvious.
“Ready,” Brick said, and she glanced up to see that all the cars had been backed out of the barn and into the gravel yard. “Get him in—we’ll rendezvous with the med team in half an hour.”
“How exactly are we going to do that with Jane on our tail?” Joe asked.
“You let me worry about that,” Brick said. “Let’s roll.”
“A moment,” the Russian woman said, and stepped forward again, frowning. “You’ve been wounded.”
She said it to Bryn, and her gaze was fixed on the barely visible blood beneath the grass and mud stains on her shirt. Bryn froze a second, darting a glance at Joe, and knew he was on high alert, too.
“Not my blood,” she said, and smiled just a little. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Joe, help me get Patrick in the truck, will you?”
Joe didn’t hesitate. He dragged Pat up, and Bryn took his feet—not that Joe couldn’t do it all by himself, but she needed an excuse to get away from further scrutiny. Together, they carried him to the SUV, easing him into a seat. Riley went around to the other side and got in as well. Brick took the driver’s seat, and Bryn backed up toward the passenger side.
“A moment,” the Russian doctor said again, insistently. “You’ve been hit, or you stripped a corpse that was shot. There is no other explanation for—”
Brick calmly pulled a sawed-off shotgun out from under his seat and pointed it right at the two Russians, and said, “And we were all getting along so well. Guess detente never lasts, right? Leave the girl alone, unless you want to hear the bad things that happened to her while she was being held naked in a warehouse until we rescued her. Yeah, she stripped a corpse. Killed him her own damn self. You wouldn’t?”
His flat delivery, and the forbidding look in his eyes, reinforced the threat of the shotgun, and although the Russians didn’t raise their hands in surrender, they didn’t give them any more trouble or ask any more questions. Brick handed the shotgun to Joe, who stepped in and took the back passenger seat behind him, keeping the aim steady on the other two.
“Thanks for the hospitality, folks,” he said. “Let’s do lunch sometime, eh? Vodka and borscht on me.”
Brick backed the truck out in one smooth, fast motion, and led the convoy out of the farm, back on the service road. This time, they didn’t take the corn shortcut, but followed the grids of dirt roads all the way back to the freeway.
Joe rolled up the window and
When Patrick groaned and stirred a little, the strange woman exchanged a glance with her significant other and broke off to come to them. She crouched down next to him as his eyelids fluttered, and he groaned again. She probed his head injury carefully, then nodded.
“No fracture I can determine, but there could be swelling,” she said, “and almost certainly a major concussion. You should take him to a hospital as soon as possible to rule out any permanent damage. He has been unconscious for too long for it not to be serious.” Her American accent was, of course, flawless.
“Thanks, Doctor, but we’ve got this,” Bryn said. She was guessing, but the woman’s brisk, calm manner was something that seemed very familiar to her. Not that she had any fondness now for the medical professions. “He’ll be fine.”
The woman raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and went back to her cold-war spouse. It was good of her to have made the overture, though; she didn’t have to, by the letter of her verbal agreement with Brick.
Bryn knelt down next to Patrick as his eyelids fluttered again. He wasn’t quite out of it, and wasn’t quite in it, either. She checked his pupils. They were equal, which was good news, but the Russian doc had been right; he needed to be seen by someone qualified to check him over in detail. Field medicine could do only so much, and then it got its patient killed from the myriad of deeper complications that weren’t immediately obvious.
“Ready,” Brick said, and she glanced up to see that all the cars had been backed out of the barn and into the gravel yard. “Get him in—we’ll rendezvous with the med team in half an hour.”
“How exactly are we going to do that with Jane on our tail?” Joe asked.
“You let me worry about that,” Brick said. “Let’s roll.”
“A moment,” the Russian woman said, and stepped forward again, frowning. “You’ve been wounded.”
She said it to Bryn, and her gaze was fixed on the barely visible blood beneath the grass and mud stains on her shirt. Bryn froze a second, darting a glance at Joe, and knew he was on high alert, too.
“Not my blood,” she said, and smiled just a little. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Joe, help me get Patrick in the truck, will you?”
Joe didn’t hesitate. He dragged Pat up, and Bryn took his feet—not that Joe couldn’t do it all by himself, but she needed an excuse to get away from further scrutiny. Together, they carried him to the SUV, easing him into a seat. Riley went around to the other side and got in as well. Brick took the driver’s seat, and Bryn backed up toward the passenger side.
“A moment,” the Russian doctor said again, insistently. “You’ve been hit, or you stripped a corpse that was shot. There is no other explanation for—”
Brick calmly pulled a sawed-off shotgun out from under his seat and pointed it right at the two Russians, and said, “And we were all getting along so well. Guess detente never lasts, right? Leave the girl alone, unless you want to hear the bad things that happened to her while she was being held naked in a warehouse until we rescued her. Yeah, she stripped a corpse. Killed him her own damn self. You wouldn’t?”
His flat delivery, and the forbidding look in his eyes, reinforced the threat of the shotgun, and although the Russians didn’t raise their hands in surrender, they didn’t give them any more trouble or ask any more questions. Brick handed the shotgun to Joe, who stepped in and took the back passenger seat behind him, keeping the aim steady on the other two.
“Thanks for the hospitality, folks,” he said. “Let’s do lunch sometime, eh? Vodka and borscht on me.”
Brick backed the truck out in one smooth, fast motion, and led the convoy out of the farm, back on the service road. This time, they didn’t take the corn shortcut, but followed the grids of dirt roads all the way back to the freeway.
Joe rolled up the window and
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