and patted him lightly on the butt, getting an annoyed grunt in response, then helped him to the ambulance.
Eddie’s injuries fortunately turned out to be comparatively minor, a collection of cuts, grazes and bruises that looked far worse than they actually were. Once assured that he would be all right, Nina left him to be patched up in the emergency room while she went in search of Rowan Sharpe.
He had been taken to an operating theatre so his gunshot wound could be treated. She couldn’t help but be worried, but the nurse’s assurance that he had been stable and conscious when he was moved out of the ER assuaged her concerns a little.
The route from the ER to the surgical waiting area took her past the hospital’s main entrance - and its gift shop. Remembering her promise to Rowan, she smiled and popped in to make a purchase before continuing on her way.
A familiar face was already in the waiting area: the doctor who had provided first aid at the exhibition centre. ‘What’s happening with Rowan?’ asked Nina after they had exchanged brief greetings. ‘How long has he been in there?’
‘About thirty minutes,’ said the doctor. ‘The bullet wound was a through-and-through, fortunately - clean entry and exit. He was very lucky, actually. It only scraped his lung. Another inch to the side . . .’
Nina shuddered, not wanting to think about it. ‘But he’ll be okay?’
‘His chances are good, I’d say. There was a fair amount of muscle damage, though, so he’ll be in pain for some time.’
‘I know how that feels,’ said Nina, absently touching her right thigh, where she had once received a bullet wound of her own. The doctor continued describing Rowan’s good fortune at having avoided significant damage to any major organs, but she was now only half listening. The main thing was that he would be all right.
After twenty minutes, the doors to the operating theatre opened and Rowan, lying on a gurney, was wheeled out. At first Nina thought he was unconscious, but as he passed his eyes flickered open and met hers. One eye closed again . . . in a wink. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered.
About ten minutes later, a nurse came to find her. ‘Dr Wilde? Dr Sharpe is asking for you.’
Nina jumped up and followed the woman to a recovery room. Rowan lay in a bed, a pale, fragile figure hooked up to wires and tubes. A monitor beside the bed silently recorded the slow pulses of his heartbeat. ‘Rowan? How are you feeling?’ She felt almost embarrassed at asking such a dumb question, but it was all she could think of.
‘Hey, Nina.’ His voice was little more than a whisper behind a transparent oxygen mask. ‘So that’s what getting shot feels like? You didn’t tell me it hurt so much.’
‘Can I touch him?’ Nina asked the nurse, getting a nod in reply. ‘Jerk,’ she said, rapping his knuckles. ‘God, I was so worried about you.’
‘So was I!’ He tried to laugh, which turned into a cough. The nurse gave them both a scolding look, and checked the monitor before leaving the room. ‘What about the Codex?’
‘They didn’t take it,’ Nina said, tactfully deciding not to concern him with the news that it was currently on the bottom of San Francisco Bay. ‘Eddie stopped them.’
‘Great. I think you’ve . . . found quite a good husband. Obviously not the best you could have done, but . . .’
‘Oh, stop it.’
He smiled, then turned his head slightly to look down at her neck, weakly raising one hand to indicate her pendant. ‘Just goes to show that thing . . . really does bring you good luck.’
‘Seems like I need a lot of it.’
‘I’m just glad some of . . . your luck rubbed off on me tonight.’ His gaze moved down to her hands. ‘Did you . . . bring me something?’
Nina held up a bag of chocolates. ‘Dark. I remembered. Wouldn’t want to give you hives.’
‘Yeah, as if I don’t . . . have enough to worry about!’ Another smile - then he frowned sharply.
‘Are you
Eddie’s injuries fortunately turned out to be comparatively minor, a collection of cuts, grazes and bruises that looked far worse than they actually were. Once assured that he would be all right, Nina left him to be patched up in the emergency room while she went in search of Rowan Sharpe.
He had been taken to an operating theatre so his gunshot wound could be treated. She couldn’t help but be worried, but the nurse’s assurance that he had been stable and conscious when he was moved out of the ER assuaged her concerns a little.
The route from the ER to the surgical waiting area took her past the hospital’s main entrance - and its gift shop. Remembering her promise to Rowan, she smiled and popped in to make a purchase before continuing on her way.
A familiar face was already in the waiting area: the doctor who had provided first aid at the exhibition centre. ‘What’s happening with Rowan?’ asked Nina after they had exchanged brief greetings. ‘How long has he been in there?’
‘About thirty minutes,’ said the doctor. ‘The bullet wound was a through-and-through, fortunately - clean entry and exit. He was very lucky, actually. It only scraped his lung. Another inch to the side . . .’
Nina shuddered, not wanting to think about it. ‘But he’ll be okay?’
‘His chances are good, I’d say. There was a fair amount of muscle damage, though, so he’ll be in pain for some time.’
‘I know how that feels,’ said Nina, absently touching her right thigh, where she had once received a bullet wound of her own. The doctor continued describing Rowan’s good fortune at having avoided significant damage to any major organs, but she was now only half listening. The main thing was that he would be all right.
After twenty minutes, the doors to the operating theatre opened and Rowan, lying on a gurney, was wheeled out. At first Nina thought he was unconscious, but as he passed his eyes flickered open and met hers. One eye closed again . . . in a wink. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered.
About ten minutes later, a nurse came to find her. ‘Dr Wilde? Dr Sharpe is asking for you.’
Nina jumped up and followed the woman to a recovery room. Rowan lay in a bed, a pale, fragile figure hooked up to wires and tubes. A monitor beside the bed silently recorded the slow pulses of his heartbeat. ‘Rowan? How are you feeling?’ She felt almost embarrassed at asking such a dumb question, but it was all she could think of.
‘Hey, Nina.’ His voice was little more than a whisper behind a transparent oxygen mask. ‘So that’s what getting shot feels like? You didn’t tell me it hurt so much.’
‘Can I touch him?’ Nina asked the nurse, getting a nod in reply. ‘Jerk,’ she said, rapping his knuckles. ‘God, I was so worried about you.’
‘So was I!’ He tried to laugh, which turned into a cough. The nurse gave them both a scolding look, and checked the monitor before leaving the room. ‘What about the Codex?’
‘They didn’t take it,’ Nina said, tactfully deciding not to concern him with the news that it was currently on the bottom of San Francisco Bay. ‘Eddie stopped them.’
‘Great. I think you’ve . . . found quite a good husband. Obviously not the best you could have done, but . . .’
‘Oh, stop it.’
He smiled, then turned his head slightly to look down at her neck, weakly raising one hand to indicate her pendant. ‘Just goes to show that thing . . . really does bring you good luck.’
‘Seems like I need a lot of it.’
‘I’m just glad some of . . . your luck rubbed off on me tonight.’ His gaze moved down to her hands. ‘Did you . . . bring me something?’
Nina held up a bag of chocolates. ‘Dark. I remembered. Wouldn’t want to give you hives.’
‘Yeah, as if I don’t . . . have enough to worry about!’ Another smile - then he frowned sharply.
‘Are you
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