Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“What?” Ian groused, turning to Miro and then looking back at Chris.
“One of the orderlies who was in there, a real one, a hostage, said that the chief deputy was moaning, and there was a lot of blood, and when Osborne got down on one knee to check him over and tell him he was going to––” He glanced at me, stopping, waiting.
“I can guess,” I stated, shivering.
“He said he was going to put him out of his misery, and that’s when our boss sat up, boxed Osborne’s ears as hard as he could, grabbed his gun as he screamed, and yelled at the other two guys to drop their weapons just as Wes and the rest of his SOG team breached the room.”
I watched the others absorb that information.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Ian groaned, sounding absolutely wrung out.
Chris shook his head.
“All that while he was shot and losing blood?” Eli questioned.
“Yeah,” Chris answered, nodding.
“How does he…how?”
“I don’t know” was all Chris said.
It was weird. Half of me wanted to say, “That’s how Sam Kage is,” and the other half of me was terrified because after the spike of adrenaline was over, he could have bled out or gone into shock or a million things that could never be accounted for. I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief because obviously he was so tough, made of steel, and would, of course, be fine. But what if…? And those words, those two little words, wouldn’t let me find comfort in any part of my husband’s heroics.
“Were any hostages hurt?”
“No,” Becker replied. “The staff members who were being held along with the rest of the prisoners on the ward are all fine.”
Because of Sam.
“He’ll certainly get a commendation.”
I just wanted him back in one piece.
“Okay,” Chris announced, looking at Ian. “Go home. I’m going to meet with the Feds. Wes is there now briefing them about the breach. I have Judicial support sending over guys to guard the chief deputy’s room as soon as he’s in recovery. The police superintendent reached out to offer protection, but I’m more comfortable with us handling it, and when I spoke to Marshal Kenwood, he agreed with my assessment. They’ll report to Eli as soon as they arrive on-site.”
Everyone nodded.
“Eli will call us all the second he knows anything, after which he’ll brief the press.”
“I will,” Eli acknowledged.
I shook hands with Chris, then Ian, and finally Miro, before Eli closed the door and I was alone in the back of the SUV with the partition up. Moments later, Eli got back in, retaking his seat beside me, as silent as we had been earlier.
Twenty minutes or so later, he got out to talk to two men. They had to be the guards, and so I leaned out and thanked them for being there to protect Sam. Each one shook my hand.
We sat there again, undisturbed, until a quarter to ten when I got a call.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
“Yes?”
“Good evening, Mr. Harcourt,” the woman on the other end greeted me warmly. “I’m Dr. Dorothy Chen at Northwestern, and I’m the one who treated your husband when he arrived.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I croaked, catching my breath.
“The chief deputy is a very lucky man,” she began gently. “There was a clean entrance and exit of the bullet, and there was no damage to any organs, meaning the small bowel, colon, liver, other vascular structures, his stomach or kidneys.”
“Really?” I was stunned.
“I’m as surprised as you are,” she replied flatly. “Normally, there’s far more damage than skin and muscles when one is shot in the abdomen, but between the caliber of the bullet and how close to your husband the shooter had to be, I suspect the vest he was wearing played a pivotal role in his survival. I believe the trajectory was altered by the vest, because the bullet itself was lodged there in the mesh when we took it off him.”
“So if he was shot from the side, how did the bullet miss vital organs?”
She sighed deeply. “I’ve been a doctor for over thirty years, and I can tell you that at times they travel precisely as expected, and at others, they take strange and not at all plausible detours. Today, fortunately, we have a case of one that can only be accounted for as lucky.”
It hit me all at once, and my voice sounded rusty and broken. “He’s going to be okay.”
“Yes, he’s going to be fine. He should make a full recovery as long as he follows all aftercare directives and takes things slow. I can’t stress this enough.”
Her tone, which had begun calmly, had ended firm and severe, rising almost angrily, as though she were giving me an order.
“Dr. Chen?”
There was the hint of a growl under her breath.
I coughed softly. “I apologize on his behalf.”
“Oh no,” she rushed out, “that’s not necessary. I would like to see him remain in the hospital for a full seven days, and have put that recommendation into his chart.”