Hammond's right hand was slippery with blood,
but he managed to cram the key into the ignition and
start the motor. He dropped the gear stick into drive
and stamped on the accelerator. The tires laid down
rubber as his car shot down the alley and fishtailed
out into the street.
"Hammond, you're hurt!"
"What about you?" He took his eyes off the road
long enough to glance at Alex. She was sitting on her
knees in the passenger seat, reaching across the console
to examine his arm.
"I'm okay. But you're not."
What was left of his right sleeve was soaked with
blood. It dripped from his hand, making the steering
wheel almost too slippery to hold on to, and forcing
him to drive left-handed. But that didn't slow him
down. He ran a red light. "He's probably got friends.
They'll rob us and then steal the car. I've got to get
us out of this neighborhood."
"He wasn't trying to steal anything," she said with
remarkable composure. "He was after me. He called
me by name."
Hammond gaped at her; the car veered off the
road, nearly striking a telephone pole.
"Hammond!" she shouted. Once he had regained
control of the car, she said, "Head for the emergency
room. You're going to need stitches."
He released the steering wheel long enough to
drag his left sleeve across his forehead. He was
sweating profusely. He could feel it on his face, in
his hair, trickling down his ribs, gathering in his
groin. Now that the adrenaline surge was over, he
was feeling the impact of what had happened, and
what might have happened. He and Alex were lucky
still to be alive. Jesus, she could have been killed. The thought of how close she had come to dying
made him very weak and shaky.
At the first major intersection they came to, he
was forced to stop for a traffic light. He took deep
breaths in an effort to clear his head of a buzzing
noise that sounded like a thousand swarming bees.
"Your leg is bleeding, too, but it's your arm that
concerns me," Alex said. "Do you think he cut into
the muscle?"
Green light. Hammond pressed the accelerator
hard and the car bucked forward like a bronco charging
out of the chute. Within seconds it was exceeding
the posted speed limit. He could see the hospital
complex a few blocks ahead.
"Hammond, are you okay?"
Alex's voice seemed to drift toward him from far
away. "I'm fine."
"Can you drive the rest of the way?"
"Hmm."
"I don't think so. Stop here. Let me drive."
He tried to tell her that he was all right, but he
couldn't separate his words, so they came out garbled
and unintelligible.
"Hammond? Hammond? You need to turn here.
The emergency room--"
"No."
"You're losing a lot of blood."
"You're a doctor." God, his tongue had grown
thick.
"Not the kind you need," she exclaimed. "You
need a hospital. A tetanus shot. Maybe even blood."
Shaking his head, he mumbled, "My place."
"Please be reasonable."
"Two of us ..." He looked across at her and shook
his head. "We' screwed."
She grappled with indecision for several seconds,
but apparently came to the same conclusion. Reaching
across the console, she took control of the steering
wheel, which was slick with his blood.
"All right, but I'm driving."
She managed to steer the car to the curb and put it
in park. It took some effort, and some gentle but
forceful urging, to get Hammond to switch places
with her. She got out and went around, opened his door, and assisted him out. He was wobbly on his
feet. She tucked him into the passenger seat and se
cured the seat belt. As soon as he was settled, he laid
his head back and closed his eyes.
She couldn't have him pass out on her. "Hammond,
what's your address?" She reached for his cell
phone and began to dial. "Hammond!"
He mumbled a street address. "'Cross from marina.
Just. .."
He angled his chin in the right direction. Thankfully
Alex knew the street. It was only blocks away.
She could have him there within minutes.
Convincing Dr. Douglas Mann to make a house
call was another matter.
Miraculously, she had memorized his home
phone number. He answered on the second ring.
"Doug, Alex. Thank God I reached you." She explained
the situation as she drove, but omitted telling
him that it hadn't been a random attack.
"Sounds to me like he needs a hospital."
"Doug. Please. I'm calling in that favor."
Reluctantly, he asked for the address. She was
giving it to him as she pulled onto the street. "We're
here now. Come as soon as you can." The remote
opener for Hammond's garage was clipped to the
sun visor. She opened the garage door, then closed it
behind them as soon as she killed the engine.
Getting out, she ran around the hood of the car to
the passenger side. Hammond's eyes were still
closed. He was pale. When she tried to rouse him, he groaned. "It's not going to be easy, but I've got to get
you inside. Can you swing your legs out?"
He moved as though he weighed a thousand
pounds, but he managed. She slipped her hands into
his armpits. "Stand up, darling, and lean against
me."
He did so. But the movement hurt his right arm
and he yelped in pain. "I'm sorry," she said
earnestly.
It was like handling a hundred-eighty five-pound
rag doll. His coordination was shot. But he followed
her instructions, and she managed to get him out of
the car and on his feet. She supported him as they
shuffled toward the back door. "Is the door locked?
Will we set off an alarm?"
He shook his head.
She got him into the kitchen. "Where's the nearest
bathroom?"
He pointed with his left hand. The half bath was
located in a short hallway between the kitchen and
what she could see was the living room. She eased
him down onto the commode lid and flipped on the
wall switch. For the first time, she got a well-lit look
at his wounds.
"Oh, my God."
"I'm okay."
"No, no you're not."
The skin of his arm had been laid open. It was
hard to tell how deep the gash was because it was
leaking blood all along the cut. She went straight to
work. First she removed his jacket, then ripped the
sleeve of his shirt up to the shoulder seam. Yanking
towels and washcloths off the decorative bars, she
wrapped them around his forearm, pulling them tight to form compresses which would hopefully stanch
the bleeding.
Kneeling in front of him, she tried to rip his pants
leg, but the fabric was too strong, so she impatiently
shoved it over his knee. The cut along his shin
wasn't as deep as the one on his arm, but it was just
as bloody. His sock had absorbed a lot of it. She upturned
the empty wastebasket and propped his foot
on it, then wrapped his shin in towels as she had his
arm.
She stood up, pushed back her hair with a bloody
hand, and consulted her wristwatch. "Where is he?
He should be here by now."
Hammond reached for her hand. "Alex?"
She stopped fretting and looked down at him.
"He could've killed you," he rasped.
"But he didn't. I'm here." She squeezed his hand.
"Why didn't you tell them?"
"That you were with Pettijohn?"
He nodded.
"Because when they first questioned me, I
thought you had killed him."
His face went a shade more pale. "You thought--"
"I can't explain it all now, Hammond. It's too involved.
In the state you're in, it's doubtful you
would even remember it later. Suffice it to say that at
first I lied in order to protect myself. But when I
learned that Pettijohn had died of gunshot, I continued
lying to protect.. ."
He blinked, looked at her quizzically.
"You."
The doorbell rang. She pulled her hand free. "The
doctor's here."
He woke up, startled, her name on his lips. There
was something he must tell her, something urgent
they must talk about. "Alex." His voice was a croak,
alarming him. He moved to get up. The stiffness in
his arm caused him to remember.
He opened his eyes. He was lying in his own bed.
The room was dark except for a small night-light
that had been moved from the hallway and plugged
into a wall socket in the bedroom.
"I'm here."
She materialized at his bedside, bent over him,
and laid her hand on his shoulder. While he'd been
sleeping she had showered and washed her hair. She
was no longer covered in his blood, and her clothes
had been replaced with one of his oldest and softest
T-shirts. Just like at the cabin.
"It's time for another pain pill if you want one."
"I'm okay."
"Would you like some water?"
He told her no.
"Then go back to sleep."
She adjusted the sheet over his bare chest, but
when she tried to move away, he covered her hand
with his, keeping it trapped against his chest. "What
time is it?"
"A little after two. You've been asleep for a couple
of hours."
"Who was the doctor?"
"A friend of mine. A good friend. We can trust
him."
"You're sure?"
"Let's just say we've swapped professional favors.
He strongly advised me to take you to an emergency
room, but I prevailed upon him."
"Saying what?"
"That you didn't want to go through the rigmarole
of filing a crime report."
"He was okay with that?"
"No, because he saw Smilow and gang at my
house this morning. He knows something's amiss.
But I left him no room to argue. If your wounds had
warranted it, I would have insisted on the hospital
myself, no matter what. But once they were cleaned,
I was convinced he could treat them here. Actually,
you probably got better treatment here than you
might have received at the hospital. Much more
quickly, too."
"My memory of him is foggy."
"He gave you a shot that more or less knocked
you out, so I'm not surprised you don't remember
much. You suffered quite a trauma. It exhausted you,
and the blood loss made you weak." Smiling, she
stroked his forehead. "We had a heck of a time getting
you up the stairs. Wish we had it on video. We
could send it to America's Funniest."
"Will I keep my arm?"
Playing upon his joke, she replied solemnly. "He
wanted to take it, but I wouldn't let him. I threw my
body across it to protect it."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Truthfully, the wound was only
skin deep. Several layers of skin, but no muscle 01
nerve damage was done, thank God. Your leg didn't
need to be stitched. He said it would close on its own
within a few days. He gave you a tetanus shot and a
huge injection of antibiotics. Your butt's going to be
sore. He left some oral antibiotics and Darvocet
tablets for pain, which you can take every four
hours."
His bandaged right arm was propped on a pillow.
"It feels like lead, but it doesn't hurt."
"It's full of local anesthetic. As that wears off, the
soreness will set in. Tomorrow you'll be glad you
have the pain pills. Next week you can have the
stitches removed. Until then, you're to keep it in a
sling, elevate it when you can, and avoid getting it
wet."
"I was covered with blood."
"I gave you a bed bath."
"Sorry I missed that." He grinned, but it was a
struggle to keep his eyelids open.
"I also cleaned up your car and the bathroom.
They're spotless."
"You're an angel of mercy."
"Only to a point. I should be downstairs now
laundering the towels."
"Just throw them away."
"I guessed that's what you would say, so that's
what I did. Besides, I would rather be up here watching
over you." Tenderly, she combed her fingers
through his hair.
He shifted slightly, looking for a more comfortable
position. But even that much movement caused
him to wince.
"I'm giving you another pill."
This time he didn't argue. He was almost asleep
again when she pressed a tablet into his mouth, then
cradled his head in the crook of her elbow and eased
him up. She tilted a glass of water to his lips. He
swallowed the pill.
As she was lowering his head back onto the pillow,
he resisted, and nuzzled her breasts instead.
They felt full and inviting beneath the soft cloth of
his T-shirt. His lips closed around a nipple.
"You need to sleep," she whispered, gently easing
him away and back onto the pillow.
He sighed a protest, but his eyes automatically
closed. He felt her light kiss on his brow. And something
else, too. Opening his eyes again, he saw her
tears. Even as he watched, another splashed onto his