Smooth Talking Stranger

Jack swayed a little and was immediately pushed in a chair.

"He's dehydrated," I said, going to the water dispenser in the corner and filling up a paper cup.

"Why aren't you on an IV?" Churchill demanded, hovering over him.

Jack showed him his hand, where an IV needle was still inserted and anchored with tape. "They used a fourteen-gauge needle, and it feels like a six-pe

"Pussy," Gage said affectionately, rubbing the top of Jack's rough, salt-stiffened hair.

"How's Joe?" Jack asked, taking the water from me and drinking it in a few gulps.

They all exchanged glances-not a good sign-and Gage answered carefully. "The doctor said Joe has a concussion and a mild case of blast lung injury. It may take a while for the lungs to get back to speed, maybe up to a year. But it could have been a lot worse. Joe's in respiratory distress and has borderline hypoxia-so they're treating him with supplemental high-flow oxygen. He'll be spending some serious time in ICU. And he can hear out of one ear, but not the other. At some point a specialist will tell us if the hearing loss is permanent."

"That's okay," Jack said. "Joe never listens anyway."

Gage gri

"Where?"

"Abdomen, mostly."

Jack swallowed hard. "How bad?"

''We don't know."

"Shit." Wearily Jack rubbed his face with both hands. "I was afraid of that."

"Before they corral you again," Liberty said, "can you tell us what happened,Jack?"

Jack gestured for me to come to him, and he pulled me into his warm side as he spoke. It had been a clear morning, he said. Fishing had been decent, and they had gotten an early start back to the marina. But on the way they'd seen a huge brown seaweed mat, about an acre in size. The mat had formed its own ecosystem with algae, barnacles, and small fish, all living amid the accumulated driftwood and mermaid purses.

Figuring there was good fishing around or under the mat, the brothers had killed the engine and glided up to the seaweed. In just a few minutes Jack had hooked a Dorado, the rod nearly doubling and the reel screaming off a bunch of line as the acrobatic fish took off. It leapt from the water, revealing itself to be a five-footer, a monster, and Jack had followed around the boat to keep the line from catching. He had shouted to Joe to start the boat and go toward the fish, otherwise it would gain too much line. And just as he started to reel it in, Joe had started the engine and there had been an explosion.

Jack fell silent at that point, blinking as he struggled to recall what had happened next.

Hardy murmured, "Sounds like a buildup of fumes."

Jack nodded slowly. "Maybe the bilge blower cut out? Hell knows with all that electronic crap… anyway, I don't remember anything about the explosion. All of a sudden I was in the water, and there was debris everywhere, and the boat had turned into a fireball. I started looking for Joe." He looked agitated, his words coming in choppy bursts. "He'd grabbed on to a floating cooler-remember the orange one you got me, Gage-so I looked over him. I was afraid he'd gotten a leg blown off or something-and he was all in one piece, thank God. But he'd gotten one hell of a knock on his head, and he was struggling. I got hold of him and told him to relax, and I towed him to a safer distance from the boat."

"And the weather came in," Churchill prompted.

Jack nodded. "Wind picked up, water got rough, and we were getting pushed away from the boat. I tried to stay with it, but it took too much energy. So I just held on to Joe, and the cooler, and I swore I wouldn't let go no matter how long it took for someone to find us."

"Was Joe conscious?" I asked.

"Yeah, but we didn't talk much. The waves were too rough, and Joe was having a hard time breathing." Jack worked up a rueful smile. "The first thing he said to me was, 'Guess we lost that Dorado?' " He paused as everyone chuckled. "And later on he asked if we should worry about sharks and I said I didn't think so, since it was still shrimp season and most of the sharks go offshore to pick off throwbacks." A stark, endless hesitation. He swallowed hard. "After we'd waited a while, I could tell Joe was getting worse. He told me he didn't think he was going to make it. And I said-" His voice broke, and he dropped his head, unable to finish.

"You can tell us later," I whispered, putting my hand on his back, while Haven handed him a wad of Kleenex. It was too much, making him relive it so soon.

"Thanks," Jack said gruffly after a minute, blowing his nose and letting out a sigh.

"Here you are." A strident, accusatory voice came from the doorway, and we all looked up to behold a stout, redhaired nurse with a ruddy complexion, pushing an empty wheelchair into the waiting room. "Mr. Travis, why did you run off like that? I've been looking for you.'

"I took a break," Jack said sheepishly.

The nurse scowled. "That's the last break you'll get for a while- you're getting a new IV needle put in, and you're going for your MRI, and I may think up some extra tests to pay you back for scaring me half to death. Disappearing like that…"

"I completely agree," I said, urging Jack to stand. "Take him. And keep an eye on him."

Jack shot me a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder as he shuffled to the wheelchair.

The nurse stared incredulously at his scrub pants and T-shirt. "Where did you get those?" she demanded.

"Not telling," he muttered.

"Mr. Travis, you need to stay in your hospital gown until we're finished with all your tests."

"Bet you'd like that," Jack retorted, "me wandering bare-assed around the hospital."

"With all the backsides I've seen, Mr. Travis, I doubt I'd be impressed."

"I don't know," he said reflectively, easing into the wheelchair. "Mine's pretty good."

The nurse wheeled him around and pushed him through the doorway while they began to trade insults.

TWENTY-THREE

After jack's tests were finished, the hospital kept him for six hours of observation. After that, the nurse promised, he could go home. They let him shower and wait in a private suite, one of their VIP rooms. It was decorated with maroon wallpaper and a mirror with an ornate gold frame, and a TV housed in a Victorian armoire.

"This looks like a bordello," I said.

Jack irritably flipped his IV lines so they didn't catch on the bed rail. One of the nurses had detached him from the IV long enough to let him take a shower, and then she'd hooked him up again despite his protests. "I want this needle out of my hand. And I want to know what the hell's going on with Joe. And I've got a bitch of a headache, and my arm hurts."

"Why don't you take one of those pain pills they keep trying to give you?" I asked gently.

"I don't want to be out of it, in case there's news about Joe." He flipped through the TV cha

"Okay," I murmured, standing beside him. I reached out to stroke his clean, damp hair, letting my fingernails lightly scratch his scalp.

Jack sighed and blinked. "That feels good."

I continued to sift through his hair, scratching gently as if he were a big cat. Not two minutes later, Jack was completely out.

He didn't move for four hours, not even when I periodically smoothed more salve onto his lips, or when the nurse came in to change the IV bag and to check the monitor readouts. And I sat and watched him the entire time, half-afraid I was dreaming. I wondered how I had fallen so deeply in love with a man I had known for such a short time. It seemed my heart had been set on full throttle.