Eleventh Hour

“Yeah, I know. Some balls, huh? How did you see that? I told you to keep way down.”

“I just looked up there at the end. The bastard.” She was starting to tremble, then shudder. He took off his bloody jacket and wrapped it around her, pulled her against his side. “It’s okay. Just hang on, breathe deeply. That’s right, nice and deep. Bo and Lou will be here in a minute.”

“I thought we were going to be bored out of our gourds,” Lou said when he trotted up. “I’m sorry, guys. We were really hanging back. We won’t do that again.” He looked at the shattered windows, closed the driver’s-side door, and waved away the six or so civilians who were closing in on them.

“Everything’s okay here, folks. Just go about your business. Hey, what’s all that blood? Jesus, Dane, you got hit.”

Bo said, breathing hard, “The guy clipped you, Agent Carver. Okay, let’s get you over to Elmwood Hospital, it’s the closest good emergency room. I took Lou there just last month.”

Dane said, “What was wrong with Lou?”

“I ate too much fat over a couple of days and got a gallbladder attack,” Lou said. He moved Dane’s hand and pressed his own palm hard over the wound. After a few minutes, he tied his handkerchief around Dane’s upper arm. Dane thought about his single piece of KFC and hoped he’d never have a gallbladder attack.

“There,” Lou said, “that should slow the bleeding down. Try to remember to give it back to me. My wife gave me that handkerchief for my birthday just three days ago. It’s real linen and she embroidered my initials on it. If I lose it, my goose is cooked.”

“It won’t be lost, Lou,” Dane said, “but it will be bloody.”

“My wife is used to blood. That’s okay.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” Nick said, looking up a moment from picking glass out of Dane’s hair. She said to him, “You just have a few nicks where some glass got you. Hold still. Bo, if you’ll take care of our rental car, Lou can take us to that hospital, okay?”

Bo gave Dane the once-over, nodded, then saluted. “Lou, try to get him a different doctor than the one you had.” He loosened the handkerchief a bit as he added, “The guy wanted to cut Lou up right there.”

“Didn’t happen,” Lou said. “I started feeling better and got the hell out of there. Your jacket’s ruined, Dane. Hey, Nick, you got yourself together?”

“I’m nearly together, thank you,” she said.

Lou looked at her more closely, seemed satisfied. “All right, we’re out of here. Bo has already called in. He’ll secure the crime scene until someone gets here. Dane, I don’t suppose you saw the shooter? Maybe a license plate?”

Dane just shook his head. “The guy wasn’t in a car, he was riding a Harley. I didn’t even get a good look at the gun. I was too busy trying not to get a bullet through my head. Nick, are your hands still bleeding?”

“No, hardly at all,” she said. “I’m just fine. Be quiet now, and let’s get you to the hospital.”

She’d regained her balance, held the shock at bay. He was proud of her.

Special Agent Lou Cutter got them to Elmwood Community Hospital in under eight minutes. He used the siren and traffic disappeared in front of them. It was an experience Nick had never had. It was, she told him, very cool.

Dane was breathing lightly through his mouth, the pain sharp and hot now, and he didn’t like it one bit. It was the first time he’d been shot. By a guy on a damned motorcycle. He said to Lou, “He was probably pla

“If he shot you,” Nick said, “you would have lost control of the car and crashed. Then he could have shot me really easily. Or maybe the car crash would have killed me.”

Lou said, “Thanks to you, Dane, you kept it together and pulled both of you through. Good job. Now, you do realize that this little show is way over the top. None of us expected anything like this. It’s completely different from what he’s done to date.”

Dane sighed. “Like you said, Lou, this performance was over the top. The guy’s desperate, he’s losing it. Nick, I’m sorry.”

“You’re the one he shot.”

Lou took care of all the administrative hassles with the emergency room staff, which was a relief since Nick was focused entirely on Dane.

She supposed that Dr. John Martinez thought she was Dane’s wife and so didn’t kick her out of the cubicle.

“Went right through your upper arm, Mr. Carver,” he said after cleaning and examining the wound, poking around while Dane watched him, his mouth tightly closed. “You were very lucky. Not anywhere near any major vessels. It isn’t bad at all, when you think about how bad it could have been. How did it happen? Were you cleaning your gun or something? You know that I’m going to have to tell the cops about this.”

“You already have,” Dane said. He pulled his FBI shield out of his i

“FBI. I’ve never treated an FBI agent before,” Martinez said as he injected Dane’s arm. “Let’s just give that anesthetic five minutes to kick in. Then, just a few stitches and that’ll be it, apart from a tetanus shot.” It felt to Dane like ten years passed before Dr. Martinez sank his first stitch.

Dane stared straight ahead, felt the push of the needle, the pull of the thread through his flesh. He focused on the array of bandages on the shelf in the cubicle. All sizes of gauze. In and out-it seemed like a hundred times-then, thank God, Dr. Martinez was done. Dane looked down at his arm as they bandaged it, then watched a nurse clean and bandage the backs of Nick’s hands.

“The stitches will resorb, but I want you to have them checked in a few days,” Dr. Martinez said. “We’re going to give you some antibiotics to take for a while. Any problems at all-fever, heavy pain-you get your butt either back in here or to your own doctor.” He looked over at Nick. “Hey, you a special agent, too?”

“She’s above just an ordinary special agent,” Dane said and sucked in his breath when the nurse jabbed a needle into his right arm.

“That’s your tetanus shot,” Dr. Martinez said. “Now, just one more for the pain. It should keep you smiling for a good four hours. And you’re going to need some pain pills, enough for three days. Don’t be a macho, take them.”

“He’ll take them,” Nick said, her bandaged hands on her hips, as if ready to belt him if he got out of line. She was still wearing his bloody jacket. She looked ridiculous.

The nurse said something and the doctor nodded. “Since you’re not his wife, you need to step out, ma’am. She’s got to give him a shot in the butt.”

“I’ve seen a lot of him already,” Nick said, “but not his butt.”

When Dane walked out of the cubicle, his left arm well bandaged and in a dark blue sling, he was trying to get his pants fastened with just his right hand.

Nick shoved his hand out of the way. “Hold still.” She zipped the pants the rest of the way up, fastened the button, then got his belt notched. “There, you’ll do.” She smirked, no other word for it. “Hey, did you have Dr. Martinez check the teeth marks on your shoulder?”

“He said I didn’t have to worry about infection, the antibiotic should cover the teeth marks, too. If you’re rabid, that could, however, be a problem.”

She smiled, a small, stingy one, but still something of a smile. She straightened in front of him, studied his face for a long time. She picked out the last of the glass and stroked her fingers through his hair to neaten it. “You’re pale, but not bad. Thank you for handling that so well, Dane. I owe you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You do.” He leaned down, kissed her, then straightened again. “Debt paid.”

She laughed, looked off-kilter for a moment, which pleased him, then took off his jacket and draped it over his back. He was about to kiss her again when Lou came up. “Everything’s taken care of. Everyone’s excited to have a real FBI agent in here with a bullet wound. They get LAPD occasionally, but never a Fed. I think that woman over behind that desk wants to jump your bones, Dane.”