The Spy Who Tamed Me

So much for the busted eardrums theory, thought Rowan with a sliver of relief. If Jared could answer the doc’s quiet questions without watching the older man’s lips, he wasn’t deaf.

‘You’re not deaf,’ she said, and was rewarded by the faintest curve of Jared’s lips. ‘There goes a week’s wages for at least half of my agents.’

‘Yeah, but the other half will be richer for it.’

‘What’s he like when he really smiles?’ Rowan asked.

Maybe it wasn’t an entirely appropriate question to voice, but it never hurt to be well informed and armed for the battles ahead.

‘I haven’t seen it for a while,’ Lena said. ‘But historically it tends to be pretty lethal. Nations fall. Angels weep. That sort of thing.’

‘Amen,’ Jared mumbled.

‘See, if he wasn’t all beat up I’d thump that arrogance out of him,’ offered Lena. ‘Because I love him.’

Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away before her brother could open his eyes and see them.

The doctor picked it up, though, and his next words were soothing. ‘He’s conscious, he’s coherent—’

‘No blood coming out of any orifices. I’m perfect … Got any painkillers?’ the patient said next.

‘For what?’

‘Ribs.’

‘Sit up and let’s have a look at them.’

Jared moved to a sitting position on the edge of the bed with a little help from Trig. He also accepted help when it came to the removal of his borrowed suit jacket, but he unbuttoned the shirt beneath it himself.

He took his time, but Rowan figured that the delay had more to do with Jared’s current lack of fine motor skills than with any real desire to delay the process. Finally the shirt came off, to reveal a sweat-stained bandage held in place with silver electrician’s tape.

‘I dislocated my shoulder at one point as well. But I got it back in.’

‘Yourself?’

‘A bathtub helped.’

‘Jared, can you raise your arms above your head?’

‘Last time I tried that I woke up two hours later, facedown on the deck.’

‘When was that?’

‘Three days ago.’

‘Any additional problems since then?’

‘A crucifying lack of sleep.’

‘Jared, I’m going to check your lungs and heart. Then you’re going to raise your arms for me while I do it all again, and then you’re going to lie back down while I examine your ribs more thoroughly.’

Jared nodded.

Rowan tried to afford the man some privacy, but it was hard not to stare at the spectacular bruising that bloomed across his sculpted chest as the doctor unwound the bandage. He’d taken a beating, this man. And then some.

The doctor listened to his lungs and heart with a stethoscope and then poked and prodded around his stomach and lower still while everyone else stood and watched. And then, as the patient began to raise his arms and the doctor began to press on his ribs, he passed out again.

‘May as well keep going,’ said the doctor as he caught him and eased him back onto the bed with impressive nonchalance.

Jared came round moments later but stayed right where he was, encouraged to do so by the doctor’s hand on his shoulder.

The examination continued and the doctor finally made comment. ‘Without access to X-rays, I’m thinking he has four substantially cracked ribs.’

‘Show-off,’ muttered Lena, her voice ragged with worry. ‘What else?’

‘Soft tissue damage—as you can see. Probably some compression damage. Do we know what hit him?’

‘We know there was a series of explosions on board a yacht, and we can reasonably assume that Jared was thrown around by them. He also drove a truck through a warehouse wall and rolled a four-wheel drive in the desert.’

That was all the detail a civilian doctor needed.

‘All of which happened two to three days ago.’ She looked at the physician. ‘He’s been travelling ever since. Does he need a hospital?’

‘No,’ said West. Conscious again. ‘I’ve already been to one.’

Not by my reckoning. ‘Where?’

‘In … um …’ His voice drifted off. ‘Might have been Budapest. X-rays. Strobe lights. Everything. They gave me pills.’

‘Sure it wasn’t a disco?’ she offered dryly.

‘I like you,’ he said.

‘Can you remember the name of the pills?’ the doctor asked.

Jared snorted. ‘No. They were good, though. Kept the packet for future reference. Pocket.’

The doctor leaned down and rifled through the shirt on the floor, pulling out a small container. ‘How many did they give you?’

‘Five.’

‘Two to three days ago, yes? It says here one a day. Where are the other two? And don’t tell me you doubled up on them.’

So the patient said nothing.

‘What are they?’ asked Lena.

‘Cocaine derivative. Explains his ability to keep going, perhaps. And why he’s crashing so heavily now.’