Under the Gun

She knelt quickly, her hands covering one of his. “Oh, Will. What am I gonna do with you?”

He rubbed his free hand over his face, dipped it in the water and swiped it again. “Get me a doctor.”

“The pain still that bad?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “No. The eyes are still that bad.”

How am I supposed to get Matt’s murderer if I can’t see to shoot straight?

“I’ll help you,” she said, as if he’d spoken out loud.

A ripple of unease crawled up his spine. How did she do that? She’d done it before. When?

“In the hospital…” She laid her cheek against the back of his hand.

He pulled his hand free and sat upright. “What?”

“In the hospital,” she repeated, “you saw something. You envisioned that guy coming down the hall and warned us. If you hadn’t, we’d all be dead now. You’ve never felt…seen anything like that before, have you?”

He was still too shaken to answer, still caught up in the notion that she might be reading his thoughts. As Matt used to do, answering unspoken questions.

What if Holly had the power to do that, too, and had simply elected not to tell anyone about it? Will didn’t even want to imagine what she might have picked out of his thoughts about her since they’d first met. No, couldn’t be. She would have said something about that, for sure.

As for the other thing she’d mentioned, his warning to them, he didn’t want to think about how he had done it. And he sure didn’t want to talk about it. Matt could have explained it, if only he were around to ask.

His death seemed unreal, impossible. But it was a fact.

If only Matt had experienced a premonition before they’d gone out that night. He’d had no warning something fatal was about to go down. Why was that? Why hadn’t he picked up something—anything—from the shooter before the event? This Odin must have been near enough that Matt could have done so, probably during the whole operation.

Maybe there’d been too many people converging all at once for Matt to have zeroed in on any particular one. After all, just about every man at the airport had been armed and ready to kill anybody who got in the way. And Matt’s ability wasn’t all that consistent. Not surefire.

He had been blessed—or cursed, as Will sometimes thought—with telepathy and occasionally prescience. Will had never before experienced either one, at least not with people other than his brother.

There was the twin deal, of course. He and Matt had always operated on the same wavelength, a fairly common occurrence between identical twins. Besides that, the best Will had ever managed was the tingling along the back of the neck when being watched, a keen wariness when expecting things to go wrong, the usual intuition many people had.

Life without his twin was just too unthinkable.

Will couldn’t decide whether he was now a half person or if he had absorbed Matt’s soul and become two. It was as if his brother were still here…even closer than before he had been killed.

“Going back to sleep? If you are, I’m draining this tub so you won’t drown,” Holly warned, dragging him back to the present. She leaned over the edge and put her hand in the water.

Matt grabbed her wrist, glad to note his reflexes were still working. “You leave the drain alone,” he warned. He moved her hand away and promptly turned her loose.

Her fingernail raked softly down the side of his face. “I see you shaved,” she said, her tone sardonic.

“How observant.”

“Hard not to notice. You have blood running down your neck.” Her nail tapped just below where he had nicked himself.

She stood, her figure wavering as he looked up at her. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the tub. You’re getting all pruny.”

Pruny, huh? Maybe his fingers and toes. Will sat right where he was, wondering how many soap bubbles were left in the tub to provide cover. Probably not many. Maybe none.

He was picking up signals from Holly that indicated she was taking full advantage of the view. He felt himself stir. No matter how cold the water, when a woman was looking at you naked, it had a predictable effect.

“Where’s that guy? The one who’s been helping me,” he demanded.

“Doc Grayson? He’s in the kitchen. He trained as a medic his first stint in the navy, but he’s not a real doctor. He’s just—”

“Yes, but he is a real guy, okay? Leave me a little dignity. You’ve already made one too many jokes about my gun.”

She laughed, the sound merry as Christmas morning. “You rascal! That dry sense of humor’s still working, huh? I’ll go get Doc.”

Will smiled in spite of himself, listening to her laughter trail down the hallway and out of earshot. It was all right, after all. She wasn’t reading his mind. If she had been just now, she wouldn’t be laughing.

He splashed water on his face to wash away the blood from the nick.

In a few minutes, someone else entered the room. “Doc…Grayson, is it?”

“That’s me,” said the quiet, gentle voice. Will sensed he was an older man.

“Thanks for the help.”

“No problem. That’s what I get paid for.”

He didn’t elaborate. Doc was a man of few words, his movements unhurried and methodical as he assisted Will out of the tub and helped him dress.

The sweats were new, judging by the slightly starchy feel of them. Will didn’t care where the clothes came from; anything was a damn sight better than a freaking hospital gown. He sat down on the john and pulled on the socks Grayson put in his hand.

“Here are your shoes.”

One at the time, Will put the stiff new runners on and tied them. This was like being a kid again, but not in a good way. “I’m stronger now.” He stood up and stretched. “I feel better,” he announced, adding a little starch to his voice. Just saying it almost made it so.

“Take it easy now,” Grayson advised. “Don’t want to get too feisty too soon.”

“No, really, I’m okay,” Will argued. “I can make it under my own steam if you’ll guide me around the furniture. The big stuff I can maneuver, but anything spindly sort of blends in.”

“Was the optic nerve damaged?” Grayson asked.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Will snapped, then was immediately sorry. “Look, I don’t even know if the bullet’s still in my head, okay? Let’s go ask Holly.” He started for the door and tripped on the scatter rug.

Grayson caught him. “You better slow down.”

“Or get a fast dog and a cane.”

“No use making light of it, son. We’d best get somebody who can see about your eyes.”

“My thoughts exactly. I told Holly to,” he said as Grayson led him out of the bathroom.