To Catch A Thief. Nan Dixon
He wasn’t sure he could hold a fork. “Sure.” “I’ll order food.” She made notes on a computer. “There’s another agent who’s been waiting for you to wake. I’ll call him.”
Sage closed his eyes. If he didn’t move, his headache receded—a bit. He slowly raised his hand. Lifting his arm had him gritting his teeth and moaning. Bandages. Covering the left side of his head. Yet he couldn’t remember how he’d been hurt.
Shoes squeaked on the floor. “Pain?”
“Oh, yeah.” If he could call a cattle stampede in his head pain.
The nurse clicked away on a computer. “You have standing orders for meds when you wake. I’ll be right back.”
The door squeaked as it opened and closed.
He focused on the pain as it pulsed with his heartbeat. Each beat was an ice pick in his head. He counted. Got to four hundred and eighty-three before the door squeaked again. The nurse bustled back into the room, a syringe in her hand. She pushed the meds into his IV. “That should help.”
Warmth ran up his arm from the IV site. He should be asking what she’d given him. He should be asking her name. He should be asking what the hell happened. But words wouldn’t move from his brain to his lips. Too much effort.
Sage’s body melted into the thin mattress.
He must have slept, because when he cracked his eyes open, Kaden was sitting next to his bed working on a laptop.
Sage grunted.
“How’re you feeling?” Kaden asked.
He swore.
“That good?”
“What happened?” Sage shifted and the pain in his head didn’t roar to life. The meds must have taken it down a bit.
“What do you remember?” Kaden asked.
“Woods.” Sage remembered crouching in the woods. “Mosquitoes. Friggin’ sweat.” He frowned. Pain drilled behind his eyes. “They’d opened a window, so I wanted to find out how many perps. Dog. There was a dog.”
“Anything else?”
His memory was blurry. “Did the dog attack me?”
“Yeah.” Kaden got up and paced. “Bullmastiff. Over a hundred pounds.”
Sage touched his head. Two days unconscious? “This is from a dog?”
“Well, a dog and a bullet.”
“I took a bullet?” Sage cursed.
“It winged you.” Kaden’s gray eyes narrowed. “The dog smacked you into the cement block of the house. Not sure why he didn’t rip out your throat.”
Why couldn’t he remember? “Did the team get the heroin?”
“Yeah. But the one who shot you escaped.” Kaden leaned on the windowsill, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. “I told you to wait.”
“Wait?”
“I was moving to cover you, but you charged in.” Kaden paced back to the bed. “Again.”
“But we got the drugs off the street?”
Kaden set his fists on the edge of Sage’s bed. “Of the three men, one is in custody, one is in this hospital, but the leader escaped.”
Sage closed his eyes, trying to recall anything besides the memory of heat and humidity. His stomach roiled. “I... I can’t remember.”
“Rest, kid.” Kaden moved away from the bed. “Margaret’s stopping by later.”
Kid. Sage cringed at the nickname. But when Sage had joined the Savannah FBI office, Kaden had taken him under his wing. “Am I in trouble with the boss?”
“Maybe. She’d have preferred to capture all three, but one of the guys has already given up the next level.” Kaden rubbed his hand through his short hair. “And they’re new names in the drug distribution business. The hole that Bole and Salvez left when we picked them up has already been plugged.”
“I...” It took too much effort to make his words and thoughts come together.
“You’ve got to start listening, Cornell. When you have a team—use the team.”
“Uh-huh.” Unfortunately he’d heard that before. But to be effective, to be of service to his country, he needed to take risks. It was the Cornell family way.
Damn, what would his father say?
CAROLINA GRIPPED HER mother’s hand as they waited for Mamá’s oncologist. Her fear of losing her mother was back. Mamá had had a CAT scan yesterday and they were here to review the results.
Were these the same miserable chairs they’d sat in ten years ago? Carolina had been fifteen and she’d focused all her energy on helping her mother through radiation and chemo to fight her breast cancer.
It’d been a week since she’d arrived and they were fighting the same ten-year-old battle. Maybe after Mamá received treatment, Carolina would return to Nashville and resurrect her career. Maybe Mamá could come live with her.
“Rosa. Carolina. Good to see you.” Dr. Laster, her mother’s oncologist, entered the room. “Rosa, you have some choices to make.”
Apparently, Dr. Laster was still as straightforward as Carolina remembered. The doctor turned a computer screen toward them and moved around the desk to stand between her and Mamá. “You have tumors in your brain, here and here. And a new one since your scan a month ago.”
“Wait. A month ago?” Carolina asked. When her mother had called, she’d sounded like she’d just gotten the news.
Dr. Laster nodded.
“Mamá. Why are you only discussing treatment options now?”
“I took that cruise with the law firm.” Her mother waved her hand. “I didn’t want to look hideous.”
“But your health?” Carolina couldn’t believe this.
Dr. Laster squeezed Carolina’s shoulder and shook her head.
“They were just headaches. I’ve had them for months.” Her mother pushed back her hair. “Dr. Laster will make the tumors go away.”
“Rosa, I told you—” Dr. Laster took her mother’s hand “—your prognosis, even with treatment, is less than a year.”
Less than a year? Tears slipped down Carolina’s cheeks. She’d thought Mamá would be treated and survive. How could she lose her beautiful, flighty mother?
“Don’t cry, darling.” Her mother smiled. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
They laughed. Carolina’s chortle a little more watery than her mother’s or the doctor’s.
“This time is different.” Dr. Laster took Carolina’s hand, sympathy filling her eyes. “Rosa, I need to confirm that Carolina is authorized to discuss your medical care and condition with your care providers.”
“Yes. Yes.” Rosa waved her hand.
“As I said before, please work with a lawyer and create your health directives. It’s time to get your affairs in order so you don’t have to worry in the next few months.”
Health directives. Affairs. Next few months. Carolina’s head swam.
“How I wish for an affair,” her mother sighed. “But I only loved Carolina’s daddy. He’s been dead twenty years.”
Her