Blood Lines

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›› Intensive Care Unit

›› Presbyterian Hospital

›› Charlotte, North Carolina

›› 0814 Hours

When he tried to open his eyelids and found that they weighed about a hundred pounds each, Shel knew he was on serious pain medication. The too-bright illumination from the overhead track lighting was another clue. The fact that his nose itched told him that at least one of the prescribed meds was Demerol. His nose always itched when he was on Demerol.

“Hey.”

Woozy, Shel rolled his head to the side. The room seemed to spin. He closed his eyes involuntarily.

“Easy,” a soft feminine voice suggested. “Go slow.”

Shel checked his teeth with his tongue. It was a habit after all the fights he’d been in. At least this time it didn’t seem like any dental work was involved. Everything was where it was supposed to be.

“You still with me?” the woman’s voice asked.

When he recognized her voice then, Shel said her name. “Maggie.”

“Got it in one, Marine.”

Shel didn’t want to try to smile. He always looked goofy when he was on Demerol and smiled. Some of the guys he’d toured with had pictures to prove it. But he smiled anyway because Maggie was there and he thought it was great she was there. In fact, everything seemed kind of great.

He blinked his eyes open again. “Good to see you, Maggie.”

“I bet.” Maggie stood at the foot of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

Maggie laughed.

“Didn’t know you were twins.” Shel tried to focus and bring the two images back into one. He almost had it, but it took nearly everything he had to accomplish that.

“I think I’ll suggest to the nurse that they cut back on the meds,” Maggie said.

“Sure.”

“If you start hurting, you’ll want to let them know.”

Shel nodded, and the effort seemed like it took forever. The room spun again too.

“Can I get something to drink?” he asked.

“You can have ice.”

Shel sighed.

“Sorry, big guy. Nurse’s orders. With all the painkillers you’re on, if you drink water, it might come back up.”

“Ice,” Shel agreed.

Maggie fed him a few ice chips with a plastic spoon.

Shel savored them, holding them in his mouth till they slowly melted and relieved some of the parched sensation in his throat. That was from the tube the emergency room people had shoved down his esophagus to keep the airway open. The next couple of days weren’t going to be pleasant swallowing.

“How bad is my arm?” he asked.

“Nothing permanent,” Maggie replied. She spooned more ice chips into his mouth. “The bullet tore into your upper thoracic cavity and struck the underside of the glenohumeral joint. There was some-”

“English,” Shel protested.

“The bullet hit you in the chest and caught the underside of the ball and socket joint in your shoulder.”

“Now that I can understand,” Shel said, “but only because I’ve had a few shoulder separations.”

“The surgeon did mention there had been previous operations.”

Shel nodded. “Football.”

“Then you know the rehab you’re going to have to do to get everything back in shape.”

“No permanent damage?” Shel asked again because he wanted to hear it once more. One of his biggest fears was that he’d get disabled somewhere along the way, then shelved at a desk job or released on a medical discharge. All he had was the Marines. If something like that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself. He didn’t have a family like Don, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want one.

“No permanent damage,” Maggie agreed. “The bullet deflected downward and went into your right arm. It nicked the brachiocephalic artery just enough to cause problems.” She paused. “Remy probably saved your life. Twice. When you went down, the EMTs couldn’t get to you.”

“Max,” Shel said, understanding at once.

“You passed out from blood loss. Max went into total protective mode. Unfortunately that wasn’t what you needed at the time.”

“Max is okay?” Shel knew there were times when a dog had to be put down so medical teams could save an unconscious and wounded K-9-equipped soldier.

“Max is fine,” Maggie said. “He’s downstairs with Remy. They’ve become best buds.”

Shel grinned. “You won’t believe how sad a day it is when a man’s dog deserts him.”

“Hardly. Max knows you’re here. Somewhere. How he knows is anyone’s guess, but-”

“He’s a trained Marine. Never underestimate Marine training.”

Maggie gave him a wry look. “-but he’s refusing to leave the hospital now that he’s here. He walks the corridors a lot looking for you.”

“Remy?” Shel deadpanned. “I knew he was starting to warm up to me, but-”

“Oh, if you can do humor, maybe you can get your own ice chips.”

Shel smiled and thought again how he shouldn’t be doing that. “I give.”

Maggie gave him another helping of ice chips. “Anyway, the EMTs should have started you on an IV immediately. And packed the shoulder wound. Remy did that and kept you alive until you

reached the ER.”

“Naahhh,” Shel said. “I’m too tough to kill.” Fatigue washed over him then, or it might have been the Demerol. He closed his eyes and quietly went away.

Somewhere in there, though, he heard Maggie whisper, “I hope so.”

›› Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office

›› 400 South Tryon Street

›› Suite 900

›› Charlotte, North Carolina

›› 1126 Hours

Dressed in a suit, including jacket and tie, Will Coburn sat in the waiting area outside the FBI offices. He referenced his notes on his Pocket PC and ignored the attention he was getting from the young FBI agent seated on the other side of the office. The agent had been put there to bird-dog him. Will didn’t mind. As long as the agent was there, it was a sure indication that whoever had assigned the detail to him was in the building as well.

Will had been kept waiting for over two hours. But he didn’t think of sitting there as waiting. He was guarding the door. Special Agent-in-Charge Urlacher was in the building. Will intended to see to it that the man didn’t leave without talking to him.

Ten more minutes passed; then Urlacher emerged from the back offices with Victor Gant and three other agents. Gant, Will noticed, wasn’t in handcuffs. That, he decided, was interesting.

Will stood and put his Pocket PC back on his hip. He straightened his jacket over the holstered Springfield XD-40 snugged under his left arm and followed Urlacher and his entourage out into the hallway.

“Special Agent Urlacher,” Will called.

Urlacher looked over his shoulder but didn’t break stride on his way to the elevators. He nodded at one of the younger FBI agents. The agent peeled off from the group and headed back toward Will.

“I’m sorry,” the agent said. “Agent Urlacher can’t be bothered right now.”

Without saying a word, Will stepped around the man, moving too fast to be stopped because he’d never slowed his pace.

The agent grabbed Will’s right wrist and pulled. “I said-,” he started.

Will smoothly slid his hand over the agent’s wrist, rotating his own wrist toward the man’s thumb to pop it free. He grabbed the man’s jacketed shoulder before he could react, then twisted him around and shoved him face-first into the wall hard enough to jar the picture hanging there. He jacked the wrist he’d captured up toward the man’s shoulder blades.

The man grunted in pain and stood in place.

“Touching me without provocation is assault,” Will said in his commander’s tone. “I’m a federal officer, so that’s a federal violation.”

The other two agents reached under their jackets for their weapons. Will held his captive and stared straight into Urlacher’s eyes. Victor Gant seemed amused by the situation.

Urlacher raised his hands and the two agents pulled their hands back. “Commander Coburn.”

“That’s right,” Will said. “I thought maybe we could have a word.” He forced a smile. “A polite word.”

“It’s hard to be polite when you’re wallpapering the hallway with one of my men.”

“It’s hard not to wallpaper the hallway with your men while one of my team is lying in the hospital because you had to try to high-hat us,” Will said. His captive struggled, so he lifted the man’s arm higher till he was tiptoeing to keep the pain at a tolerable level.

“Pretty harsh talk from a single man,” Urlacher said.

“Trust me,” Will said, “I’m all that’s standing between you and a base full of Marines that happen to think a lot of my gunnery sergeant.”

“What do you want?”

Will stepped back from his captive and released him. He watched the man. The agent nursed his arm and walked over to join Urlacher and the others.

“There’s going to be a review by the Charlotte police department crime teams of what went down last night,” Will said.

“You mean the shooting.”

“I do mean the shooting,” Will said. “I expect my gunney to be cleared in the matter. I thought I’d come talk to you and get this worked out ahead of time. In case you or your men had problems remembering exactly how everything happened last night.”

“You’re with the NCIS?” Victor Gant asked. A crooked smile twisted his thin lips.

Urlacher put a hand on Victor’s chest and held him back. “Stay out of this,” he said.

“Do you know who I am?” Victor demanded.

“I do,” Will said. “I don’t have an issue with you at the moment, Mr. Gant. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Maybe I have an issue with you,” Victor said. “Your man killed my son. Shot him down like he was a dog.” His voice was hoarse with anger.

Will met the man’s angry glare and didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Both of them knew it hadn’t happened the way Victor Gant said it did, but any weakness on his part would have confirmed the other man’s story in his mind.

Urlacher grabbed Victor by the arm and shoved him back. “Get moving.”

Victor continued to stare at Will.

“Take it outside,” Urlacher said, eyeing the man vehemently. “Or I will arrest you.”

Victor went, accompanied by two of Urlacher’s agents, but he glared at Will until the elevator doors closed.