Chapter 9 The Not Knowing
Chapter nine
The Not Knowing
Lance nearly leapt off the bed, unhealed leg and all. “What the fuck do you mean, she was ambushed? She was out with your girl; she should have been fine!” Something sizzled and snapped in his periphery, but he ignored it. He was too fired up to give a shit about leaking electricity.
On the other end of the line, Jon kept his words calm and even.
“The women went to handle one issue while I was dealing with another,” he said.
“Apparently, while they were regrouping from that, four guys that I’m pretty damn sure are connected to the pair from Monday’s shooting swarmed in on them with bad intentions.
” He paused at the same time as one of the machines cocooning Lance’s bed let out some type of warning alarm.
“Calm down before your temper summons half the hospital. I have more to tell you.”
Lance sucked in a hard breath and closed his eyes.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t had to learn to curb his temper and, more critically, the things that happened when his moods hit certain peaks.
It had just been a damn while since he’d been quite so unprepared for news that upsetting.
But he reined it in, pulling the energy down and inward until it churned only inside.
The benefit was, not being able to outwardly release his agitated energy meant it would find another outlet—and currently, the most obvious candidate for that was the leg still in disrepair.
Back under control, Lance said, “I need to know what happened. And why you think the new assholes are connected to the old ones.”
“That part’s easy,” Jon replied. “They mentioned PJ.”
Lance blinked and dropped back against the partially inclined mattress. “Pajama-boy?” His lip curled. “What the fuck’s his problem?”
“We obviously stepped on some toes the other day.”
Lance grunted. “Well, it would help if we had a damn clue who pajama-boy even fucking was.”
“I don’t disagree.” Jon was quiet a beat. “I took photos of the attackers and their IDs before we left the scene. I’ll send everything to Dietz, see what that wizard digs up. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Lance almost laughed. Dietz was gonna change his number when this shit was done. But the thought only reminded him of the reason he had called the man a short while earlier, and that just rekindled his anger. The frustrated sigh dragged out of him before he could stop it.
“Listen, brother,” Jon said after another moment of muted road noise, “this was never the plan. You know that. I got there as fast as I could.”
Lance rolled his jaw before replying out loud. “Yeah. I know.” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jon. It was that he was incredibly bothered being bedridden when someone was out there threatening his girl. “How many got away? How is she?”
“There were four attackers,” Jon said. “I dropped the two that were still conscious when I showed up. From what I’ve heard, your girl knocked out the other two herself.
She’s a little beat up, but I didn’t see anything serious.
Jenna told me today that your girl knows Krav Maga, so I’m betting that came in handy. ”
Lance snorted, but his lips twitched. He hated the idea of Lynn in a fight.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t respect her ability.
Sounds like she’s got skill. He remembered how easily she’d maneuvered the flirty nurse—that wasn’t a move most people could do so easily.
He’d caught glimpses. She knew how to plant her feet.
There was a subtle strength in her that spoke to more than psychological backbone.
He still hated that she’d ever needed to test it, or use it. That she might be hurt.
That he didn’t have her number.
The stupid question blurted from him before he could catch it. “You don’t have Lynn’s number by chance?”
Jon huffed, the sound vaguely amused. “I do not, sorry.”
Lance let his head thump back against the pillow. “Damn it all.”
All he could do was sit, useless, and worry.
Jon said he hadn’t seen anything serious.
He also said he’d seen signs of injury. Those were the words that plagued Lance as the night carried on and the next shift rolled in.
Day doc hadn’t made another appearance, probably to everyone’s benefit, and with the nighttime shift the grumpy male nurse was replaced by the flirty female one.
There was another nurse on staff, also—Lance glimpsed her through the window—but he didn’t seem lucky enough to get away from flirty Claire.
He wasn’t in the mood to be flirted with by a woman who couldn’t take no for an answer.
When it got late enough, he decided to at least feign sleep and hope she’d leave him alone.
Feigning sleep led to falling asleep, but it was a restless slumber.
He dreamed of struggling strategies, disputes with superiors, running laps on a track with no goal, and tumbling into a dugout in the middle of a firefight unprepared.
Lightning cracked through the sky like bombs exploding mid-air.
Distantly familiar voices shouted messages, pleas and warnings, that resonated with old memories.
Need more ammunition.
Men down.
Target sighted.
Air support, where’s the goddamn air support?
Under heavy enemy fire, we need more—
Lance jolted up, his heart pounding and sweat beaded on his skin.
A nightmare. Or whatever they were called when the nightmares were a jumbled collection of hellish memories.
Either way, not nearly the first time he’d had one.
He scrubbed a hand over his face as he gathered his breath.
He just needed a moment to push down the raw, agitated feelings those damn nightmares always roused.
Naturally, Claire burst into the room before he could find his metaphorical footing.
Didn’t seem he’d gotten enough sleep to skip over her shift.
She hustled up to the frenzied machines he hadn’t been paying attention to, silencing the obnoxious sounds and making disturbed noises she probably thought were cute.
Then, inevitably, she turned to him. She laid a hand on his shoulder in a soft but not tentative touch.
“Did something happen? Are you feeling sick?”
He grunted and dropped back just to jar her hand from his person. “It was a nightmare. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
Claire blinked at him. “A nightmare.” Her gaze returned to the machines for a lingering second, then back to him. “Lance, your vitals—”
“You ever been to war, Claire?” He met her stare through slanted eyes.
“It tends to get your heart pumping. Sets your nerves on fire. Watching men die all around you, dropping like flies, does some pretty fucked up shit to your head. Planting yourself on a rock, or in the weeds, and putting holes in the heads of men you’ve never shared a room with—men you’ve only seen through the scope on your gun—fucks with your head.
So, yeah. My vitals may have gone a little haywire for a second.
Because I was back there, in the pit, watching my brothers die and not being able to fucking stop it.
You think your vitals would be cool, calm, and collected? ”
She paled and took a step back as if he were threatening her. “Um, no,” she said on a whisper. “I don’t … I don’t think I could handle that at all.”
Didn’t think so.
She swallowed visibly. “Could I get you some water or something? Is there anything you’d like?”
Lance exhaled. “Yeah, actually. Some water’d be great.” She hurried out without another word, and he reached for his phone. If he’d clocked their schedules right, flirty Claire ought to be clocking off by hour’s end. So at least he’d slept through most of it.
He didn’t know Lynn’s schedule. If she was back on morning duty or if he wouldn’t see her until later.
If he’d see her at all. He was going to have to ask Jon to have Jenna get him Lynn’s number.
The not knowing, the having no way to know, was way fucking harder than standing in formation two hours too early had ever been.
Jenna’s SUV had a newer radio, and played CDs, but Lynnette had stupidly not thought to prepare so she didn’t have any CDs with her. She wasn’t about to mess with Jen’s radio. So, she left it off, remembering Jenna didn’t default to the same taste of music, and drove to work in a crushing silence.
She was driving her best friend’s SUV, because her dependable pickup needed body work.
Most mechanics would have turned up their noses and declared her truck totaled because it had a small bit of frame damage and was ‘outdated.’ But Jon had found her a guy in Klamath, through some former Army guy he’d recently met, who had assured her he could do it.
It wouldn’t be done overnight, nor would it be cheap, but the man had convinced her he understood the importance.
Or maybe her bruised, split, still reddened knuckles and blood stained shirt had convinced him not to fuck with her.
She dropped her gaze to the knuckles she’d done her best to clean after getting home.
The blood was gone. She’d washed up, cleaned out from beneath her nails, carefully patted the worst splits and scrapes on her hands.
She’d even washed out and home-patched the cuts on her body.
The one on her side was thin. It really only needed cleaning and a Band-Aid.
The one that had bitten into her trapezius muscle between her neck and shoulder was more of a bother.
She’d had to stick on a few butterfly stitches for that and cover it with a gauze pad.
At least it was far enough from her neck that she could conceal it under her scrubs.