Walt hoped Jakob wouldn’t retreat back to his silence. He enjoyed hearing his thoughts and for such a seemingly serious, stoic man, Jakob had a great sense of humor and a very dirty mind. Walt shook his head when his thoughts traveled to the sexy activities that had been interrupted by the fire alarm.
He wasn’t sure how to return them to that moment.
No, he wasn’t sure if he should.
Walt didn’t have a clue how long he and Jakob had held Annalise on the floor of that caravan before Vadisk had cleared his throat and told them he was going to make sure the car they’d arrived in hadn’t been damaged by the blast. Really, Vadisk had been giving them a few minutes to pull themselves together, as well as telling them it was time to leave.
It spoke to Walt’s intense fear for Annalise’s well-being that he’d forgotten about the man lying just a few feet away from them.
Walt had released Jakob and Annalise, crawling over to Axel’s body. He’d witnessed the kick, seen Jakob’s boot connect with Axel’s face, and he’d known immediately that the man was dead. And if that hadn’t done it, the terrifyingly professional and efficient way Jakob had broken the man’s neck would have.
Walt had taken a pulse, but hadn’t searched for a breath. Axel had died instantly, his spinal cord snapped. Most likely if they looked on an X-ray, he would have died from atlanto-occipital dislocation—commonly referred to as an internal decapitation.
After that, things had moved in slow motion, as every action felt like they were performing it neck-deep in thick mud. A fog had settled in all their brains, their motions performed by rote. They’d found a clean T-shirt and sweatpants in the caravan—Annalise’s clothing had been sliced to ribbons—and helped her dress, then Jakob had carried her to the car.
Vadisk had promised to call and make arrangements for someone to take care of the clean-up at the site, then he’d driven them—in a car that now sported some serious dents and a missing back passenger window—to the hotel just as the sun was setting.
None of them had spoken a single word during the ride. Annalise looked shell-shocked, battered and bruised—inside and out. Meanwhile, he, Vadisk, and Jakob appeared as if they’d just walked out of a war film, filthy and bloody after coming far too close to being blown to Kingdom Come by the car bomb.
Exhaustion—mental and physical—had taken them all down quickly last night. Walt had wanted to take Annalise to the hospital. There was a severe contusion on her arm, as well as several on her shins, and the start of two black eyes. But he’d held his tongue. Not forcing her to go to the hospital was only the second-worst medical decision he’d made yesterday, after the blind injection he’d given Jakob.
They’d returned to the room they’d vacated earlier in the day, climbed into the bed together, and fallen fast asleep. They hadn’t even undressed or washed up, hadn’t done more than slip off their shoes.
Walt glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly noon, but he didn’t have the heart to wake them. He’d only spent a few days aware of Annalise’s stalker, of the horrors the man had subjected her to. Meanwhile, she and Jakob had spent years wallowing around in that nightmare. With the threat removed, they were obviously catching up on years of lost slumber.
If they weren’t still knee-deep in the hunt for a serial killer, the doctor in him would have suggested at least a few days of serious bed rest for both of them, and he probably would have prescribed a sedative to ensure that happened.
Glancing at his phone, he realized he’d missed an early-morning text from his new friend Vadisk. The man said they were getting a one-day reprieve, but that the admiral of Hungary intended to pay them a visit.
Apparently, the admiral was looking for answers. Answers Walt knew they couldn’t provide. Not without betraying the fleet admiral.
Walt sighed as he looked at the bed once more, surprised to find Annalise had turned toward him, her gaze on his face.
“How do you feel?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb Jakob.
Annalise’s brow furrowed, and he got a sense she was genuinely searching for a response to his question. He could almost imagine her doing a mental check-in, trying to analyze her condition. Finally, she said, “Numb.”
After the avalanche of emotions she’d released yesterday, he wasn’t surprised. “Maybe that’s a good thing for now.”
She gave him a ghost of a smile. “Maybe it is.” Then she twisted her head to look at Jakob. “How is he?”
“The effects of the venom, and the nerve blocker, should have subsided by now.” Walt walked over to the bed and sank down next to her. “I would like to examine you.”
He’d wanted to do at least a field exam last night since they weren’t going to the hospital, but Annalise had refused, allowing him to do little more than a cursory exam, insisting she was fine.
“I’m fine,” she persisted.
“You aren’t getting another bye, Annalise.”
Before she could continue the fight—or ask him what that meant—Jakob rolled toward them, propping himself up on his elbow. “Let Walt look at you.”
Annalise sat up gingerly. Walt kicked himself for not demanding to examine her last night, but she’d been emotionally fragile and he hadn’t wanted to push.
She tried to take off the T-shirt, but stopped, unable to hide her wince of pain. Walt gently took her hand in his, holding it steady, as he stretched the material until he was able to pull her arm out.
“Shit,” he murmured, a similar curse coming from Jakob as well, when their gazes landed on the large black bruise covering one entire shoulder.
“Wine bottle,” she said quietly.
At Walt’s questioning glance, she elaborated. “He hit me with a wine bottle.”
Jakob growled. “He died too quickly.”
Walt sighed and shook his head. “Jakob,” he started, perfectly aware that he and the Ritter would never see eye to eye when it came to the value of a human life. Jakob saw the world in terms of good and evil, an eye for an eye. Walt, however, had sworn to preserve life—all lives—and the lightness or darkness of the souls within those bodies was immaterial.
Jakob didn’t give him a chance to contradict him. “He deserved to suffer more.”
The tone in Jakob’s voice told Walt he would never be convinced otherwise, so he returned his attention to Annalise.
That was when he saw the bite mark on her neck—and for the flash of a second, Walt found his own humanity wavering, his anger toward Axel and the pain he’d caused Annalise sparking a desire for payback.
Walt swallowed the foreign feeling down, digging deep for the clinical detachment that allowed him to do his job competently, without emotion getting in the way of the work.
He ran his fingers over the bruise on her shoulder, gently probing. Given the range of motion she’d already displayed, he was fairly certain she hadn’t suffered a break, but even so… “I want to get an X-ray of this arm. I don’t think it’s broken, but there could be a hairline fracture.”
She sighed. “Does that have to be today? I really don’t want to get out of bed. I just feel…”
“Numb,” he said, repeating her earlier assessment.