Doc creaks down to his knees and starts doing all the things, humming, mumbling, poking, prodding, assessing. “The bullet?” he asks.
“Exited,” Otto says.
“Good. Very good.” Doc slips a line into Brad’s arm and hold up a bag of fluids. “Where was he shot?”
I look at him like he’s stupid. Where the fuck does he think he was shot? His arse? “His shoulder.”
“No,” Doc mutters. “I can see very well he’s been shot in his shoulder, Danny. I’m asking where? Here? Can I work on him, or are we in danger?”
“We’re safe.”
“And how long ago? So I may ascertain what I’m dealing with. Fast blood loss, slow?”
“Oh.” I frown, trying to get my brain working.
“About twenty minutes ago, at a guess,” James says, joining me on the ground. I see Beau lower by Brad’s head and stroke his wet hair out of his eyes, true concern splattered across her face. “It was a hairy escape.”
“Adrenaline,” Doc concludes. “It’s quite a fuel when the body needs it.” He stands with effort, holding the bag of fluids, and wags a finger at all of us. “Let’s move him into the car so I may take him back to the house and get some blood in him.”
“You have blood?” I ask, taking Brad’s feet as James gets him under his arms.
“I have everything, Danny,” Doc says, walking alongside us to the car, never taking his eyes off Brad. “Conditioning myself to expect the unexpected has been quite a godsend since I became the private doctor for the world’s most wanted.”
“That’s not official,” James grunts. “We’re not even on the list.”
“And I pray you never are, because I can save you from bullets, burns, and broken bones, but not when you’re behind bars.”
James catches my eye, and he raises his brows, as do I, silently amused.
And quite sobered by Doc’s statement.
We place Brad into the back of one of the Mercs, and Beau tries her hardest to get him comfortable, huffing and puffing, not happy with his position. “I’m going with him,” she declares, slipping into the seat and lifting Brad’s head onto her lap. It’s an endearing sight. Seeing her worry. Seeing her care. Sadness and appreciation in equal measure wash over me. Appreciation for our women. And sadness that Brad hasn’t got his own to fret over him. He has ours, though. Always.
Beau looks at James and me in turn. “And someone needs to give Rose the heads-up on the guests we’re expecting.”
Fuck it.
I need to be the one to do that. I’m terrified this whole messy situation will trigger something in her. Like the ring did. “Be vague,” I say, looking as awkward as I feel when Beau shows her incredulity.
“Ten women are about to arrive and check into Casa Black, Danny. What do you want me to say? That you and James became the Pied Pipers for women in Miami?”
“Ha . . . ha,” I drone.
She sighs. Beau knows what this could mean. “I’ll do what I can.” Doc passes her the bag of liquid, she pulls the door closed, and Len pulls off once Doc is in the car.
“What a fucking day,” I breathe.
“And it’s not over yet,” James says, holding his hand out. Leon places my Marlboros in them and he’s quick to light one, handing it to me before lighting one for himself.
We both turn in unison on deep inhales and long exhales, creating a sizable cloud of nicotine that conceals us from Higham, and when it clears, his face is a picture I’ll never forget as Ringo, Goldie, Otto, and Jerry lead out ten women from the cabin and put them in the cars.
“My God,” he says, shaking his head, waving a limp hand at the cars as they drive off. “All sedated?”
“Yes.”
“And what carnage is there to mop up?”
“About fifteen dead Polish fuckers.” I smile. “You. Are. Welcome.”
He breathes in, looks to the sky, and breathes out. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’m busy for a few days,” I call, thinking the last thing we need is FBI, whether friendly or not, hanging around while we’re taking a delivery. Or burying Beau’s dad. “So only call me if you have news on my father.”
He throws a hand up, dismissing me, and gets in his car, wheel-spinning away. I look at James, who nods, catching my drift. We both head into the cabin, help ourselves to a beer, and drop into a chair, slurping and smoking in silence, staring into space. Just taking a moment. He’ll be okay, I think, over and over.
“He’ll be okay,” James says out loud, as if hearing my silent worry.
“I kn—” I’m interrupted by my mobile ringing, and I frown, searching it out. Leon holds it up. “Who is it?” I ask, making him look at the screen.
“Private number.”
James and I glance at each other, and I hold my hand out. As soon as Leon places my mobile in my hand, I answer and take it slowly to my ear. Silence. And then a voice. But a voice I definitely wasn’t expecting.
“Danny?”
My eyes must widen because James leans in, frowning. “Amber?” I say, telling him what he wants to know. Surprise is rare on James Kelly. Only Beau can usually ever spike it, so his perplexed expression right now is quite a picture.
“I need to see you,” she says, naturally having me wonder why the fuck my ex-in-house whore from over three years ago, and most recently Beau’s father’s bit of arse, could possibly want with me.
“And I quite like my balls, so I’m afraid it’s a no.” I hang up and fall into thought again, staring at nothing, as does James as we take another needed few minutes to reflect, try to wind down, and wonder . . . what the fuck just happened?
“Not curious?” he eventually asks.
“Not enough to risk my wife turning psycho bitch on me. Amber’s probably in up to her neck again. Needs protection, money, who the fuck knows. She’s a waste of fucking space and she pulled a gun on my wife and mother.” So it’s definitely not wise for me to see Amber. And suddenly, I’m angry. So fucking angry. It’s one thing after another, problem after fucking problem. I get up, slip my cigarette between my teeth, and go to the changing room, pulling out a gun from my locker.
I march down the steps to one of the containers, take a long-arse time unbolting the thing, swing it open, and fire one shot before throwing it closed again. I pass Leon my gun as I head for the car, and James follows my path with his eyes, casually leaning on the wooden handrail, smoking.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much. He was the most useless of all your catches.” I get in the passenger side of his Range Rover and wait for James to get in. And wait. And wait. It’s probably only a few seconds but it feels like hours. Exasperated, I press the ignition button and let the window down. “Are you taking me home or not?” I yell, and he smiles, trudging down the steps and scooping up a bag.
“Yes, princess,” he coos, as Leon scurries along beside him, opening the driver’s door for him.
“Ooh, smells yum in there,” Leon says. “Jasmine?”
“Who the fuck knows, but it’s better than stale piss.”