At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(72)

“Okay, hold tight,” said Maclean. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

She was already sprinting toward Bosko. She knelt beside the downed officer and applied compression to the wound in his throat. It was bad. Bosko had bled so much it had soaked through the carpet and was beginning to pool on top of it. Bosko’s eyes were closed now, his face expressionless. Probably unconscious from loss of blood, thought Verraday.

“Stay with me, stay with me,” he heard Maclean say. “Help is on the way. You’re gonna make it. You’re both gonna make it.”

Verraday felt a tingling sensation that started in his feet and quickly spread through the rest of his body. It was pleasant. It was, he realized, the sensation of the blood coursing through him. He wasn’t sure if it meant he was living or dying. He felt fear now, not just pain. His heart began to race. He felt it miss a beat, recover its rhythm, then miss another beat. He didn’t know if he was drifting into life or death. He pushed that thought away, focused on his breath, drew it in, counting the numbers off slowly. He heard distant sirens then felt his consciousness slipping away. The darkness began to envelop him. He released his breath one last time, closed his eyes, felt the tingling warmth. Whatever was happening, he’d resigned himself to it. He let go and allowed himself to be carried away into the void.





CHAPTER 34


Verraday gradually, reluctantly became aware of a bright light, so bright that even with his eyelids clamped shut, it seemed to penetrate directly into his optical nerves. He tried to raise his hands to block it, but found that he couldn’t move them. He tried to turn his head away but discovered that he couldn’t do that either. In fact, his body seemed to have taken leave of his consciousness. Maybe this is what people meant by “going into the light,” he thought.

The light grew in intensity as he gained consciousness, which, through his tightly closed lids, created the effect that he was staring into an orangey-red color field. He tried to speak but his tongue was thick and heavy. He felt like his throat was lined with sandpaper. So he groaned his annoyance instead.

“He always this happy to be alive?” a male voice asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ve only known him for a couple of weeks now,” replied a female voice archly. He recognized it and began to smile. Despite the blinding light, he struggled to open his eyes so he could see the face that went with that voice. When at last he had managed a squint, he saw Maclean and a doctor in a white medical coat silhouetted against a bright afternoon sky in an airy hospital room.

“This is Dr. Wellesley,” said Maclean. “He’s the surgeon who saved your life.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Verraday. “Figures, the one sunny day we’ve had since September, and I slept through most of it.”

“You slept through two sunny days, actually,” said Wellesley. “I put you under heavy sedation. You’ve managed to accumulate quite a collection of holes, Professor. You were leaking pretty badly when your friend here brought you in.”

“Strange, I don’t remember that part,” said Verraday.

“The good news is you’ll recover completely. The girl who did this to you was highly selective about where she placed the perforations.”

“Some guys have all the luck.”

“Indeed they do, Professor Verraday. And you’re one of them. Another inch in any direction on those abdominal wounds, and you’d be somewhere nice and dark. Forever. Now if you’ll excuse me, Professor, I’ve got to take care of some genuinely sick people. So I’ll leave you to Detective Maclean. Later.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” said Verraday as Wellesley headed out the doorway.

Verraday turned as much as he could to look at Maclean. “You okay?” he asked.

“Sure, I’m fine, thanks to you.”

“And I dodged God knows what, thanks to you. So I guess you got my text?”

Maclean smiled. “Yeah. I decided losing a few z’s wouldn’t make that much of a difference at the press conference. Thought maybe all those love hormones you’re always talking about would make up for the lack of sleep.”

“How did you know something was wrong?”

“You didn’t answer when I rang your doorbell or when I knocked. I thought you’d gone to bed but then I saw the light from the gas fireplace. That seemed strange. I called and you didn’t answer your cell or your landline either. So I took a stroll down the side of your house. Saw that the phone line had been cut. So I called for backup and decided to go in.”

“What about the patrolman who got hit with the knife? Was I hallucinating from blood loss by then, or was that really Bosko?”

“It was Bosko. He was doing a stakeout at the liquor store a few blocks from your place when I called for help. He was there in under a minute.”

“He was bleeding pretty badly. Did he make it?”

“It was really close. He flatlined in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, then once more in the ER. But he’s still with us—so far at least. In critical but stable condition in the ICU. They think he’ll pull through.”

“Did he know it was me that you were going in for?”

“Yeah. I thought he deserved to know. He told me the two of you had a run-in the night before. Said you accused him of being a stalker.”