Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(96)

“Good job, pal.”

Clyde looked betrayed.

“What’s next?” I asked.

“Pressure bandage.” He removed a plastic bag labeled EMERGENCY BANDAGE—TRAUMA WOUND DRESSING. He applied gauze to the injuries, then gently placed the compression bandage and began unfurling the mesh wrap. Clyde moaned when Dougie reached underneath him and pulled the wrapping around. But Dougie moved too fast to give Clyde much chance to object. He pulled the wrapping through a clip, then wound the bandage back around the other way and tightened it.

All the while he talked reassuring nonsense in a soft voice.

I stared at the bandage. Some things you can’t shove into a box. “Will he be able to use that leg again?”

“As long as the bullet didn’t hit the sciatic nerve. That’s the biggest risk, I think. But I’m hopeful. We got lucky—the round passed laterally and front to back. The most important thing now is to keep him stabilized and get him into surgery. We’re heading to a veterinarian, right?”

“In Denver,” I said, getting a nod from Cohen.

Dougie rubbed my partner’s head until Clyde drifted off on a morphine cloud. Then he made room for himself against the door and leaned his head on the seat back. “I’m going to catch a few.”

He closed his eyes and settled in. It was a gift he’d had as long as I’d known him. The ability to sleep on a dime.

I turned back around. A gust of wind rocked the truck and slapped dust against the windows.

“Sounds like Clyde’s doing okay,” Cohen said.

“For now.”

“And Superman? How’s he doing?”

I read between the lines. “Dougie is an old friend. From the war.”

Cohen opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally said, “Okay.”

We left it at that.

Cohen drove with a heavy foot and a deft touch. He had to be in incredible pain, but he shouldered that just like he shouldered everything else. Like he could just keep taking bricks, no matter how many life piled on.

The right side of his face didn’t look bad. But on the left, the bruises were a vivid purple, his left eye a slit against the swelling. His injured ear seeped blood. My eyes were drawn to the taped fingers on his right hand where—I assumed—Almasi had ripped out the nails.

I should have taken the pliers and used them while I had the chance.

“How about you?” I asked.

“Just need a few bandages and some lidocaine.”

“Tough guy.”

“Learned from a master.” He took in my face and then tipped his head toward my arm. “She got you.”

I looked down at angry flesh that was only now beginning to hurt. My side and face burned.

“She played me,” I said.

“She played us all.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I really would have done it. Ripped out her fingernails. I just needed an excuse. If she hadn’t talked—” His voice sounded like flesh tearing on a hook. “All I could hear when we were standing in that trailer was my blood, roaring in my ears. Like having a hurricane in my head. I had no idea I was that person.”

“You aren’t that person. You can’t judge yourself because for a few minutes you wanted to hurt someone who hurt you. She was going to kill you. If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at me. I’m the one who put you in that position.”

“You didn’t put the pliers in my hand.”

“But I brought a shitload of violence into your life.”

He was silent for a time. Then he said, “I’ve been mad plenty of times. But I’ve never been so angry that I couldn’t trust myself.”

“Mike. Stop.” I took off my cap and shoved back my sweat-dampened hair. “I should have told you sooner what was going on. If I had, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Ah, Christ, I don’t know. I’m the one who pushed you into a relationship.” His eyes went to the rearview mirror, and I knew he was looking at Dougie. “Could be I pushed too hard.”

“You were right to push. I needed to be pushed. I hope—” I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, then dropped them and looked him full-on. “I hope you don’t regret that.”

He tapped his palm on the steering wheel and didn’t meet my eyes. “It’s been a rough couple of days. I just need a little time.”

“You kicking me out?”

His laugh was weak. “Fucking Marine. I’d be afraid to try.”

Not the answer I was hoping for. I snugged my cap back on and turned away, staring out the window at the land rolling past, at the miles and miles of empty ground stretched like an offering beneath the faded wash of sky. The prairie was starkly beautiful with its spikes of yucca, its shimmering hues of gold, the occasional splash of emerald where groundwater seeped.

But the vast reaches of its desolation felt like a metaphor for an empty heart.

“I was kidding,” Cohen said so softly I wasn’t sure I heard him.

I summoned up a nod because one seemed required.

“Sydney.” His voice was still raw. From what he’d suffered or from what all this had cost him, I wasn’t sure. “I was angry that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”