The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(58)

Jane opened her mouth. Shut it.

Told herself to think before she spoke.

“You’re right about the nurse.” She nodded. “It’s not fair that you and I have time off, but Ehlena doesn’t have that option. Another surgeon, though?”

She pictured working with someone like Havers night in and night out—and was very sure she was not up to that rash of superiority: Undoubtedly, any vampire who was a trained doctor would come from the glymera, because it was considered a job only aristocrats were allowed to aspire to.

Wait…was there even another physician in the species?

“Hear me out.” Manny put his palm forward. “We could go to an every-other-day schedule then. And more hands means less stress.”

“Provided they’re good hands. Do you have somebody in mind? I’m not even sure there’s anyone but Havers?”

“I haven’t gotten that far.”

“Well, I want to be in on both hires.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. So you’ll support me as I take this to Wrath?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, the loud, screaming voice in her head that said, No! This is mine! suggested she was still too close to things. Sure, Vishous had built out these facilities for her, and she and Manny had established all the practice standards, and figured out the ordering procedures, and taken care of each and every case that had come through the system they’d set up.

But she needed to be about the patients, first and foremost.

And her desire for control, in this instance, felt a lot like squatter’s rights run amok.

“Yes, I will support you.” She nodded firmly. “All the way.”

“I know this is hard, Jane.”

She laughed in a short burst. “The truth is, this place, this work we do down here, it’s my baby.”

Funny way to put it, she thought.

“I mean, it’s all I have.” She frowned. “Hold on, what I’m trying to say is—”

Manny put his hand on her shoulder. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. And I just want to get us into a sustainable, marathon-type situation here. We’ve been sprinting for too long, out of necessity. Now, it’s time to change our paradigm for the future.”

“I agree. So when do we go talk to the King?”

“I’ll make the appointment and we’ll go together.”

“Just let me know.”

It was hard not to view Manny taking the lead on making a staffing schedule as evidence of a failure on her part to police herself and everyone else. And God, she really hated the idea of bringing other people on staff. But she needed to adapt. She would adapt.

Besides, when was the last time, before the previous night and day up in the Sanctuary, that she and Vishous had spent any period of time together?

She hadn’t given any weight to the idea she’d abandoned him. She’d always just thought of her job and her patients—and that was the point, wasn’t it.

“Anyway,” she said sharply. “How were things while I was gone?”

“Good, good. I released Assail.”

“You did?” That was my patient, she thought. “I mean, he continued to improve?”

“He was prepared to march out of here on his own if I didn’t let him go. Scans all looked good. Functioning was good. I sent them away with the anti-seizure meds, and told them every eight hours or so, you or I were going to come out and check with them over the next week.” He smiled at her. “And on that note, I figure you’d want to take the first round on that, am I right?”

“You are—”

Ehlena came running out of the exam room. “We’ve got two down in the field. Gunshot wound and a broken leg.”

“Motherfucker,” Manny said. “I’ll get the surgical van.”

“What’s the address?” Jane asked. “And who is injured?”

“Trade and Twenty-first. It’s Vishous and Butch. Phury called it in.”

For a split second, Jane felt the world spin. Then her training and experience refocused her. “I’ll go out ahead and stabilize them.”



* * *



—

Sometimes life came at you fast.

Death, too.

As Vishous dragged his useless lower half backward into a doorway, he was cursing the hell out of his left shitkicker.

Not that it was the boot’s fault his foot was ninety degrees off angle.

Although actually, the shitkicker was kind of responsible. When he’d gone and done a running tackle on that lesser who’d been shooting at Butch, V’d expected a ground game. The surprise? The fact that the slayer and he had gone on a pummeling roll that had taken them out of the alley and directly into the path of an Uber.

Brakes slamming. Humans freaking out in the Ford Explorer. Lots of skidding on the snow and ice.

The lesser had taken the brunt of the impact on the hood and grille, but V had somehow managed to get his left leg tangled in the front spoiler—courtesy of the bulk and the steel toe of his shitkicker.

Snap! Crackle! Pop!

He couldn’t feel anything down there so he didn’t know whether it was an ankle dislocation—yay!—or a compound fracture—boo!—but either way, he was out of commission when it came to upright ambulation.