Sting (32 page)

“I’ll keep that in mind. I have a spare bed I can make up for you.”

I nod. “That’ll be more than enough.” Little does she know, I’d sleep on her garage floor just to be near her. “I’d better go see if the doc has any news on Palmer.”

“Sure. Let me know how he is. I’ll keep an eye on our girl.”

I kiss her softly on the lips and lock my gaze with her until I turn the corner.

Here’s hoping I have some good news to bring back.

****

I toss the newspaper on the table beside the bed, having read it back to back as I wait impatiently for Palmer to wake up. Thankfully, the nurse at the shift change was understanding, otherwise I’d be out in the waiting area with the sickos trying to use the emergency department to treat their colds rather than paying a bloody doctor. Given the severity of Palmer’s injuries, and the fact that the police guard on the door said I was cleared to be in here, I’m still lucky to be able to sit by his side. Who knows how he’ll react if he comes around. After what he’s been through, I owe it to him to be here. I can’t have him waking up alone.

A tall, curvy lady with red hair smoothed into a tight bun marches into the room. Her blue scrubs look crisp, with perfect creases on her sleeves and down the front of her pants.

“G’day,” I say, lifting my chin in her direction.

She totally ignores me as she checks the drip and the monitor above his head, that’s keeping tabs on his pulse and oxygen levels. She flips open the chart which was hooked at the end of his bed, running her finger down the page as her eyes dart over the handwritten notes.

“I thought you were discharged,” the nurse says, her voice gruff. Her eyes don’t leave the page as she writes on the chart. I don’t even remember her. Was she on shift when I came in?

“Ah, yeah. I was, but I can’t leave. You know, leave no man behind.”

“Ha,” she scoffs. The nurse clicks the end of her pen and tucks it into her breast pocket. She clips the chart back to the end of the bed.

“How’s he doin’?” I probe.

“Stable. The morphine is keeping him comfortable. He’s been out to it most of the night, so I’m guessing he’ll wake soon.”

The nurse leaves without another word. I drag my chair up towards the head of the bed. I lean in close and get a good look at Ryan. The poor bastard is pale, and looks like he’s aged ten years.

“Palmer,” I snap, loud enough to hopefully get his attention. “You hear me, Palmer?” Louder still. I grip his hand and squeeze.

A groan rumbles up from his chest and his cracked lips part, releasing a puff of air.

“You need to get your shit together, hotshot. Got some people here that need you.”

His eyes flutter open and he mutters something, but for the life of me I can’t understand him. He could be speaking German for all I know. I’ve got no clue.

His head tilts a little, and his eyes move erratically beneath his eyelids.

“Palmer,” I grunt out.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows. The bastard is probably thirsty as anything. I’d offer him water, but the sign above his bed says ‘nil by mouth’.

“Mick,” he rasps, and swallows down again. “Mick the Dick.”

Thank fuck he’s alive. It seems his memory is intact too.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

RYAN

“I’d say you’re a sight for sore eyes, but you look like shit, Palmer,” a familiar voice chimes in my ear.

I’m amazed at the effort it takes to open my eyelids. “Ha fucking ha,” I groan out. “I’m guessing I’m not dead then, ’cause there’s no way you’d be in Heaven with me.”

“You’ve got tickets on yourself if you think you’re going to Heaven,” Mick says through a chuckle.

His face is pale and he’s carrying some dark circles beneath his eyes.
How long have I been out to it?
By the bandage on his head I’m guessing he’s feeling some pain, too.

I tilt my head to the side to stretch out my neck. It feels like my head weighs a tonne and I have no control over it. I survey the sling on my left arm, and attempt to lift my right one. It’s like lead.

“What kinda drugs have they pumped into me?”

“I dare say you’ve had a good dose of morphine, my friend.”

And I still ache like a motherfucker.

“What the fuck happened out there? How’d I get here? I mean, I remember taking two hits, but I thought we were goners. You were out to it, and the last thing I remember was …”
I couldn’t get to the emergency beacon.

He rubs at the back of his neck and pushes air out of his nose in a snort. “I came to, and found you in a pool of blood. I tried to stop the bleeding the best I could and radioed in. I was going to drive the boat back but the fuckers took the keys. Luckily we’d alerted the coastguard and POLAIR, otherwise it could’ve very well been the end of us. We ended up airlifting you here. It was the only option to keep your arse alive.”

I lift my right hand and offer it to him. “I can’t thank you enough, Mick. I’m fuckin’ glad you had my back. You saved my life.” He rewards me with a solid handshake. I’ve got a lot of time for this guy. I’ll do anything to re-pay the second chance he’s given me.

“Anytime, hotshot. I just don’t know how much longer I can do this kinda work for. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.” He scratches at his goatie and shakes his head from side to side.

“You been watching
Lethal Weapon
again?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. This bloke is a sucker for a cop movie.

He chuckles. “Wouldn’t you know it, it was on the telly last night. Of all places, in the damn hospital.”

I jut my chin towards him as I scour over his head bandage. “So you good?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, pressing his palm gently to his temple. “It’s still sittin’ on my shoulders, so that’s a good sign. They’ve discharged me, so they can’t be too worried.”

“That’s good, man. Real good. I’m just grateful we both made it out alive. Fuckin’ close call.” I squeeze my eyes tight and then blink several times as I re-adjust to the light. “So is there an up-shot for the way my body is hurtin’ right now?”
Please tell me we got the sons of bitches.

“They’re calling the sting a success. The coastguard raided the boat at the docks not long after we were airlifted out. We hit the mother-load on this haul. I haven’t heard what the final weigh-in is, but there were more drugs on board than what was in the duffel bags they took carriage of. We’re talking a few hundred kilos of coke. They didn’t even try to disguise it. The blocks were just wrapped up in brown packing tape.”

Fuck me. That’s a shitload.

“We still have some dots to connect, but we did it. Apart from the arrests at the docks yesterday, the taskforce executed simultaneous raids yesterday arvo. We’ve got the accountant in custody, among others.”

“Shit, where are my clothes? Th … the memory card. It’s got all the shots.” It better not have been lost in transit to the hospital. I’ll be livid if it has. I didn’t take two hits for nothing, and we’re gonna need that shit in court.

“Relax, hotshot. I’ve made sure it’s been handed over to the taskforce.”

I push out a long breath through my dry lips. “Thank fuck for that.”

“I heard Pete Duffy got on the next flight from Sydney once he heard about the shooting. He should be here sometime this afternoon.”

“Huh. I guess the ugly mug loves me, after all.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I won’t say it out loud, but I’m chuffed that he’s coming. It’s pretty fucking special to have a strong bond with someone you work so closely with. Pete has always had my back. He might not be prepared for it, but when he gets here, we are gonna have words. Not that any of this is his fault; I just can’t put myself at risk like that again. It’s not just me I need to worry about now. There’s a certain five-foot-five sweetheart that I’ll be focusing on.

“Can you get me Willow’s number? Fuck knows where my phone is. I need to apologise. She’s probably cursing me for not calling her yesterday. It’s not an ideal start to getting us back on track.” I also need to explain to her why the fuck I’m lying here. I can’t imagine this is going to help things along.

Mick rakes both hands through his unruly hair and then links his fingers behind his neck. The lines across his tanned forehead deepen.

“I called her.”

He did?

“Ah, when?”

“Yesterday,”

“Fuck! What does she know?”

“The uniform told her pretty much everything. It’s all over the news, anyhow.”

“Jesus. Is she okay? Where is she?”

He runs his fingers on one hand back and forth across his forehead. “Close.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“She’s in the hospital.”

“Good. I need to see her, man.”
Desperately
.

“She’s here, but I’m not sure you can see her.”

“Why not?”

“She’s been admitted.” Admitted? What the fuck?

“What for?”

“That’s something she needs to talk to you about.”

“Jesus,” I curse and look to the ceiling. Why is he making this shit difficult? Just tell me what the fuck is going on. “Is she on this floor?”

He scratches his goatie and nods.

I sit up and adjust the sling on my shoulder. Pain screams from my stomach wound, blinding my vision momentarily. “Fuckin’ hell,” I growl.

I fumble for the buzzer, and after a few attempts, manage to press it. The nurse appears a moment later.

“What can I get for you?” the curvy lady in blue asks, disinterest splashed all over her face.

“I need a wheelchair,” I bark out.

“I’d advise against that.” She places one hand to her rounded hip.

“I
need
a chair.
Please
,” I ask, a little more civil this time.

“After four blood transfusions and the complications you had after surgery, I’ll
need
to check with the Doctor, because you
need
your rest, Mr Palmer.”

“You do that then,” I say, and fold my free arm across the sling in some show of schoolboy protest.

She rolls her eyes and tuts. “You’re not Superman, you know. You young blokes all think you’re invincible. I’ll page Dr Rosenthal, and see if he can check in on you.” She struts out of the room, taking her attitude with her.
Good riddance.

“Mick, go get me a chair.” I growl through clenched teeth as I throw back the covers, and move my legs off the edge of the bed.

“I … I don’t know, mate, she said she—”

“Fuck me! Go get the damn chair!”

He holds his hands up in front of his chest, palms facing me. “Fine. Just settle down, hotshot. You’ll end up hurtin’ yourself.”

Mick shakes his head, and walks at a snail’s pace out of the room. He returns with a wheelchair, just before I’m about to give up on him and walk out of here myself. Probably just as well I waited, because I have a feeling I’d only end up flat on my face.

He wheels it over to the bed and helps me into it. A garbled cry crawls up my throat. Sweet suffering fuck, this hurts. My whole body screams in pain as I settle myself into the worn blue leather. My bare arse on the back of the chair doesn’t add to the joy I’m experiencing either, thanks to the shitty green hospital gown they’ve tied to me.

“You’ll get your arse kicked by Nurse Hitler if she catches us,” Mick says, poking the front of the chair out into the corridor, just enough for me to see if she’s at the nurse’s station.

“Don’t be worrying about my arse there, Mick,” I whisper loudly. “Just be worried about getting me to see my girl.”

I look right, then left, and right again. “We’re clear. Go. Mick. Go!”

The tires squeal against the linoleum floor as we pick up pace.

“Mr Palmer,” Hitler incarnate calls out.

I poke my tongue out at her, just before the chair turns the corner.

My heart hammers hard in my chest as Mick wheels me into another room. Sitting in a white chair in the corner, Gabby glances up. She smiles softly. She looks downward and her mouth drops open.

“Holy anaconda!” she says, and shields her eyes with her pink fingernails.

“What?” I whisper-growl.

She extends her arm and points towards my crotch, waving her index finger up and down. “You need to tuck that thing away.”

I look down at the gown, which has drifted up my thighs, giving her a prime viewing. “Sorry.”

Well, this is awkward.

I tuck the gown over my junk and try to wheel myself with my free arm closer to the bed, but end up turning around. “A little help, Mick?”

He wheels me the rest of the way.

Willow is asleep, the usual flush to her cheeks absent. Seeing her lying here, not knowing what the fuck is wrong, stirs up the acid in my stomach. My heart-rate kicks into overdrive and I struggle for breath.

“Tell me what happened?” I ask Gabby, as she moves to the opposite side of the bed.

Ignoring me, her chin quivers and she diverts her gaze to Willow. She strokes the back of Willow’s hand for a moment, then turns to face me. Tears stream down her cheeks. This must be bad.

“Whatever happens, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she chokes out.

“Thanks, but what about—”

“Gabrielle, lets give them some space,” Mick interrupts. She pulls a tissue from her pocket and dabs beneath her eyes. Mick walks around the bed and offers Gabby his hand. She smiles fleetingly as she takes it. He ushers her from the room, giving us some privacy.

I lean in closer to the bed, and gasp in pain as the chair arm digs into my side.
Motherfucker.

“Blondie, I’m here. I’m okay.”
Barely.

Willow stirs and slowly opens her eyes. I grip her hand tight in mine, and she turns her head slowly to face me.

Her eyes glazed, she blinks rapidly and swallows hard. With her free hand, she clutches at her chest.

“
Holy sharks!
You’re okay,” she chokes out. Tears glide down her face, and she makes a noise that’s halfway between crying and laughing.

“It’ll take a lot more than a couple of bullets to take Big Mussies out,” I say, with a wink.