In the forty seconds it took for Nate to get from the bedroom to the kitchen, he died a thousand times expecting to find the love of his life lying dead in a pool of blood. He raced down the stairs and rounded the corner, expecting to see Brandon. Instead, he saw a trail of blood leading from the kitchen to the mudroom. He snagged the cordless phone from the counter and dialed as he ran.
He found Brandon leaning against the door jam, clutching his bloody right shoulder. Only when he got closer did he see the handle of the knife sticking out of Brandon’s skin.
“Oh, God, Brandon. Here, sit down.”
Brandon grimaced, but made no move to sit. “The son-of-a-bitch got away. I fired off a shot after he stabbed me, but I don’t think I hit him.”
Nate heard sirens in the distance. “Brandon, please come inside and sit down. I need to call you an ambulance.”
“No. No hospitals. You can do it. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Just the thought of probing Brandon’s soft skin made Nate feel sick. “No, Bran. I can’t treat you. I’m too close. Besides, there’s no way I can stitch you one-handed.”
Brandon wobbled on his feet. “Call Keith. He’ll help you. I can’t go to the hospital knowing that guy could come back at any time.”
“He won’t. The guards—”
“Yeah? And where the hell were the guards when that bastard broke into our house. And why didn’t the alarm go off. I’m surprised Sasha—” His face paled, a considerable feat since he was already as pale as death. “Oh, God, Nate. Where’s Sasha?”
“Sit down, Bran. We’ll find Sasha, but we’ve got to take care of you first.” Nate took his hand and started leading him towards the table.
“Nate, we’ve got to find her. She could be hurt.”
“Sheriff?” Sam’s voice carried through the kitchen. “Boss, where are you?”
Nate breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re in the kitchen, Sam. Brandon’s hurt.” The fact that he and Bran were both clad only in boxers never crossed his mind. Help had arrived.
Sam took one look at the knife handle sticking out of Brandon’s arm and turned green. “Jesus Christ. Let me call an ambulance.”
“No, Nate and Keith can fix it. I discharged my weapon. I have to fill out a report.”
“Screw the report, Boss. You need to get to a hospital.”
Nate could tell by the look on Brandon’s face he was going to be stubborn. Giving in, though not gracefully by any means, Nate picked up the phone and called Keith and Amy.
“There’s no need to call Amy.”
Nate gave him one of those don’t-fuck-with-me looks. “I’ve let you get away with not going to the hospital, but I’m telling you right now, we’re going to do the rest of this my way. We’re going to the office, and Amy and Keith will meet us there. I’m so freaked out, I need all the help I can get. And at the first sign of trouble, I’m packing your ass into an ambulance and hauling you to Chicago General. Understood?”
Brandon smiled in spite of his pain. “I thought I wore the pants in this family.”
“No, and if you refuse to co-operate, I’ll make you ride downtown in your boxers.” As he left to fetch himself some clothes and Brandon some jeans, he heard Sam say, “I like him, Boss. We’ve finally found someone who can manage you.”
* * *
“Ouch, damn it. Can’t you take that thing out without making the hole any wider?”
Amy clucked her tongue sympathetically, but Nate was ruthless. “You’re just lucky it hit bone and not an artery.”
“Oh, yeah. I feel really damn lucky. I think when you finish dissecting my arm, I’ll go out and buy a bundle of lottery tickets.”
Keith said, “You want me to sedate him?”
“Sedate me? Nate already deadened my shoulder. Are sedatives really necessary?”
“For the pain? No. To get you to stop bitching? Absolutely.”
Brandon looked to Nate. “Aren’t you going to take up for me?”
“After you left me alone and went charging into the night like the Lone Ranger? You’re lucky I even deadened you up.”
“Aw, baby, don’t be mad at me. I was trying to protect you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Sure. It would have been of great comfort to me at your funeral had that knife landed about eight inches to the left.” He was shaking so bad, Amy came over and put her arms around him.
“Nathan, sweetie, go sit out in the waiting room. You don’t need to be here when we pull the knife out. That cut is clean. All we’ll have to do is remove it and stitch him up. We’ll be done in two shakes.”
“No. I’ll stay. Let’s just get this over with.” He grasped Brandon’s left hand and held tight. Keith stood on the right side and held the handle, wearing latex gloves to preserve fingerprint evidence. Amy stood at the ready with gauze and antiseptic.
Brandon said, “Be sure to bag that for analysis when you pull it out. You—” He broke of in a whoosh as Keith pulled the knife from his shoulder.
Blood rushed from the gash, but Amy was prepared. She sponged away the blood and then applied pressure. Brandon winced despite the numbing medication, but remained silent under the pain. Nate gripped his hand that much harder. Bran could tell he was fighting hard not to cry.
When she was satisfied that the bleeding was sufficiently under control, Amy disinfected the wound and broke open a suture kit. She’d just put the needle to his flesh when the door opened and Rex Howard walked in.
“Heard you had yourself some trouble tonight, Nash.”
“You could say that. How’d you hear about it?”
“I gave your deputy my card this afternoon, just in case. Looks like it’s a good thing I did. What the hell happened?”
Nate said, “Don’t you think you should introduce us first?”
Howard stuck out his hand. “Sorry about that. I’m Rex Howard with the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
Nate let go of Brandon long enough to give an awkward, left-handed shake. Brandon introduced Keith, who also shook with Howard. Amy politely greeted the newcomer, but didn’t pause in her stitching.
When the introductions were finished, Brandon said, “Nate and I were upstairs when I heard the back door open. I grabbed my revolver and started downstairs. By the time I got to the living room, the bastard was already in the kitchen. He saw me and took off. I went running after him, and almost had him, too, when he turned around and threw that fucking knife at me. I guess I must have stood there for a second while I absorbed the fact that I had a six-inch steel blade wedged in my arm. Whatever, it gave him an advantage. He was out the door before I got back enough sense to take off after him. When I got to the door, I could just make out his back in the darkness. I fired a shot, but I’m pretty sure I missed. Nate came down and found me leaning against the door with that stupid knife sticking out of my skin. He called Sam, and here we are.”
Howard was quiet for a minute. Finally he said, “None of what you’ve just described fits Wilson’s usual MO. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t doubt everything happened just the way you said it did, but breaking in and running away just isn’t Wilson’s style. First of all, if he was casing your house, he would know that Dr. Morris wasn’t alone. One thing about Wilson, he only goes after his established target. In all the crimes he’s suspected of, not a single innocent bystander was hurt. Secondly, Wilson isn’t the type to run away. If he was brazen enough to break in with both of you home, he’d have been packing something a damn sight more destructive than a knife.”
