Page 91 of Under Fire

Alisa glanced back at the door, seeing a handful of nurses and Dr. Zucker watching her intently. She gritted her molars, determined.

“Just shut the door,” Alisa called at the staff before turning her attention back to Warren.

Wiping sweat from his brow, contorted in the hospital bed, he gazed up at her.

“What the fuck are you going to do to me?”

“I don’t know,” she mused, her gaze intensifying. “Maybe kill you.”

He let out a laugh before coughing.

Alisa circled around the bed. She had to get at all angles.

“Did you get stitched up in a military hospital?”

“A field medic.” He coughed as she explored. “In Iraq.”

Alisa snorted. “That’ll do it.”

Observing how the sutures had been done, though years ago, she shook her head.

“A knife wound?”

“You got it.”

“I used to think you were Mr. Perfect,” Alisa said, shaking her head. “But you aren’t Mr. Perfect. You’re just afraid of being imperfect.”

“Ah, free therapy. Is there a two-for-one deal on today?” He smirked, relaxing under her touch as she gently massaged his side to determine where the pain was coming from.

“Funny guy.”

She prodded at a particularly rough spot. Warren let out a long, slow breath, and she knew she had him where she needed him. The expression on his face tempered her. As angry as she was, he drew something out of her. It got her biting her lip, whispering down her most important question.

“What happened, Warren?”

He seemed to reflect on her question. She saw him drawing his fingers over his pant pocket, grasping at the outline of his cell. She faintly heard it vibrating and could tell he was deciding whether to get it or not. She’d been there before, knew what was priority. She leaned back, waiting for him to walk out on her, get after what was most important to him.

But he didn’t walk out.

He dropped his hand from his pocket and locked eyes with her. The expression on his face was something she’d never really seen in him before.

“Alisa, I’m going to tell you a story. But, afterward, you’re not going to want to talk to me again.”

“I don’t want to talk to you again now, so what’s the difference?”

“Alisa.” He turned, his ice-blue gaze pouring into her, catching her off guard.

He wasn’t playing anymore.

She leaned back, trying to understand. Hadn’t she already told him the bad stuff from her own life? What could possibly be worse?

They both paused, giving him space to continue.

And he did.

“Five years ago, there was a bad op. Things went sideways,” he said so quietly that it was nearly inaudible.

“Okay?” Alisa slowly removed her gloves, listening.

---