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“Noah?”

“Right here, Lanie.”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t think this was the Russians.”

Not surprising, she’d reached the same conclusion I had. Lanie graduated at the top of her class at Quantico for a reason. She was damn smart.

“Me either.”

She blinked slowly, then blinked again, except her eyes stayed closed the second time.

“I’m gonna kick their ass.”

I chuckled. My girl was tough to her core, but I knew when the truth came out, it had the potential to cut her deep. And that’s not something I’d ever allow.

“You’re gonna have to stand in line.”

“I want to go home.”

“We will,” I promised.

She didn’t talk anymore, but she did start snoring.

Morphine was indeed, the shit.

9HASH STASH

Lanie

Why did hospitals all seem to have the same interior designer? You’d think with the amount of doom and gloom they saw on the daily, they’d want to brighten the place up a bit. Maybe it went against some medical code of ethics to incorporate a splash of color amongst the gleaming white walls and floors. Christ, they even made the poor nurses get in on the action. I mean, what the hell? Black was arguably the more practical color, given the fact they dealt with every bodily fluid known to man. It would do a much better job of hiding the gore.

Seriously? Whose brilliant idea was it to make white the predominant color in a place that saw more blood than the Red Cross? Women get periods, you know?

“It was probably a man, honey,” the older lady steering my gurney said as she wheeled me into a tiny room.

Oh shit! I said that out loud.

“And you keep doing it, Lanie,” Noah pointed out, laughing outright while Waverly was at least nice enough to cover hers with a cough.

“I can’t be held responsible for what comes out of my mouth when I’m as high as a kite,” I huffed.

The older lady parked my ride just as another woman sauntered into the room pushing a metal cart. She was talking, but truthfully, I have no earthly clue what she was saying.

“Okay, Agent Biggs.” The doctor—at least I thought she was the doctor—addressed me. Dammit, I needed to pay attention. “I’m going to numb the area around your wound. You’ll feel a little pinch from the needle.”

“And who are you?” My mouth began to feel like it was stuffed full of cotton balls.

“She’s told you her name twice already, Lanie.” Noah chuckled, startling me. I’d somehow forgotten he and Waverly had accompanied me into the closet-sized room. They were both leaning up against the far wall, though Noah looked like he was itching to be at my side.

“Excuse me, Mister I’m Always Perfect.” I speared him with a glare, the room tilting a little to the left when I turned my head sideways on the pillow. “My morphine-muddled mind doesn’t remember the first two times.”

Damn drugs.

“Dr. Shepfield,” the lady holding the needle precariously close to my side replied. “But you can call me Barb.”

“Thank you, Barb.”

“Should we continue?”

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