Page 81 of Talk to Me
“Problem?” He shot me a look and I eyed him.
“No. You?”
The corner of his mouth kicked a little higher. “Not yet. Let’s see what we see…here we go, Fallon.”
She gave a little jerk at the use of her name and I frowned.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping after he hit enter on the screen and the machine arm began to move. It was cycling through a series of scans. “She isn’t used to her own name anymore.”
“Maybe the fact she hasn’t given any of us permission to use it should be your clue.” She had a beautiful name. If she didn’t want to be called by that name, then we shouldn’t be using it.
I would like to know why, at some point.
“Maybe.” Locke scowled as images began to pop up on the screen.
It rendered slowly. Too slowly. She’d broken her arm at some point. The stress to her fingers was also visible. Her ribs looked intact. Hips. Thigh bones. Overall, her legs looked fine. There might be evidence of old stress injuries or maybe mild fractures, but I didn’t see any actual breaks.
Then we got to her feet. Her shredded feet. Some asshole had cut them up and done a great deal?—
“Son of a bitch,” Locke swore and I saw it a split second later. There was a tracker buried in her foot. Likely in one of the numerous wounds they’d inflicted.
Our discovery didn’t escape her notice and I caught the flash of fear on her face. I hated it.
“We can get it out,” I told her. “That’s why we’re here.”
“But I can barely walk as it is,” she protested… “If we do more, I’ll just be a burden.”
“Then I’ll carry you,” I told her before I glanced at Locke. “You or me?”
“I’ll get one.” He didn’t wait to clarify for Patch, just left. We needed a doctor. One who had skills and knew what he was doing.
It would be nice if we could buy him off, but once he got the device out, we could stuff him in a supply closet if necessary.
Crossing to where she waited, I helped her sit up. There was something about lying flat in a room like this. It made you even more vulnerable than she probably already felt.
“I can’t believe they put it in my feet.”
“Hard to notice with all the soft tissue damage.” As much as I despised the fuckers, it was smart.
Thankfully, Locke didn’t keep us waiting. He returned with a doctor who couldn’t be that many years out of medical school.
“I can’t—” The man was saying then he stopped to stare at first me, then Patch, then back to Locke. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Doctor,” I said, raising my gun, because it was typically quite effective for cutting to the heart of the argument. “We need one thing from you and one thing only. Once you’re done, we’re out of here.”
“I don’t want to?—”
“How much are you carrying in student loans? Would it be worth it to you to do a minor procedure to ensure paying them all off?” I could certainly afford a half-million easily.
The doctor glared. “I have to report all gunshot wounds.”
“Then it’s your lucky day doc, it’s not a gunshot. Think of it as stepping on an extra-large tack.” Locke tugged him into the observation room tapped on the x-rays still on the screen. Frowning, the doctor glanced from the x-rays to Patch. It made me like him a little more. He was assessing the situation and her condition.
“Ma’am…are you being forced or abused?”
“I was,” she admitted, not shying from his gaze. “These guys saved me and if I don’t get this thing out of my foot. The ones who did this are going to find me.”
His frown only deepened as he continued to stare at her. Then he nodded once. “I need a suture kit and antibiotics. Do you have any allergies?”