Page 6 of Savage Reckoning

He doesn’t matter. It’s over, in the past.

I repeat the mantra again and again.

I did my time. It was another life, back then. No one’s coming to arrest me now.

I spent a year in a military prison for shooting a senior officer. It would have been more, much, much more but for the fact that, whether by skill or good judgement, I only shot him in the foot. That wasn’t a conscious choice; maybe we were both just lucky that day.

I was actually sentenced to five years, but for some reason they decided to release me after one. I was dishonourably discharged from the army, my military career in tatters. If I’d stayed in the US I might have been struck off and not able to practice as a doctor either, but fortunately, my aunt Jacqueline persuaded Ethan Savage to let me come and stay with her on his private island in the Outer Hebrides. She works for him as a cook and housekeeper. It was to be a temporary arrangement, just until I sorted out my head and decided what to do next.

It’s been nearly three years, and my life seems to have fallen into place. I’m now the resident medic for the Savage organisation, sorting out gunshot wounds, knifings, the aftermath of punch-ups, as well as the occasional pregnancy, kidney transplant, Covid pandemic, and now, helicopter crash.

Life’s rich tapestry as doctor to the Mob. It suits me very well indeed, and I’m damned if some jerk from my past is going to derail it all for me.

No. Way.

I get to my feet and press the buzzer to be admitted to the ward. Because I’m not on the staff here I don’t have a pass to access the wards, but the stethoscope around my neck forestalls any queries about why I’m here. I march along the ward until I spot Magda, three beds from the end. A frame on her mattress tents the sheet, raising it over her injured leg. She manages a smile when she sees me approaching.

I pull up a plastic chair and sit.

She reaches out her hand. “Good to see a familiar face.”

“I got down here as soon as I could. I was with the others…”

“How are they?” Her smile evaporates. “Did everyone make it?”

I nod. “So far. Thanks to you, I gather.”

She closes her eyes, fighting back tears.

I squeeze her fingers on mine. “You did well, bringing the chopper down like you did. If you’d been shot out of the sky at a higher altitude…”

“I know, but—”

“No buts. You saved everyone on board.” I still can’t quite believe that none of this was an accident. Helicopters crash all the time, it’s an occupational hazard for pilots, but they don’t get shot out of the sky over sleepy Northamptonshire villages.

I go on to give her a brief report on the other casualties.

Naturally, she homes in on Ethan. “Do they know why he’s still unconscious?”

“Not yet. We’re waiting for results from the scans.”

“Oh God,” she moans, close to tears. “Do you have anything on who fired at us? Or why?”

“I don’t. Jack’ll be working on that. Casey, too.”

“The staff told me the police are around somewhere, wanting to talk to me.”

“Makes sense.”

“Would you be with me when they do? Moral support.”

“Of course.”

“How much should I say?”

“Jack’s instructions to the men were to cooperate with the crash investigators, so I guess that goes for you, too.”

“That’s right. But not until you talk to me first.”

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