Page 16 of Mob Knight

“Just like I told you, it needs ice and rest.”

“That’s good. I’m glad it’s nothing too serious.”

I stare at him, but he says nothing more. I tilt my head and cock an eyebrow. This expression usually gets kids to confess everything—even if they know they didn’t do anything wrong. They’ll admit to something just in case they should apologize. Itshouldn’t surprise me he’s impervious, but I’d hoped he’d admit he probably called Meredith to see if I gave in.

“I took you up on your offer and called your doctor. She made a house call.”

“I’m glad you did. She can be a bit unsympathetic, but she’s gentle, and she knows what she’s doing.”

“She was super sympathetic.” I grin, which turns into a laugh when he playfully scowls.

“She usually tells my brother, cousins, and me we got what we deserved. She’s been doing it since we were kids and played sports like we were on our way to the pros. We were all in, and we all got injured at one point or another. She set bones and stitched up cuts, so they barely hurt. But she’d tell us we should have paid more attention or moved faster, then she wouldn’t be making those house calls.”

I wonder if all their injuries were sports related. I doubt they were. I’m certain some of Meredith’s patching up came from war wounds that go along with being a mobster.

“I could see that. I didn’t expect her to be British.”

“Yeah. She grew up in Wales, served as a navy surgeon, then came to America after she retired.”

“Wow. That’s a major move to make on her own.”

He hesitates for a heartbeat before he responds. “Her husband is Welsh too and a retired British Royal Marine. Their daughter just married my cousin a month ago.”

“Wow. Were they childhood sweethearts or something?”

This hesitation is a moment longer. He’s weighing what he should say. Is he nervous I’ll repeat what he tells me?

“No. They didn’t know the connection when they first met a few months ago.”

“A few months? Was it a whirlwind romance?” I’m honestly curious. It’s equal parts romantic and nosey.

“Pretty much.”

I wait for more, but it’s not forthcoming. I look around as more people pull into the parking lot. We’re off to the side, so we’re not that noticeable. But people have seen us. I’m on the clock. I’m not supposed to be shooting the shit.

“Do your colleagues know what happened?” He blurts the question just as I’m about to excuse myself.

“A colleague heard about the incident, but she didn’t have specifics.”

“Do you think other people will know what happened? Will they question you about getting involved in syndicate business?”

“Maybe. As long as Martha, my boss, knows at least part of the truth, then I won’t worry about everyone else.”

“It’ll take your elbow a while to heal. You should take it easy, so you don’t make it worse. But people might notice.”

“They probably will. I’ll just tell them I tripped. Everyone knows I’m accident prone.”

His brow furrows in the most unusual way. It’s like he’s concentrating, so his brow creases. But his eyebrows go up in question.

“You don’t strike me as clumsy.”

“I’m not. I’m accident prone. Usually, it’s from trying to do too much all at once.”

“Do you trip often?”

Is there an edge to his tone? Or am I imagining it?

“No. I bump into stuff, though.”

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