Page 10 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

The old punch line You should see the other guy swept through his mind, but he didn’t so much as crack a smile. Because he knew there was no other guy. In James’s experience, those who usually scratched and clawed were female. That didn’t bode well. Well, hell, none of this did.

“Not good, Cahill,” he said and fell back against the pillows.

He was in a fight with a woman?

He squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to recall.

r /> A memory, hot and dark, started to surface: a woman’s distorted, furious face bloomed, then withered away again.

This was so wrong.

He started to rise again, threw off the scant covers just as the door swept open and a bald man on the north side of forty stepped into the room. His name tag read: GRANT P. MONROE, MD. A trimmed goatee that had started to gray covered his chin, and behind rimless glasses, his gaze met James’s. He introduced himself and added, “We met earlier.”

Did we?

“You may not remember.”

“I don’t.”

“Hmm.” Noncommittal. But his eyes narrowed a fraction.

“In fact, I don’t even remember how I got here.”

“Results of a concussion.” He was using a penlight to stare into James’s eyes. “Should clear up in a few days.”

“Should?”

“Could be longer. Might come all of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, but more likely in bits and pieces as something you see or hear creates a connection. As time passes, as your brain heals, hopefully you’ll piece it all together.” He shone his light in the other eye.

“Hopefully?”

“No one can be certain.”

“How comforting.”

The barest hint of a smile at the sarcasm. “Give it time.”

“What choice do I have?” James grumbled.

The doc didn’t react, nor answer, but explained that not only did James have the concussion, but he had suffered three cracked ribs and torn ligaments in his right shoulder, along with some abrasions and contusions.

“You’re lucky,” the doctor concluded.

“Lucky?”

“Could’ve been much worse.”

“How?”

“Well, the blow to your head could have killed you.”

“I was hit?”

“You fell.”

“I fell?” he said, thinking of all the damage.

“Or were pushed,” Nurse Rictor said as she returned, sweeping around the doc to insert something in his IV as Monroe examined his shoulder.

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