Code Name: Baby (16 page)

“C
AN
'
T YOU
DO
SOMETHING
?” Wolfe's voice was raw as he tried to see what Izzy was doing.

“Stop crowding me.” Izzy nudged him away with his elbow. “Go get the Betadine from the shelf near the window.”

“Where?”

“Small brown bottle. Blue label,” Izzy said calmly. “And settle the hell down. She's going to be fine. Some cuts, a few bruises, but she'll be good to go soon.” With deft fingers Izzy wrapped a piece of gauze around Kit's wrist, where he'd just finished cleaning bits of gravel out of a jagged, shallow wound.

“Then why isn't she waking up?” Wolfe snapped. “It's been twenty minutes.”

“Sixteen minutes, thirty-two seconds.” Izzy rolled his shoulders. “Stop worrying, Navy. Her pulse is strong and her color is coming back.” Gently, he lifted Kit's eyelid, checking for a response. Then he made notes in the little notebook that went everywhere with him.

Bright halogen lights blanketed the small examining table where Kit lay motionless. The Hummer was gone, on the way to the government lab for analysis. Wolfe still wasn't certain how Izzy had managed to procure the snug, self-contained van filled with medical equipment, and he didn't bother to ask. There was a reason that Ishmael Teague was known as a miracle worker.

“You're sure you've got medical experience, Teague? I mean
real
medical experience, not stitching up dogs or overseeing mental cases.”

“I've got more field training than most senior surgeons at the Mayo Clinic, pal. And these cuts are largely superficial. She'll have a knot on her forehead for a while, along with the mother of all headaches when she wakes up. Watch her for dizziness, double vision—I'll give you the list.” He snapped a glance at Wolfe. “Where's that Betadine?”

“Right here, Doctor Frankenstein.”

Izzy snorted as he opened the bottle, poured dark liquid on a clean piece of gauze, and brushed Kit's wound. “Sugar would work just as well, but knowing your suspicious nature, you'd probably go evil on me, Houston.”

“Sugar? What kind of jive is that?”

Izzy's brow rose. “That's no kind of jive. Sugar and honey have been used to treat battlefield wounds for centuries. The Greeks did it, the Egyptians did it, and it works. We used it over in Bosnia on occasion. Not many people realize that topical sugar is a universal antimicrobial agent. You don't have to worry about dosage or allergic reactions either. But I'll spare your sensibilities and go hi-tech here instead.” He smiled as Wolfe glared at him. “True story, I swear it. The sugar melts in a few hours, mixes with fluid from the wound and actually helps inhibit bacteria.”

“What kind of sugar?” Wolfe definitely wasn't buying this.

“Regular grocery store granulated white stuff. Hell, in tests they had a 99.2% cure rate,” he added smugly.

“I never can tell when you're dead honest or full of shit, Teague.”

“Just the way I like it. But I happen to be telling the truth on this one. Tuck the fact away, too, because you may need it in the field sometime.” Wolfe did just that.

Teague's people had already cleaned up the scene of the attack and were transporting the captive to Ryker for questioning. Now Wolfe focused on Kit. He thought he saw her eyelid twitch. “Did you see that?”

“I saw it.” Izzy washed his hands, checked his watch and made a note in the pad beside him.

Kit's other eye twitched.

“What happens now?”

“Be sure that she keeps those cuts clean. I've left antibiotic cream for you, not sugar,” Izzy said wryly.

The dogs sat up suddenly, then trotted to the bed and licked Kit's motionless hand.

“These animals are pretty amazing.” Izzy packed tools and plastic bags back into his medicine case. “Think you can get one for me?”

“Dream on, Teague. Our pals here are way above
our
pay grade.” Bending down, Wolfe scratched Baby's head and noticed fluffy white flakes drifting down outside the van. “Can you believe that? It's starting to snow.”

Izzy glanced up and shook his head. “Weird weather. But I guess when you're at eight thousand feet, anything can happen.”

Wolfe remembered a few storms that had rolled in as late as June and as early as September when he was growing up. Snow probably wasn't all that strange after all. He moved around the world so often now that he wasn't sure what normal was.

Butch wedged his head between Baby and the examining table. The puppy's tail banged hard against Wolfe's leg. “Like the snow, do you?”

Butch barked once.

“We're almost done. You can go out soon, buddy. I promise.”

Izzy shook his head. “I guess you're right about the dogs. And who wants a pet that's smarter than you are?”

Kit's fingers twitched. Her eyes opened and she took a deep breath.

“There you go, Houston. Just like I said. She's looking good.”

Wolfe muttered a few choice phrases, then bent over the table, taking Kit's hand gently in his. When he looked up, the lacy white flakes were everywhere, filling the night sky. If he hadn't been so damn worried, he might have found the scene magical.

But Wolfe didn't believe in magic, and all he could think about was Kit.

 

S
HE OPENED HER EYES BLANKLY
.

She was on some kind of cot and two men with blurry faces were looking down at her. She could have sworn that one of them was Denzel Washington. Was she dead or just hallucinating?

Kit cleared her throat. “I loved you in
Manchurian Candidate.
”

The man with Denzel Washington's face patted her arm, then took her pulse without speaking.

“You're—”

“He's not.” Wolfe was staring down at her. His voice sounded strained. “Trust me, he's not even close. What happened to you?”

Kit realized that her head was throbbing. She also realized that Wolfe was standing right beside her and his hands were wrapped tightly around her wrists. “Hurts,” she croaked.

“What?” he said harshly. “Your leg? The cuts?”

“My wrist—where you're squeezing it.”

The man with the face like Denzel Washington's gave a muffled laugh. Kit frowned at him. “You're not Denzel Washington?”

“Afraid not. But I'm better in bed and I do an excellent suture. Ole Denzel isn't going to be doing field debridement any time soon, that's for damn sure.” He finished putting away his tools and closed his medical case with a snap.

Kit stared at him suspiciously. “Where am I?” She shot up abruptly. “Where are the dogs? Diesel—I have to see Diesel.”

“Diesel is at the clinic sleeping. We've got surveillance in place.”

Wolfe's eyes were very dark. They reminded Kit of a seasonal stream above the ranch, fed by snow melt every spring. There was something fascinating about his intensity, about the hard set to his jaw.

Forget it, O'Halloran. He's mega-trouble. Look at the chaos he's created in your life already.

“I have to go.” She tried to raise her head and winced at the sudden stabbing pain behind her eyes.

“Take it easy,” Wolfe snapped. “The other dogs are right beside you. Izzy could barely get past them to clean you up.”

She looked at the other man with the cocky smile. “You're Izzy?”

“Just call me Ishmael,” he muttered. “Sorry to spoil your daydream.”

Kit smiled as Baby licked her hand. Butch and Sundance barked and lifted their paws onto the edge of the examining table. “Story of my life,” she said sleepily. Though she fought to focus, her eyes drifted shut. “Wolfe?”

“Right here. And lie still,” Wolfe ordered quietly. “Tell me what happened back there.”

Kit stared up at the bright light wavering above her head. It was hard to think with her head throbbing madly. “It had something to do with lots of mud. I'm pretty sure that there was a piece of cement involved, too.” Vaguely Kit felt his callused hand wrapped around hers. “The man who was chasing us…you took care of him?”

“I took care of him,” Wolfe said grimly.

“Knew you would. You're good at that…taking care of things.” She felt pain gnaw into her hip. How long had it been since she'd had her last dose of medicine?

After a moment, she gave up trying to remember.

For some reason she felt herself drifting back in time…far back. Like the majority of her teenage memories, this one involved Wolfe. “I saw you taking care of Marijo Felton once. You were in the back seat of her father's white Cadillac. I was thirteen and she was seventeen. Do you remember?” Even now dark fingers of heat swirled up at the memory. “She was making a lot of noise. So were you.” Kit wasn't sure, but she thought she heard Izzy chuckle and Wolfe curse.

A door closed nearby.

“Wolfe?”

“Right here, honey.”

“Do you remember Marijo?”

“It's been a long time since Marijo Felton.” His fingers brushed her cheek. “You were watching us?”

“From the cottonwood tree. I figured I had to learn about sex somehow. The school hygiene classes just weren't cutting it.”

“You could have asked me.” His voice sounded a little hoarse. “I would have told you whatever you wanted to know.”

“Words. Didn't want words. Wanted to see for myself.” She smiled a little, in spite of the pain. “Marijo left her underwear in our driveway that night.”

Wolfe made a strangled sound. “Your mother and father…”

“Don't worry, I found them first.” Kit frowned. “Marijo told all the girls at school that you were a great f—er, lay.”

For some reason everything seemed abstract, so that she wasn't in the least embarrassed to discuss what she'd seen that hot summer night. “Marijo told Trace that you had the mouth of a true artist. I asked Trace what that meant, and he was furious. Told me to shut up and stop asking questions. I think he had a crush on Marijo. A lot of boys did.” She squinted up at Wolfe. “Do you have the mouth of a true artist?”

He cleared his throat. “Marijo Felton liked to hear herself talk. Forget about it. You'd better rest now.”

“Didn't answer my question. Nobody ever answers my questions. What's the big deal about sex anyway? You get sweaty and pant a lot. So what?” She cupped her hip, shivering a little.

Wolfe leaned over her. “Are you in pain? Should I get Izzy, and have him give you something?”

“Hurts. Big deal.
Always
hurts.” She heard the words echo as if they were coming through a long tunnel. “Going to sleep now. You can tell me about what you did to Marijo Felton when I wake up.”

She thought she heard him curse. “Like hell I will.”

She didn't hear anything after that.

 

I
ZZY WAS STUDYING
a detailed topographic map of New Mexico when Wolfe slid into the front seat of the van. The snow had stopped as abruptly as it had come, though the night sky was still hidden by clouds.

Izzy tapped the upper corner of the map. “A small truck was stolen up near Many Farms on the Navajo Reservation about an hour ago.” Izzy frowned. “According to police witness reports, two coyotes jumped on the hood and then attacked the driver.”

More animals.

Wolfe filed this new fact away for serious consideration. If Ryker had a new experiment in place, Wolfe wanted every possible detail.

“You think Cruz was behind it?”

Izzy's face was unreadable. “We can't rule it out. Ryker admits that Cruz was receiving specialized new training at the time of his escape.”

Wolfe stared out into the darkness. This confirmed his suspicions. “But what the hell was he doing up in that area?”

“We've had rumors of a militia group operating in the Four Corners region near the Navajo reservation. Some of them are washed-out marines and SEALs. A few of them are ex-law enforcement.”

“And Cruz could be involved with these people?”

“That's speculation at this point, though they would make a natural power base for a man like Cruz. We're monitoring credit card usage in case anyone uses the plastic stolen from the waitress's purse. So far there's been nothing.”

“There wouldn't be.” Wolfe stared at the map. “Cruz is too smart for that.”

“That's what I figure, too.” Izzy folded up the map neatly and slid it into the glove compartment. No marks had been made, and Wolfe noticed that Izzy locked the glove compartment when he was done.

No one was taking any chances on leaks.