too dumb to get out of the way?
And look at him now, back in a wheelchair. He’d sworn he’d never sit in one of these damned things again, yet here he was.
“Dammit, Lieutenant, when I sent you home to rest, I meant you should rest, not start a new career as a street fighter.” Captain Steven Horowitz was wearing his white dress uniform and he gleamed in the grimy E.R. waiting room. What the hell was he doing here?
“Dr. Wright called and said he had a former patient of mine in his emergency room, waiting to get his knee X-rayed. He said this patient’s knee was swollen and damaged from a previous injury, and on top of that, it looked as if it had recently been hit with a sledgehammer. Although apparently this patient claimed there were no sledgehammers involved in the fight he’d been in,” Horowitz said, arms folded across his chest. “The fight he’d been in. And I asked myself, now, which of my former knee-injury patients would be stupid enough to put himself into a threatening situation like a fight that might irrevocably damage his injured knee? I came up with Alan Francisco before Wright even mentioned your name.”
“Nice to see you, too, Steve,” Frisco said, wearily running his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. He could feel Mia watching him, watching the Navy captain.
“What were you thinking?”
“Allow me to introduce Mia Summerton,” Frisco said. “Mia, I know you’re going to be disappointed, but as much as Steve looks like it, he isn’t the White Power Ranger. He’s really only just a Navy doctor. His name’s Horowitz. He answers to Captain, Doctor, Steve and sometimes even God.”
Steven Horowitz was several years older than Frisco, but he had an earnestness about him that made him seem quite a bit younger. Frisco watched him do a double take as he looked at Mia, with her long, dark hair, her beautiful face, her pretty flowered sundress that revealed her smooth, tanned shoulders and her slender, graceful arms. He watched Steve look back at his own bloody T-shirt and battered face. He knew what the doctor was thinking—what was she doing with him?
Nothing. She was doing nothing. She’d made that more than clear.
Horowitz turned back to Frisco. “I looked at the X-rays—I think you may have been lucky, but I won’t be able to know for certain until the swelling goes down.” He pulled a chair over, and looked at the former SEAL’s knee, probing it lightly with gentle fingers.
Frisco felt himself start to sweat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mia lean forward, as if she were going to reach for his hand. But he closed his eyes, refusing to look at her, refusing to need her.
She took his hand anyway, holding it tightly until Steve was through. By then, Frisco was drenched with sweat again, and he knew his face must’ve looked gray or maybe even green. He let go of her hand abruptly, suddenly aware that he was damn near mashing her fingers.
“All right,” Steve finally said with a sigh. “Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go home, and I want you to stay off your feet for the next two weeks.” He took his prescription pad from his leather bag. “I’ll give you something to make you sleep—”
“And I won’t take it,” Frisco said. “I have a…situation to deal with.”
“What kind of situation?”
Frisco shook his head. “It’s a family matter. My sister’s in some kind of trouble. All you need to know is that I’m not taking anything that’s going to make me sleep. I won’t object to a local painkiller, though.”
Steven Horowitz laughed in disgust. “If I give you that, your knee won’t hurt. And if your knee doesn’t hurt, you’re going to be up running laps, doing God knows what kind of damage. No. No way.”
Frisco leaned forward, lowering his voice, wishing Mia weren’t listening, hating himself for having to admit his weaknesses. “Steve, you know I wouldn’t ask for it if I weren’t in serious pain. I need it, man. I can’t risk taking the stuff that will knock me out.”
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