Blind Spot (26 page)

Rivera was dead wrong.

Without pausing to think himself out of it, Sam lunged and grabbed for Rivera’s gun arm. He managed to catch Rivera by the elbow and held on with both hands, wrenching the man around to knee his groin. Rivera cursed in surprise but didn’t drop the gun. He punched Sam square in the jaw with his free hand, and Sam’s whole body juddered with the impact, but he didn’t let go. He knew what would happen if he did.

They struggled as the muddy earth slipped beneath their feet. Sam had his eyes locked on the gun. It waved wildly in the air as they both fought for dominance. Since Rivera had a free arm, he had the advantage, but Sam managed to dodge a few additional punches with his adrenaline-sharp reflexes. He snapped Rivera’s arm back with all the force he could muster, and the man howled in pain. His eyes were murderous, fixed on Sam’s face. Chief Howard was shouting at him, but Sam couldn’t make out what she was saying over the roar of the river. Maybe going for the gun hadn’t been the best idea, but it was too late.

They were deeper now, and Sam felt the current tug at his waist. He was certainly at a disadvantage given Rivera’s greater height, and he was going to fall.

“I should have killed you a long time ago,” Rivera said. His words were staccato, punctuated by grunts and heaving breaths, and his spittle rained down on Sam’s face.

Sam’s flagging strength returned and increased tenfold. Now he had murder in his blood too. “Yeah? Just try, fucker.”

“Sam, stand aside. I don’t want to shoot you,” Chief Howard shouted from the bank. She was panicked, but the words sounded fuzzy in Sam’s brain.

This man killed his parents, had drugged Nathan—and Sam was going to kill him. Sam held his breath, and with a mighty shove, he threw his entire weight against Rivera. He fell, flailing into the water, and Sam went after him. In the ensuing tangle of limbs, Sam lost his grip on the gun arm. He grappled with Rivera’s shoulders and held him down under the water, but just as he thought he felt Rivera’s strength slacken, a new surge of force pushed him off and over, flipping him onto his back. Sam sputtered a few feet away, scrambling to regain his footing in waist-deep water. He needed to get hold of that gun before….

A shot rang out. Rivera cursed. He was soaked with water and something darker, but he still managed to stand. He raised the gun and pointed it right at Sam.

“Sam,” Chief Howard yelled. “Get down. Get down, now.”

Suddenly Sam heard sirens in the distance, growing louder and louder with every passing second. A swell of triumph rose in Sam’s chest, and along with it, the searing pain of a bullet piercing his flesh.

The agony was explosive and seemed to spread through his whole body. Sam gasped for breath as he fell back into the water. Another volley of shots went off, but Sam was staring up at the dark sky. Cold, muddy water splashed over his face and into his mouth and nose, and he choked and tried to right himself. There was nothing under his feet. He couldn’t move his left arm, and when he tried, a burst of agony radiated from neck to bicep. He clutched for the bank with his right, but the pain made movement difficult, and blackness teased the edges of his vision. Lights flashed on the land beyond, and Sam called out, but his voice was garbled with water.
Shit.
He was going to die anyway.

Wasn’t that just his luck?

SOMEONE WAS
saying his name. Sam tried to answer, but he couldn’t move his mouth. His tongue was sore, and it hurt to breathe. Maybe he’d just go back to sleeping.

“Sam? Sam, can you hear me?”

He blinked open and a blurry figure came into focus. A tall man who resembled Shaquille O’Neal was holding a clipboard and standing over him.

“Where am I?” Sam asked. “Where’s… where’s Nathan?” He started to struggle to sit up, but a sharp pain in his left arm made him gasp, and he couldn’t move it. It was tied to his body by some sort of… sling. His arm was in a sling, and there was a thick, white bandage on his shoulder. He must be in the hospital. It came back to him in a rush—Rivera, the struggle, water filling his mouth and his throat. Nathan unresponsive in the backseat of Rivera’s car.

“Good to see you again, Sam, though I wish it were in another context. You’re going to be fine,” Shaq said. No. A doctor. The same doctor who attended him on his last visit. He had a deep, comforting voice. “You were shot in the shoulder, and we had to perform surgery to remove the bullet. It was a clean wound, and it went very well. After a few weeks, you should be good as new.” He shone a light into Sam’s eyes, and then jotted down a couple of notes and smiled again. “You’ll be sore for a while, and you might have some discomfort in your throat and lungs due to the water inhalation, but I’ll prescribe you something for the pain. You should be released tomorrow.”

Sam had no idea what time it was or what day it was. He nodded dumbly. The doctor still hadn’t answered his question.

“Nathan. Is he… is he all right?”

The doc proceeded to inject a needle full of something into the IV tube running into Sam’s right arm. “He’s out in the hall. I’ll send him in, and I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours. Try to get some sleep, if you can. This will help.”

The doctor’s shoes squeaked on the linoleum as he left. Sam’s bandaged arm ached, but the drugs were quick acting. He was already pleasantly fuzzy when Nathan entered the room, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. With his messy hair, his beard, and the dirt smudges on his shirt and jeans, he looked wild. Sam had never seen a more perfect sight.

“Sam,” he said, his face lighting up with worry and relief. And then he was there in Sam’s arms—well, arm.

“You’re all right?” Sam whispered hoarsely against his rough cheek. “I was so worried he’d given you something else… something bad.” At the back of his mind, he’d worried it had been poison, but he hadn’t let himself go there.

“I’m fine. A little tired, but I’m fine. What about you? They told me you fought him. You brave idiot.”

“He killed my parents,” said Sam. “And he hurt you.”

Nathan’s eyes were wide with pain and something else—pride. Sam started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Nathan asked, slightly alarmed.

“
The Princess Bride.
I… this is just like
The Princess Bride
. Well almost.”

Nathan looked at him like he was crazy, and he put a hand to Sam’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

Sam’s laughter started to give way to a coughing fit, and his lungs ached. Maybe he was slightly mad. “Like I was just shot, then dredged from the bottom of a river. I thought for sure I was a goner. Who saved me?”

“Officer Jain. Remember him?”

Sam smoothed back Nathan’s hair with his good hand. “I’ve run into him a time or two. Looks like I have a thank-you card to write.” If he hadn’t arrived when he did, Sam would be fish food.

“He’s been working closely with Donna. She’s all right, by the way. I imagine she’ll want to talk to you soon, but I’ve convinced her a day of rest won’t hurt.” Nathan kissed Sam’s eyelids and his forehead. His touch was gentle, seeking out tender places. Sam could hardly feel the pain in his arm anymore. Whatever meds the doc had given him were good. But he couldn’t sleep yet.

Sam forced his eyes open. “And Rivera?”

“Dead. Donna shot him.”

“I’m sorry.” The man had killed his parents, but he had been a mentor to Nathan and a friend. At least that was what Nathan had always believed.

“So am I.” Sam saw the raw pain in Nathan’s eyes. He knew what that betrayal meant. Nathan would need support over the next few weeks, and Sam would be there to give it to him. They would be there for each other. But they didn’t need to talk about it yet. Sam stroked Nathan’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Nathan framed Sam’s face with both hands. “When I woke up and they told me you were in surgery, I thought the worst.”

Sam knew the feeling. “When I saw you in the back of the car, unresponsive… yeah. I thought the worst too. It made everything we’ve been fighting over seem so insignificant.”

“Perspective’s always helpful, but I prefer to get it in other ways.”

“Me too. How come I’m the one who always winds up in the hospital?” Sam stifled a yawn. His body felt heavy, like he could sleep for a week. His face was tender where Rivera had landed a particularly nasty punch.

“I’d take your place in a second.”

“No. I don’t want that either.” His eyes drifted shut again. It was nice having Nathan so close, and it would be even nicer if they were in bed together. He wanted to stay awake to enjoy the hands petting his hair. “I don’t want you to feel guilty over this. It wasn’t your fault.”

Nathan sighed. Sam knew he was probably fighting a losing battle, but he had to say it anyway.

“Oh, by the way, I found this in my pocket.” Nathan held out the silver keychain. Its tiny key dangled like a promise. “You put it there, didn’t you?”

Sam nodded. “Yes. In the car… before he… I wanted you to know… he wanted….” He blinked back the tears that were suddenly threatening.

Nathan leaned down and softly kissed his mouth. “Shh. We can talk about it later. Here.” He made a move to put the key back in Sam’s hand.

“You keep it.” Sam shook his head. It felt like it weighed twenty pounds. “I’m sleepy.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Nathan pressed his warm lips against Sam’s forehead. “Get some rest. You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

“But Tim. Is he okay? I didn’t get to take… the stuff is there in a pile. I wanted him to have it.”

“Of course. I’ll call Lisa and make sure we get it sorted out.”

“Don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Sam’s grip went slack. He was already tumbling into a dream. In it Nathan said, “I’ll never leave you so long as I live.”

SHADOW WAS
a small white blob of fur at his side, purring loudly. They were both curled up on the couch a few days after the shooting, and Sam was frustrated. What good was a fancy new computer if he couldn’t type?

“Give it some time. The doctors say you should rest your arm.” Nathan appeared in the doorway with a kitchen towel draped lazily over his shoulder. An unpleasant smell wafted from behind him. Something was burning, but Nathan assured him it was fine.

“I don’t have a few days,” Sam groused. “The news is happening now.” He’d even tried typing with his right hand only—an exercise in futility. He’d never be able to finish his article. When the
Times
called him, he thought it was a prank. But it wasn’t, and not finishing by his deadline would be career suicide.

“All right. What if I got you some voice-recognition software?”

Sam brightened. “Could you?”

“I have to go out later. I’ll see what they have at the store.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

Nathan shrugged. “I’m smarter than you.”

The doorbell rang, and Nathan went to answer it. Sam smiled at the group of familiar voices mingling in greeting. He missed his friends. They briefly visited the hospital but hadn’t been permitted to stay long. Alex and Rachel were both carrying presents, and Yuri, bless him, had two extralarge pepperoni pizzas.

“When you told me Nathan was cooking, I knew I had to intervene.”

“You’ve done the Lord’s work,” Sam agreed.

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Nathan snapped the kitchen towel at him, and Sam swatted it away with his good arm. He set down his laptop and made room for his friends, much to Shadow’s chagrin. She eyed the newcomers with disdain from the floor.

Everyone settled for lunch. Nathan sat to Sam’s left and Rachel to his right. Alex and Yuri surrounded the coffee table, sitting on pillows on the floor.

“So how is the patient recovering?” Rachel asked. “Are you behaving yourself?”

“What do you think?” Nathan asked.

“Never do that again, by the way.” Yuri glared at him.

Sam returned the look. “What? Get shot? I’ll try to remember.” He wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

“I meant tackle a mobster with a gun.”

“It’s all part of the job,” said Sam, with just a touch of pride.

All joking aside, there were some things he’d never forget—like Rivera’s last victim, the young man he had to carry. Sam could still feel the warmth leeching out of those dead limbs. Antonio Rivera was one of the coldest, most calculating men he had ever met, and Sam was glad he got the punishment he deserved, even if he wasn’t the one who dealt the final blow.

It was hard to say if knowing the truth made it easier to take. He still hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around what happened, and he was pretty sure Nathan had instructed everyone not to bring it up.

“Are you cold?” Rachel reached for the extra blanket on the back of the couch and draped it over his lap.

“I’m fine. Seriously.”

“You always say that. Shut up and let us pamper you.”

Sam let his friends fill him in on the more innocuous goings-on in Stonebridge. Rachel and Alex had good news. They were planning a Christmas wedding. Nothing too fancy, just friends and family at the courthouse and a huge party at the Lucky Star. And then the kicker.

“You’re buying the bar?” Sam’s mouth dropped open.

Rachel made a high-pitched noise and stamped her feet on the floor. “Yes. The owner wanted to sell, and I’ve been saving, and well, I figured it was time I went for it. We’re going to redecorate and reopen in time for the wedding.”

“Sacrilege,” Sam said. “You better not fire the cook.” He loved those burgers.

Alex beamed at her. “Look at my fiancée, would you? A business owner. I’m so proud.”

A round of congratulations filled the room, and they all raised their soda glasses to toast. Sam had meant what he said about not drinking. He had too much to lose. In moments when he was happy, he didn’t miss it. It was the dark times he had to worry about. Still, he knew he needed some help. He’d scheduled his first session for the following week.

“What about you? How’s the boy toy?” Sam smirked at Yuri, who stuck his tongue out.