Brett Battles - The Destroyed

“You are here to see your friend,” she said, not a question. “My sister said you would be back.”

“Sister?”

“ Signora Pelligrini.”

Nate looked at the woman anew, and though she and the nurse he’d met earlier were nowhere near identical, he did notice a few, subtle common characteristics.

“You’re a nurse, too?”

“No, uh, just help.”

He entered the building and she shut the door.

“Is the doctor still here?” he asked.

“ Si, but, um, he sleep in his office. You want me to wake him?”

“Not yet.” Nate took a step toward Quinn’s room, then stopped. “There’s another friend who should be here soon. A woman. Asian.”

“If you hear knock, you can answer.”

“Okay.”

He entered the room and the woman followed. Quinn now lay on a narrow bed that had replaced the examination table he’d been operated on. His eyes were closed, but other than the tube running under his nose, and the bandages that covered the left side of his neck and shoulder, he looked almost normal.

“Any change?” he whispered to the woman.

“No, everything same. Good and, um…stead.”

“Steady?”

“ Si,” she said, brightening. “Steady. That what doctor say. Steady.”

That was good news.

“You want coffee? Tea?” She paused. “ Acqua?”

“I’m okay. Thank you,” Nate said.

“ Acqua,” Quinn whispered.

Nate whipped around.

“ Signore,” the woman said, moving quickly to the bed. “How you feel?”

His eyes slits, Quinn repeated, “ Acqua.”

“ Si, si.” She ran out of the room.

“Good to see you awake,” Nate said, smiling.

“What…happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“Getting shot.”

“We got you out of there, brought you here. Doctor fixed you up.”

“How long?”

Nate looked at his watch. “Since you were shot? Almost sixteen hours.”

“Worried it was…longer.” Quinn took a few breaths. “What about Mi-”

The door opened and the doctor rushed in. Pushing Nate out of the way, he pulled a light out of his pocket, and leaned over Quinn. “Your head, it hurt?”

“It’s…fine.”

“Open your eyes.”

“They are open.”

“Like this.” The doctor opened his eyes wide.

Quinn’s slits doubled in size, but apparently it wasn’t enough. The doctor spread the lids of one eye apart with his fingers, shined the light in, then did the same with the other. As he finished, his sister-in-law entered carrying a pitcher of water and an empty glass.

“ La porta,” she said.

Nate assumed she was talking to the doctor so he didn’t pay attention to her.

“ La porta. La porta,” she said again.

“The door,” the doctor told him.

“Oh. Oh, right,” Nate said, the words finally sinking in.

He jogged to the back door, and pulled it open to find an impatient and worried-looking Orlando.

“He just woke up,” he said, moving out of the way so she could enter.

When they reached Quinn’s room, the doctor was still doing his examination so they paused near the door.

“Exactly where was he hit?” she whispered to Nate.

He touched the spot that corresponded with Quinn’s wound.

“Ligament damage?”

He shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”

At the bed, Dr. Pelligrini peeled back a corner of Quinn’s bandage and looked underneath. With a satisfied nod, he taped it back down and took a step back.

“Now, rest only. Let the wound heal, you understand? And you be okay.”

“Right. Rest,” Quinn said.

The doctor looked at Nate. “You make sure he does. No rest, no good for heal. Si?”

“ Si,” Nate said.

The doctor headed for the door. “I go back to sleep. You need me, you come get me.”

As he passed his sister-in-law, he motioned for her to leave, too. Reluctantly, she followed him out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, Quinn tried to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nate blurted out as he rushed over, Orlando only a half step behind. “You need to lie down.”

“I’m fine,” Quinn said, his voice strained.

“The hell you are,” Orlando said.

Quinn jerked in surprise, then winced in pain from the effort. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? You get shot so I should just stay in San Francisco drinking espressos?”

He said nothing for a second, then, “You don’t like…espresso.”

She pointed a finger at him, jabbing the air with every word as she said, “Do not try to lighten the mood.”

“Sorry.” He paused. “It’s good to see you.”

“You bastard. You disappear for six months, and when you do finally show up, you get yourself shot. I should kill you myself.”

“Getting shot wasn’t exactly…part of the plan.”

“That implies there was a plan, which I doubt.” She frowned, then leaned over and kissed him.

Nate stepped toward the door. “Maybe I’ll go see if I can-”

“Stay right there,” Orlando said, her tone freezing him in place. She looked back and forth between him and Quinn. “Which one of you is going to tell me what happened?”

When it looked like Quinn wasn’t going to answer right away, Nate said, “We were trying to, um, connect with Mila Voss.”

“Connect?”

“Quinn thought there was a good chance she’d show up at Julien’s apartment.”

“Please, do not tell me she’s the one who shot him.”

“No,” Nate said quickly. “She was with us. We were in the apartment when a strike team showed up. We got out, but they surprised us on the street. They’re the ones who shot him.”

“Mila,” Quinn said. “You didn’t…tell me what happened to…her.”

“After you were shot, they grabbed her and left.”

Quinn groaned.

“Who, exactly, are ‘they’?” Orlando asked.

Instead of answering, Nate looked at his mentor, so she turned to Quinn.

“I think they might be working for Peter.”

“Peter?” There was no hiding the surprise in Orlando’s voice.

“He’s trying to find Mila. That’s why he wanted to talk to me.”

“Did you tell him you were going to look for her, too?” she asked. “Because that sure as hell seems like what you’ve been doing.”

“Looking for her, yes, but only told him that as far as I knew, she was dead.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at him. “Tell me straight out, was there something between the two of you? Is that why you pretended she was dead?”

“What?”

“You need me to stay it? Was she your girlfriend? Were you sleeping with her?”

Nate had the sudden wish he’d just left earlier without saying anything.

“No,” Quinn said. He pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Never. Not even. She was Julien’s girlfriend. I mean, had been…not important. I left Thailand to help her because Julien can’t. But I failed, and let them get her. God only knows where she is now.”

“Um, actually,” Nate said, “God and me. And Daeng.”

Quinn and Orlando looked at him.

“You know where she is?” Quinn said.

“Well, we think we do.” Nate told them about Giacona, then about visiting the safe house, and finding the outbuilding where Mila was most likely being held.

When he finished, Quinn pushed himself all the way up into a sitting position, and started to swing his legs off the bed. Orlando stiff-armed his thigh, stopping him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said.

“Leaving.”

“Not in your condition.”

“I’ve worked when I’ve been worse.”

“Name once.”

He said nothing.

“Nate and I can take care of this,” she said.