Phoenix: A Hunter Novel

by J. V. Speyer

  Luis’ face went cool and smooth, a professional mask Donovan had seen before. “And the rest of the leg?”

  Wattana nodded once. “Right. Well, the bone shattered. We had to do a bone graft. We used synthetic bone because the body is less likely to reject it and we didn’t want to put you through that if we didn’t have to. The graft is held in place with metal plates.”

  Jose cleared his throat. “What are the long-term consequences?” He took Luis’ hand. Donovan already had the other.

  “Well, his recovery period is going to be a long one.” Ihejirika gave Luis a sympathetic glance. “The recovery from the simple gunshot wound would have been long. The nerve involvement is a complicating factor. We did surgically repair some nerves during surgery, as we found clear evidence of the need to do so. What remains to be seen is what damage we couldn’t see due to inflammation and what damage may have been caused by the graft or the plates.”

  Luis met the eyes of each surgeon in turn. “Thank you for your hard work. I know it’s delicate surgery and you did everything possible to save the leg. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. How long before I’m back out in the field?”

  Wattana huffed out a little laugh. Ihejirika nudged her with his elbow. “Agent, right now we can’t even guess when you’ll be able to leave the hospital. You know infection is still a risk. We’re blasting you with broad-spectrum antibiotics because of the conditions in which you were held and in which the injury took place, but that’s only so effective. We’ll consider the operation a success if you’re walking with a cane at the end of six months.”

  Donovan saw Luis pale, and he saw Holcombe turn away. She already knew. She’d already gotten the skinny from the doctors.

  And while half of Donovan wanted to rise up in fury at the violation of Luis’ privacy, the other half understood. Holcombe needed to make preparations for dealing with the Bureau. She needed to figure out a plan—how she’d help her department, how she’d deal with the human resources red tape, and how she’d help Luis.

  He turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. He’d never be able to come up with an answer to this dilemma, and he’d just get mad and lose his focus on Luis if he thought about it.

  Luis raised his eyebrow at the doctors. “Six months, huh?”

  “This isn’t something you can rush, Agent.” Wattana leaned forward, just a little. “I can see you’re an athletic guy. It’s good to keep up that energy. I’ll personally make sure we find you a physical therapist who gets that, who doesn’t assume the same exercises that work for a ninety-eight-year-old woman with sciatica are going to be right for you. But, Agent, you have an entirely artificial section of bone in your leg that’s essentially held together the same way furniture from Ikea is. It’s always going to be more delicate than the rest of your body. You’re always going to have a concern about the bone breaking again.

  “There may always be pain, from nerve damage. We still don’t know. You’re going to be here in the hospital for a while. We’re going to keep an eye on your leg and see what additional nerve damage we have. This situation could still turn on a dime. I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear, but it’s the honest truth.”

  Luis’ smile looked forced. “I’d still rather have the truth than a lie. Thank you, Doctors.”

  “We’ll send someone in to check your vitals and clean your bandages in a little bit.” Wattana acknowledged the crowd with a nod and left the room.

  Donovan heard Ihejirika speaking under his breath as they left. “You orthopedists have the worst bedside manner.”

  “You think he’s the first cop I’ve worked on? You can’t sugarcoat anything, or they think they’re Superman and go out and fuck things up worse.” Their voices faded away.

  “She’s right about that.” Patricia sighed and glanced toward the door. “After I got stabbed, they told me I ‘should consider’ staying in bed for six weeks. I went back to work a few days later, popped all my stitches, and bled everywhere chasing a suspect.”

  “But did you catch him?” Jose tilted his head to the side.

  “Of course I caught him.” Patricia snorted and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’m not letting a little blood and guts keep a pervert on the streets.”

  Holcombe laughed out loud. “Okay, so maybe the doctors are right about some things.” Then she turned to Luis. “It sounds grim, Luis.”

  “It is grim. But I’m not going to drag down the whole team.” Luis took a deep breath, like he was about to resign then and there.

  Holcombe held up a hand. “Do not finish that thought. Please.” She softened. “There’s a lot going on, for you and for the Bureau right now. I have a plan. You are too valuable to lose. I haven’t always been the best, and I know that. But please—give me some time. Like I said, there’s a plan in the works. I just have to ask that you trust me. And if I ask you to fill out some paperwork—well, you’re basically a captive audience, right?”

  Luis sighed. “I am that.”

  “Good man.” She beamed at him. “Same goes for you, Morales.”

  Alex deflated as Holcombe walked out the door, already on her phone.

  Donovan frowned over at Kevin. “What’s going on with that?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Once you make her level, you get sucked into all sorts of weird head games. The pay raise would be nice, but it’s not worth it at all. Although we are concerned about Agent Morales’ arm.” He gave Alex a harsh look.

  “It’ll be fine.” Alex looked away and blushed. “Luis got shot in the actual lung and recovered.”

  Jose hid his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

  “Took forever.” Luis made a face. “And luck runs out.” He gestured at his leg, which was still covered by a sheet. He hadn’t moved to look at it since he woke up. There was probably a complex psychological reason behind that, but Donovan didn’t need to know it. He just knew Luis was hurting, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

  Luis squirmed a little and reached for the bedside table, the one that could become a tray. It had a little drawer in it. Donovan had always kind of thought these were a work of genius, and wished they made them in more refined models for home use. Of course, he’d never get out of bed if they did.

  Luis reached into the drawer and cleared his throat. “Um, listen.” His cheeks darkened. “This is a bad time, and I get that. I smell, and I need a wash in the absolute worst way.”

  “You’re fine. You’re here and I wasn’t sure that was going to happen, so I don’t really notice any of the other stuff.” Donovan managed to smile a little. “I’m going to have to bring that johnnie home for Tria when they change it though. They wouldn’t let me bring her to you to prove you’re okay. She’s getting super twitchy.”

  Luis grinned. “I can’t wait to see her. Think we can get away with telling them it’s an ancient Brazilian custom?”

  “Your nurse is literally from Brazil. No, you can’t pull that off.” Donovan laughed.

  “So I’ll tell them it’s an ancient Puerto Rican custom.” Jose smirked. “Problem solved.”

  Luis was hiding something in his hand. Donovan shook his head to correct himself. He wasn’t so much hiding the object as he was clutching onto it for dear life.

  He cleared his throat again. “Look. Um. While I was there, in that place, I couldn’t help . . . I was scared, you know? I’d picked this thing up. And I was waiting for the right time to offer it to you. I know we’ve had our share of troubles. And right now—I mean I’m about to lose my job, maybe my leg, who knows. But I need for you to know, if that makes sense. I couldn’t get over the thought that I might die down there and you’d never know how I felt—how I wanted to show my commitment.”

  He thrust out his trembling hand. When Donovan accepted the unseen offering, he found a wide platinum band, with a small diamond in the center. A groove had been cut around the middle of the band, to draw attention to the single tiny jewel.

  Donovan gasped and almost
dropped the ring. “Luis, my God. It’s gorgeous!”

  “I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” Luis’ eyes shone with something—sincerity or maybe unshed tears. Donovan couldn’t quite tell. “I don’t want you to feel pressured because I said something in front of everyone. I just—I was so scared, that I’d die down there and you’d never know.” He glanced over at Kevin. “Thanks for grabbing this for me.”

  “It’s what your partner is for.” Kevin winked.

  Donovan blinked back his own tears. “I was scared too. Really scared. I mean—I don’t even have words to—”

  Alex slipped a small velvet box into Donovan’s hand.

  Donovan stared at him for a second. Then he threw his arms around Alex. “You’re the best. How did you know?”

  “Have to be pretty smart to get into the FBI.” Alex smirked and patted him on the back. “Go on.”

  Donovan presented the ring he’d been hoarding to Luis. “I’d been waiting for the right time too. And I realize that the right time is now—because we don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. We’re here, together, today. And if you’d . . . well, if you hadn’t come back, and you didn’t know that I wanted to make it official, and legal, and forever, I don’t know if I could have taken it.”

  Luis pulled Donovan in for a hug. It pulled the oximeter off of his finger, which set off all kinds of alarms, but neither of them cared. They only saw or heard each other.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Most of Luis’ visitors filtered out during the day, or at least rotated. Donovan and Alex still had work to do on the Southwick case, and Kevin had been assigned to assist. This freed up Donovan to spend more time closer to home (actually at the hospital), but he still had to be out and about with his detectives.

  The work didn’t stop, not even for family. Donovan’s department were his family too, and if anyone understood that, it was Luis.

  He didn’t exactly have time to be bored. He had Jose to keep him company, and Camila from Mattapan stopped in to visit when she heard what happened. She brought food, since “Hospital food is dreadful and obviously those doctors don’t know a thing about healthy food anyway.”

  A spate of fires broke out around the hospital, but never inside. A clergyman of undetermined denomination died on his way into the hospital, but a little bit of discreet snooping proved to Luis that said cleric had a history that would put him squarely on Mike’s “demonic” list. Not that Luis condoned vigilantism, but the guy should have been defrocked or whatever a long time ago.

  The ghosts didn’t enter the hospital itself, but Luis knew they were around. Maybe he shouldn’t have felt comforted, but Luis had made his peace with the inconsistencies of his unique position a long time ago.

  The first day and night after his surgery passed in a haze. Luis slept a lot, and he didn’t feel too bad about it either. He knew he should be spending time reconnecting with Jose, but he also knew he wasn’t going to be capable of much right now. He’d spent too much time interacting with the dead, which had exacerbated his shock symptoms. He’d lost too much blood. And while Jose didn’t understand the shock aspect for what it was or where it came from, he definitely didn’t expect more from Luis after everything he’d just endured.

  Plus, he seemed to like Camila’s cooking.

  The second day, they let Luis try to shower. It wasn’t easy. He had to have a bench in the shower with him, and two nurses waited outside just in case he couldn’t get out. Still, the shower was possibly the best feeling in the world. It was better than sex, or at least better than sex with anyone who wasn’t Donovan. That alone surprised Luis.

  He mentioned it to Jose, when he got out. He didn’t miss the fact that his bedding had been changed while he scrubbed every available inch of his body in water as hot as hospital plumbing would allow.

  “I never thought of myself as prissy, you know?” They spoke in Spanish, just as they had while Luis was growing up. “I mean sure, I like to dress well, but I never couldn’t get a job done because I got a little dirt on me. I’ve crawled through sewers to catch a suspect. I never thought I’d be that guy who needed a shower to feel like a human being.”

  Jose managed a little grin. “I didn’t see you right when you got out of there, and they did a pretty good job with the sponge bath thing. But that wasn’t you. That was nurses acting for you. You’d been drugged, held against your will, in a place with a lot of negative associations—I’m not surprised. It’s going to leave a mark on you. Up here, I mean.” He tapped his temple. “It’s normal. Donovan’s already restocking all of your favorite soaps and shampoos.”

  Luis froze. “He’s repulsed by how I smell now.”

  “No. But he knows you’re thinking about it. You don’t think of yourself as prissy, but apparently, you make a habit of getting shot and you’re kind of predictable when you’re recovering. By the way—I didn’t raise you to make a habit of getting shot. Are you kidding me? I taught you to avoid getting shot. I bought you your first vest!”

  Luis ducked his head, face burning. “I didn’t want to scare the homeowners,” he muttered, thinking back to the last time he’d been shot while working with Donovan. “This time was a little different.”

  “Obviously.” Jose chuckled. “No more getting shot at for you. Are we clear?”

  Someone knocked on the door so Luis didn’t have to answer his foster father. When Jose answered it, he admitted SSA Holcombe and a gray-haired white guy with a corduroy sport coat. The sport coat had actual patches on the elbows. He couldn’t have been more of an academic stereotype if he showed up in his cap and gown.

  Luis pulled the blanket up, even though it was already up to his waist. He wasn’t exactly up to meeting strangers right now, not without pants, but he wasn’t going to chase his boss out of the room either. Not while she was still his boss.

  “Luis, how are you feeling?” Holcombe approached the bed slowly and carefully, as if she were afraid of waking him up. That in and of itself was weird. “I’m sure you’re in pain.”

  “I can get to wherever you need me to be.” Luis reached for the walker hospital staff insisted he use. “I know Donovan brought me some pants, they have to be here somewhere.”

  “I told him to take them home.” Jose gave Luis a hard look. “You can’t go ‘anywhere she needs you to be,’ son. Your leg is held together with duct tape and prayers, and you’re an atheist. You need to stay right where you are until you’re medically cleared.”

  Holcombe laughed, although she blushed when she did. “I see he’s been like this for a while.”

  “Since he was nine.” Jose smirked at Luis. “Did you know he fought his captor with his crutches?” He shook his head. “This kid.”

  Academia Man gulped. “That’s . . . inspired.”

  Luis fought to keep his voice neutral. “She did have my gun at the time.” He held out his hand. “Special Agent Luis Gomes.”

  Academia Man took his hand gingerly. “Dr. Richard Norton, Harvard University Department of Psychology. I was wondering if you might be able to help me out with a problem.”

  Luis gave Holcombe a long measuring look, and then he shrugged. “I’ll admit you don’t exactly find me at the top of my game right now, but I’m happy to offer what I can.”

  Norton nodded. “I had a pastor approach me about a parishioner. The parishioner is in his midforties, white, from a middle-class background. He has served in the military, although he didn’t distinguish himself. He has trained as an accountant and worked his way up through the profession, although he’s recently been faced with setbacks. It seems he’s been unable to keep up with the changing demands of the profession, and his personality isn’t conducive to the advancement or recognition he craves.

  “Finding himself blocked, he’s bounced from job to job in the past three to five years, with each job becoming less stable and less remunerative. He is married, and the marriage is troubled. He is the father of three, as well as a stepfather, and his mother live
s with the family. The mother and the subject share a conservative religious fervor not shared by the wife. The stepdaughter has already left the family nest due to religious conflicts.

  “The pastor approached me with concerns because the father has become increasingly anxious about his financial state, disproportionately so based on what appears to be appropriate given his situation. And the pastor claims that while he has not witnessed any symptoms of domestic violence, the children have recently become extremely fearful—again, disproportionately to external appearances.

  “A recent incident shows us an example of the children’s fear. The eldest child is a daughter of sixteen years. Due to recent civil unrest, their city has been under a curfew. Police stopped the daughter and a friend due to their being out after curfew, and they brought them home. They were nowhere near the protests and were brought home instead of arrested.

  “The father began berating the daughter in front of officers, calling her a whore, among other things. The rest of the family emerged from their rooms and the father continued, even in front of her brothers. The mother shielded the daughter, although she didn’t argue with the husband—it appears as though she’s ill. The father expanded his description to encompass the mother as well—both were ‘whores.’ ”

  Luis’ blood ran cold in his veins. Carlos, his father, had accused his mother of the same thing. Jose put a hand on Luis’ shoulder.

  Norton didn’t seem to be aware of Luis’ history, or if he was he didn’t care. He kept going. “According to the pastor, the daughter told a teacher at school, ‘If my father tells you we’re going on an emergency family trip, he’s killed me.’ Agent, how do you recommend I proceed here?”

  Luis reached for his water, which Jose passed to him. “The first step would be to have the pastor encourage the father to check himself in for treatment for his anxiety and depression. He’ll decline, but it’s a step that needs to be made and documented. In the meantime, the teacher has a legal obligation to report the daughter’s claims to authorities. Social Services should already be involved, and if they aren’t, the pastor needs to get loud about it. And he needs to do so right away.