The Ocean Dark

70

Josh sat on a table in the Kodiak’s sick bay with his shirt off. His sling hung from a chair, but he kept his left arm pressed to his body. Dr. Dolan changed the dressing on his wound.

“You’re lucky the weapon was small caliber,” the doctor said as he examined the back of Josh’s shoulder. “Clean entry and exit, probably struck bone, but doesn’t appear to have broken anything. Very lucky.”

Josh grunted as the doctor gently touched the swollen skin around the wound, then pressed a fresh bandage over it. The one good thing he could say about the pain from that wound was that it had nearly obliterated the stings and aches left over from the beating Boggs had given him. Shifting his arm even a couple of inches made him forget all about bruised ribs.

“How is getting shot lucky, exactly?” he asked.

Dr. Dolan came around the front of the table, staring at him. “You’re still breathing, Agent Hart. As I understand it, the man who shot you is dead. Who’s luckier, would you say?”

Josh had not seen Miguel Rio die, but he knew the sirens had gotten him. And admittedly, the bullet wound seemed like a fair price to pay for not getting ripped apart by those things.

“Point taken,” he said, sliding off the table. He reached for his shirt and gingerly slid his left arm into it. Pain erupted from his wound and radiated across his chest and up his arm.

Dr. Dolan saw him grimace. “I’m sure there’s no point in my saying so, but you really shouldn’t be going anywhere. You need rest to heal.”

“I just need to get through today,” Josh told him. “Four hours, maybe five. Then I can crash. Think you can pack me a picnic lunch for my trip ashore?”

Dolan’s blue eyes were dark with disapproval. “You took some Vicodin less than three hours ago.”

“Some,” Josh agreed. “How about all of it?”

“Not funny,” the doctor said. “Vicodin is powerful stuff, Agent Hart. Take enough of it, and you’ll be able to function. Take too much, and you’ll be less than useless to yourself and to everyone else. You’re really better off staying on board.”

“For a dozen reasons, at least,” Josh admitted. Then his good humor vanished and he fixed Dr. Dolan with a look of such gravity that the man actually recoiled. “But I can’t stay here while my squad is out there. None of them gave up on me, Doc. How can I do any less? They don’t even know what they’re facing.”

Normally, Josh kept such feelings to himself, but the Vicodin made it seem entirely reasonable to say what was really on his mind.

Dr. Dolan studied him. “You think you need more Vicodin? That it isn’t helping?”

“I’m not stupid, Doc. I know it’s helping, but after the first couple of hours the pain starts coming back, deep down at first and then spreading, like a bomb exploding in slow motion.”

“Pain is good,” the doctor said. “It makes you careful, keeps you from doing anything really stupid. Pain reminds you to rest the arm so the wound can start to knit—”

“That’s what the sling is for.”

“It’s not the same thing, and you know that,” the doctor chided.

Josh sighed, regarding him grimly. “Look, Doc, I don’t love the Vicodin. Seriously. Sure, part of it is wonderful. It’s like I’m a fish in a bowl, swimming around all content, and the things going on outside the bowl don’t seem to matter that much. But the thing is, I’ve got some control issues, and when I manage to think about how much I’m liking my fishbowl … it worries me. So, like I said, I don’t love the Vicodin. But right now, Dr. Dolan, it’s my best damn friend in the world.”

For several long moments, the doctor only looked at him. Then he sighed.

“All right,” Dr. Dolan said. He hesitated, and then repeated it, as though trying to convince himself. “All right.” He turned and opened the door, then flinched back as he discovered Rachael Voss outside.

“Oh. Something I can do for you, Agent?”

“Just need a minute with my partner, Doc,” Voss replied.

Josh noted the tightness of her voice with curiosity, and the way her brows knitted together when she glanced at him over the doctor’s shoulder. These things didn’t trouble him, however. He had not been lying about the effects of the Vicodin. Rachael had something to talk to him about, and that was fine by him. Why wouldn’t it be? If he didn’t like what he heard, he could always swim deeper into his fishbowl — as long as Dolan came through with enough Vicodin to last him the day.

“Fine, fine,” Dr. Dolan said. He glanced back at Josh. “I’ll be back in a moment, Agent Hart.”

Josh raised his right hand in a kind of wave.

Voss came into the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

“What’s up?” Josh asked.

“What’s going on with you and Tori Austin? I saw the looks you two gave each other, and especially the way she looked at you. I know that look. I’ve given it to more than a few guys myself.” Voss lowered her voice. “You’re sleeping with her?”

Josh took a deep breath. He had hoped to save this conversation for later, but now he nodded slowly. “Once, yeah.”

“Jesus!” Voss said, anger and confusion in her eyes.

“I know. And I know there could be serious repercussions. I’m going to put the whole thing in my report and face the music, whatever happens. It isn’t something I meant to happen, Rachael.”

She stared at him, cocking her head. “You care about her.”

“I do.” And he didn’t think it was the Vicodin talking. “But it all happened under false pretenses. She thought I was someone else, just a nice guy who could cook. I hurt her pretty bad, and I—”

“Stop!” Voss said, holding up one hand. She shook her head, walked toward him, and gently slapped his face. “Wake up, Josh. Between this woman, that hole in your shoulder, and the drugs you’re on, you are not thinking straight. No way are you going out to that island with her. I’ll send Pavarotti instead.”

Josh picked up his sling from the chair and carefully slipped it on. Fresh pain blossomed in his shoulder. What the hell was taking the doctor so long?

“Bullshit,” he said, leaning against the examining table. “You’re my best friend, Rachael. Maybe you’re disappointed in me or worried about me, and maybe you’re pissed off at me—”

“You could have told me!”

He blinked at the way she’d raised her voice. “And I planned to. It’s not like we’ve had time for a heart-to-heart since you pulled me out of that lifeboat last night.”

Voss seemed about to shout again, but then she deflated, letting out a long breath. “All right. Okay. I’m not going to pretend to understand, but it’s something we can talk about later. And I am worried about you, Josh. You’re compromised. If you have feelings for this woman, you shouldn’t be the one out there with her.”

Josh smiled and cocked his head, the pain abating for a moment. “I have feelings for you, Rachael. You’re my best friend and my partner, and I love you, but that’s never stopped me from thinking clearly when we’re in the field.”

She seemed taken aback by his words.

“Sorry,” he said. “Vicodin makes me honest and too chatty. Anyway, this is your squad, yes. You’re the boss. But Turcotte took over our case, and now this Alena Boudreau is in charge. She gets to decide who goes where. You could go talk to her, make it hard for me, but I’m really hoping you won’t.”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

And he did. Whatever disagreements they had, she would keep it between them.

“Thanks.”

Voss looked like she had something else to say, but then, instead, she closed the gap between them and pulled Josh into a gentle embrace, resting her head on his chest. Pain flooded his shoulder, but he forced himself not to let it show or make a noise.

“Just don’t die, okay? I already thought I’d lost you once.”

Josh kissed the top of her head, feeling the bond between them more acutely than ever before — as if she had come to join him in his Vicodin fishbowl. In another world, they might have shared a love that went beyond friendship, but that would have required sacrificing the ability to work together, and the closeness that brought. No, their bond was as partners, not lovers.

“Dying is definitely not part of my plan.”

Voss stepped back, seeming embarrassed by her show of emotion. “You have a plan?”

He pretended to think about it, then shook his head. “Actually, not dying is pretty much the entire plan.”

For the first time since she had entered the room, Voss smiled. “Simple plans are always best. I like it.”

A quick rap came at the door and then it opened. Dr. Dolan handed Josh a small white cup.

“Take two now,” the doctor said as Josh rattled the pills in the cup. “In three hours, if you’re not already back on board, take the other two. Come see me when you come back from the island and we’ll change those dressings again. Then, if you’re going to be resting for a while, I’ll give you a bottle of Vicodin you can take with you when the operation is over.”

“Why not give it to me now?” Josh asked.

“Because you want it now, and if you insist on staying upright today, I’m not going to let you do it so impaired that you can’t put coherent thoughts together.”

Josh arched an eyebrow and glanced at Voss, who did not look amused. Somehow, it didn’t make Josh himself any less so.

“Spoilsport,” he said to Dolan, then went to the sink, got a cup of water, and washed down two pills. The other two he crushed inside the paper cup, then slid the whole thing into his pocket, promising himself that he would at least try to wait the three hours.

Suspecting he would break the promise.

He made a mental note to try, should he survive the day, to avoid getting shot in the future.