13_KnockOut by Catherine Coulter

Author:Catherine Coulter
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: G. P. PUTNAMS SONS
Published: 2009-10-01T23:00:00+00:00

38

“IS ANYONE THERE? How can I know if anyone’s there if I can’t Yes, I’m here, Mr. Backman. I’m sorry about the blindfold. I’m your nurse, Cindy Maybeck. Do you need anything, sir?”

His voice sounded weak, querulous. “I need you to take off this ridiculous blindfold.”

“ I’m sorry, sir, but I was told to leave it in place, for my own pro-tection, not that I believe it, but I have to follow orders. Let me take your pulse, listen to your heart.”

Blessed felt her lift his wrist, place two fingers against the pulse, “It’s that hick sheriff; he’s torturing me because we had a disagreement. Here I’m old enough to be his daddy and he’s afraid of me. Isn’t that a kick? Listen, how would you like to lie in darkness, Nurse, with your hands strapped down? I can’t even scratch my nose. It’s inhu-mane, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Backman. I was told—”

“I hurt; I hurt real bad.”

“Now, sir, you had a shot of morphine not an hour ago. Why don’t you try to sleep? Sleep will make you heal faster. You want me to scratch you anywhere?”

Blessed hissed out a moan but didn’t say anything more.

Cindy took his pulse. Nice and slow and regular. Then she put a cuff on his good arm and a stethoscope below it. He had good pressure, a little on the high side but nothing to merit alarm. She straightened, looked down at him. She said softly, “Don’t cry, Mr. Backman, you’re getting the blindfold wet.”

He sobbed.

“You’re going to make yourself all itchy if you don’t stop crying, Mr. Backman.”

“Just wipe my eyes for me, Nurse. Please. What can I do? My hands are tied down, I’m helpless.”

She held herself silent for a few seconds. She’d heard Dr. Truitt say all of these precautions were ridiculous; he was an old man, for God’s sake. But then the sheriff and the FBI agent had told everyone not to remove his blindfold and why. He could hypnotize someone instantly? She’d never heard of such a thing. She agreed with Dr. Truitt. This poor old man, shot twice, helpless as a foal—she said, “I really shouldn’t, I’d be disobeying orders. Oh, all right, but only for a moment. It’ll be our secret, all right? You promise you won’t tell anyone?”

His voice was liquid with tears. “I swear I won’t say anything, Nurse.”

Cindy eased the blindfold over the top of his head. She wiped away his tears. Real tears, she saw, and she knew Dr. Truitt was right. This poor man couldn’t do anything to anybody. She studied his pale face for a moment. No, surely he couldn’t—Blessed Backman opened his eyes and looked up at her.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “You’re quite pretty, all that blond hair. Is it real?”

“Yes,” Cindy said, “from my grandmother.”

“You’re a pretty, helpful girl. Unfasten the straps on my wrists.” He smiled up at her.

Cindy didn’t hesitate. She unfastened the straps and straightened to stand next to the bed, unmoving.

Blessed slowly eased onto his side, pressed his palm to his bandaged shoulder, and sat up.

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