Dead Run (Dangerous Ground 4) by Josh Lanyon

Author:Josh Lanyon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paris state department glbt terrorism ds dss diplomatic security mens adventure partners to lovers long distance romance
Publisher: Josh Lanyon

Chapter Seven

Taylor must have paced a hundred miles of hospital linoleum before the gray-faced doctor appeared at the end of the long hallway. It seemed the longest walk of Taylor’s life even though the doctor met him halfway.

“How is he?” Despite his effort, his voice shook. Of all the scenarios he had pictured, this one had been comfortably missing from Taylor’s imaginings. Will was too practical, too careful — and yet here he stood as Will had stood too many times before. It was ludicrous. It was impossible, but here it was.

“You are the partner of Monsieur Brandt?”

Taylor nodded, dry-mouthed, dry-eyed, heart banging away like it was going to snap its brackets, bracing himself for it. For the first time he understood why Will maybe felt he couldn’t go through it all again.

The doctor smiled briefly at whatever he read in Taylor’s expression. “Non, non, monsieur. Your friend, your partner, he will recover. He is not greatly injured. Shock and concussion, this is the extent of his injuries. A very lucky young man.”

The relief that washed through Taylor left him weak. If there had been something to grab, to lean on, he’d have reached for it. As it was, he stood there, trying to hide the fact that he wasn’t quite steady. In the background he could hear the hospital intercom and a calm voice summoning help for another emergency in a long night of catastrophes.

“Can I see him?”

“Non, je regrette ce n’est pas possible.” It was the same in every language.

Taylor wasn’t above pleading. “Just for a minute. I won’t disturb him.” He swallowed. “I just need to see for myself.”

With so many more gravely injured, so many crises to deal with, the doctor didn’t have time for this. The expression that crossed his face was a mix of impatience and reluctant sympathy. “Two minutes, monsieur. No more.”

Taylor nodded. Belatedly he remembered his manners. “Thank you.”

The doctor waved him on. Taylor passed the nurse’s station. They looked doubtfully at the doctor who again waved Taylor on, and then at last Taylor was standing beside Will’s hospital bed.

He barely registered the monitors, the IVs, the medical paraphernalia. He saw only Will, who looked like the fallen hero in a movie: bare-chested and pale. One of his hands was taped. There was a square white dressing on the side of his head. Not nearly the extent of repair work Taylor had been expecting. They hadn’t even had to shave much of Will’s hair. There was a scrape along his jaw and a bruise along his eyebrow.

He was caught between the desire to cry and to strangle Will. “Jesus, Brandt,” Taylor whispered. “You bastard. Why’d you have to do that?”

Will slept peacefully on. His long black lashes never stirred.

Taylor stayed as long as the nurses allowed. He wasn’t doing anyone any good, including Will, but it was impossible to leave voluntarily. He stood leaning against the wall, watching Will sleep as closely as if he were going to be tested on how many breaths Will took in a minute.

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