Night's Landing Read Online Free PDF
Author: Carla Neggers
wasn’t leaving a stone unturned.
Nate’s head throbbed, and Special Agent Collins was getting on his nerves. Anyone would. He felt woozy from whatever crap Dr. Ling had pumped into him. A couple of Tylenol and directions to the exit would have suited him fine.
“They’re twins,” Collins said, “Deputy Dunnemore and his sister. You have two sisters, right? You call them?”
“Not yet, no. What the hell, Collins? You suspicious because Rob called his sister? For God’s sake,
she
didn’t shoot him.”
Collins ignored him. “Okay, you rest. Doctors say they might spring you later on, let you sleep in your own bed tonight. That must sound pretty good right now.”
“Just find the damn shooter. Never mind me.”
“Yeah. We’re on it. You’re not going to get in the way, are you?”
Nate said nothing.
“One last thing,” Collins said. “What were you and Deputy Dunnemore talking about before you got hit?”
“Tulips.”
The FBI agent managed a small grin before he left. Even the stone-faced female agent in the corner had a twitch of a smile.
Nate had his bed cranked up to a sitting position and was lying back against his skinny pillow, his shoes still on and his ankles crossed, when his family descended.
Gus, Antonia, Carine and their new husbands, Hank Callahan and Tyler North.
Collins had left almost an hour before. Since then, Nate had refused all company and stared at the ceiling, seeing Rob’s body jerking up as the bullet hit, hearing his sister’s shocked, frightened voice when Nate had talked to her. He saw the blood on the phone. Heard his own calm voice, as if he wasn’t really there, in the middle of chaos, shot, trying to save his colleague, trying to find the shooter. So much happening at once, but certain things stuck with him, wouldn’t recede.
He hadn’t called the sister back. He couldn’t—her number was on Rob’s cell phone.
Someone must have contacted her by now.
Twins. Nate couldn’t remember Rob ever saying much about her.
The image started replaying itself, like a movie, but Nate pulled himself out of it and sat up straighter. He tried to smile at his family. “I feel like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
. All I need is Toto to show up. They let you all in here at once?”
His white-haired uncle, built like Nate, grunted. “It’s Antonia’s fault. She told your doctors you could handle all of us.”
Nate eyed his out-to-there pregnant sister, wearing what at a guess was one of her husband’s shirts. “I can handle the stress, but can you, Antonia? You look like you’re going to have that baby any second.”
“Not for a few more weeks.” Always the doctor, she picked up his chart and scanned it, sighing. “How’s your arm?”
“Anesthetized. I can’t feel a thing. Rob Dunnemore’s the one in rough shape.”
She nodded. “So I understand.”
Tyler North, Carine’s air force pararescueman husband, spoke up. “A wound like that. Chances are he’s either going to make a full recovery or he’s going to die. There’s not much in between.”
Antonia winced. “Ty, for God’s sake—”
But North wasn’t one to pussyfoot around. They’d all been friends since childhood, and Nate appreciated his straightforward assessment. Carine leaned over his bed, the stress of the past hours evident in her drawn, pale look, in the blue eyes all three siblings shared. Carine was the youngest. Her auburn hair was lighter than Antonia’s, Nate’s own hair so dark the red streaks were barely noticeable. Carine had been shot at. She knew what it was like. “I’m glad you weren’t killed,” she whispered.
“Me, too.”
Hank Callahan, Antonia’s husband, slipped an arm around his wife and eyed Nate. “Is there anything I can do?” Once a helicopter rescue pilot and now a junior senator from Massachusetts, Hank, like the rest of them, was used to taking action.
“Get me a shirt. I feel like an idiot in this gown.”
Antonia hissed. “I knew
Nate’s head throbbed, and Special Agent Collins was getting on his nerves. Anyone would. He felt woozy from whatever crap Dr. Ling had pumped into him. A couple of Tylenol and directions to the exit would have suited him fine.
“They’re twins,” Collins said, “Deputy Dunnemore and his sister. You have two sisters, right? You call them?”
“Not yet, no. What the hell, Collins? You suspicious because Rob called his sister? For God’s sake,
she
didn’t shoot him.”
Collins ignored him. “Okay, you rest. Doctors say they might spring you later on, let you sleep in your own bed tonight. That must sound pretty good right now.”
“Just find the damn shooter. Never mind me.”
“Yeah. We’re on it. You’re not going to get in the way, are you?”
Nate said nothing.
“One last thing,” Collins said. “What were you and Deputy Dunnemore talking about before you got hit?”
“Tulips.”
The FBI agent managed a small grin before he left. Even the stone-faced female agent in the corner had a twitch of a smile.
Nate had his bed cranked up to a sitting position and was lying back against his skinny pillow, his shoes still on and his ankles crossed, when his family descended.
Gus, Antonia, Carine and their new husbands, Hank Callahan and Tyler North.
Collins had left almost an hour before. Since then, Nate had refused all company and stared at the ceiling, seeing Rob’s body jerking up as the bullet hit, hearing his sister’s shocked, frightened voice when Nate had talked to her. He saw the blood on the phone. Heard his own calm voice, as if he wasn’t really there, in the middle of chaos, shot, trying to save his colleague, trying to find the shooter. So much happening at once, but certain things stuck with him, wouldn’t recede.
He hadn’t called the sister back. He couldn’t—her number was on Rob’s cell phone.
Someone must have contacted her by now.
Twins. Nate couldn’t remember Rob ever saying much about her.
The image started replaying itself, like a movie, but Nate pulled himself out of it and sat up straighter. He tried to smile at his family. “I feel like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
. All I need is Toto to show up. They let you all in here at once?”
His white-haired uncle, built like Nate, grunted. “It’s Antonia’s fault. She told your doctors you could handle all of us.”
Nate eyed his out-to-there pregnant sister, wearing what at a guess was one of her husband’s shirts. “I can handle the stress, but can you, Antonia? You look like you’re going to have that baby any second.”
“Not for a few more weeks.” Always the doctor, she picked up his chart and scanned it, sighing. “How’s your arm?”
“Anesthetized. I can’t feel a thing. Rob Dunnemore’s the one in rough shape.”
She nodded. “So I understand.”
Tyler North, Carine’s air force pararescueman husband, spoke up. “A wound like that. Chances are he’s either going to make a full recovery or he’s going to die. There’s not much in between.”
Antonia winced. “Ty, for God’s sake—”
But North wasn’t one to pussyfoot around. They’d all been friends since childhood, and Nate appreciated his straightforward assessment. Carine leaned over his bed, the stress of the past hours evident in her drawn, pale look, in the blue eyes all three siblings shared. Carine was the youngest. Her auburn hair was lighter than Antonia’s, Nate’s own hair so dark the red streaks were barely noticeable. Carine had been shot at. She knew what it was like. “I’m glad you weren’t killed,” she whispered.
“Me, too.”
Hank Callahan, Antonia’s husband, slipped an arm around his wife and eyed Nate. “Is there anything I can do?” Once a helicopter rescue pilot and now a junior senator from Massachusetts, Hank, like the rest of them, was used to taking action.
“Get me a shirt. I feel like an idiot in this gown.”
Antonia hissed. “I knew