“At this point, his vitals are stable, there’s no indication of any long-term damage, and primary treatment continues to be supportive care.”
Thank God!
“How long before he comes to?”
“Depends. Based on the severity of the case, it’s not uncommon for hypothermia patients to be unconscious for twenty-four to forty-eight hours, so he should be coming around any time now. Unfortunately, full cognitive and physical recovery could take anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks.”
“Shit. We don’t have that kind of time.” The man speaking turned to look her way, and Becca’s heart plummeted all the way to the depths of hell.
She may not know the sound of his voice, but even through the fringe of her lashes, she’d recognize his sharp features and steely eyes anywhere.
Sam Black.
Second-in-command to illegal arms trafficking dealer Victor Bodak.
Fuck! She let her lids close gently to avoid detection, and back inside the darkness of her mind, her brain barreled full speed ahead with the questions while she pretended to be asleep.
Used by Jonas Johnson to further his own agenda, Bodak was already dead. One of Johnson’s disposable soldiers in his quest for the top spot on the Imperium Council. Had Black taken over? Was he in bed with Johnson? Working with Maya?
Shit! Had he been a plant all along? One of Johnson’s inner circle?
Despite a thorough search, she hadn’t been able to find out much about him through regular or backdoor channels. A dangerous assassin with a significant number of names crossed off his kill list, the man was a living, breathing ghost.
One who’d disappeared shortly before authorities discovered Victor Bodak’s body in a warehouse in Savannah. A setup. But one she hadn’t attributed to the man who now shared her space.
Why? Why hadn’t she kept tabs on him? Or at least tried to.
And why the fuck was he here now?
With Jay?
She needed answers. Information. A weapon. And access to a computer. ASAP.
After a shit, shave, and hot as fuck shower, Cody was squeaky clean inside and out. Steam billowing around him, he did a quick pat down of chest and legs before wrapping the towel around his waist and tucking in the end.
With a yawn he felt down to his weary bones, he stepped up to the sink and fixed his gaze in the big mirror. His tired face stared back at him. He needed a haircut. Again. Skilled with a razor, Zander had been doing the honors, keeping Cody’s hair high and tight.
Buzzed to the scalp on the sides and back with enough length left on top to keep him from looking too militant, his style of choice needed to be maintained every two to three weeks. A pain in the ass, but necessary if he didn’t want to resemble a prickly porcupine.
In need of gel support, he opened a drawer, pulled out a bottle of hair goop, and flipped the top open. One shake told him he held an empty, and a hard squeeze into the palm of his hand produced a wet fart and just enough product to get him through to his next wash.
Not a problem, sporting a full head of hockey hair, Grant had enough shit on his bathroom counter to go around, and Cody liked to do his shopping at home. Win/win. He tossed the bottle into the garbage, rubbed his palms together, and ran his hands through his strands.
A quick brush, a little flick in front, and he was ready for the day.
Actually, scratch that. The day had been spent unloading gear, inspecting equipment for damage, and safety checking weapons before cleaning and storing them in the secure room. Then after he’d debriefed Adam on the mission, gotten medical updates on everyone from Eve, and had a quick mandatory online nothing-wrong-with-my-head therapy sesh with Doctor Christina, he’d hightailed it up to his room for a twenty-minute power nap.
Yeah, the entire day had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and with a long night ahead of him due to volunteering for first watch, he needed to get his ass in some pants and some food in his belly.
With a last glance at the nail abrasions Rebecca had left on his cheek, he ditched the bathroom in search of his deodorant. His duffel still where Davis had left it on the floor earlier, he stooped and scooped, pulling it up by the handles and placing it on his bed.
A quick unzip of the partially open zipper and?—
Jesus Christ!
His heart leaped into his throat as a tiny cat Punxsutawny Philed its way up and out of the bag like it was February second and it had one fucking job to do. The little shit. They were already past mid-March, and for the most part, winter had gone out like a lamb.
But not this beast.
