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out. Go to bed. I’ll take over from here.”
    “Yes, miss. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave her a slight bow and left.
    Megan grasped the doorknob, waited a second, and entered the room. Doc Allen was sprawled in the easy chair next to the sliding door to the balcony, and he waved a languid hand, which held an unlit cigarette. “Before you ask, it wasn’t my idea to wait to call you on this, and, yes, he’s going to be okay. Your boss is a very lucky man. His driver saved his life by getting him here in time for me to be able to do anything for him.”
    Megan made a mental note to do something nice for Phelps, who’d pulled Alex’s bacon out of the fire nearly as much as she had. “Where was he shot?”
    “Looks like it was a jacketed round, so it went through and out without mushrooming, which was another fortunate thing. It entered above his shoulder blade and exited between the bottom two ribs on the right side, collapsing his lung and filling it with blood at the same time. I’ve re-inflated the lung, suctioned the blood, sewn him up, and injected a shitload of nanotech. The rest is up to him. Make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”
    She snorted. The fact that she could do that meant she was relieved by the news. “You know him.”
    “Sadly, yes.” Doc Allen rose to his feet. “I’m going to smoke a cigarette and crash in a guest room. Call me if there’s a change for the worse.”
    “Will do.” She kicked her shoes off, sat cross-legged on the bed, and settled in to wait.

Chapter Three
    Alex woke up in his own bed, the ache in his chest mitigated pretty handily by whatever painkillers they’d given him. And he could breathe again.
    Megan sat on top of the comforter in a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt—she looked equal parts tired, concerned, and pissed off. He cringed. “Please don’t go to Hawaii?”
    “Pissed off” seemed to be winning. “You know, if you weren’t so good at putting yourself where you’re eventually going to die, I’d kill you myself,” she said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
    A slight shrug. “That I can’t resist a damsel in distress?”
    “You’re not bulletproof, Alex!” She took a deep gulp of air and put her face in her hands.
    He was startled. “Hey.” He hesitated a second before putting his hand on her knee and rubbing it with his thumb. “Hey, Megan. Totally not my fault this time. I had no idea someone with a gun was in the area; Janni looked like she needed help.”
    “And it’s just like you to go off half-cocked with no backup and not even let anyone know where you are …”
    “That is so not true. I was with Phelps.” What would have happened had the sniper shot Phelps didn’t bear thinking about. So he didn’t.
    “I got a call from Chambliss at three in the morning, after Doc Allen got done with you! You thoughtless, idiotic beast.” Her whole body was trembling.
    “He probably just didn’t want you to worry.” That sounded like a lame excuse even to Alex, who was the undisputed king of lame excuses, and he vowed to have a private word with Chambliss later.
    He struggled up into a sitting position and pulled her into a hug, stroking the blonde hair cascading down her back and wondering how long she’d let him get away with this.
    She grabbed his shirt and pounded his chest—fortunately, the left, uninjured side—once. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she said, her voice muffled into his shoulder. “And this time there are other people involved. Did you see Ben? That poor son of a bitch. And Janni is a wreck.”
    “How’s he doing?” Alex still wasn’t clear on how Ben was involved in this thing.
    “He’ll be okay.” She shoved away from him, and he let her go. “What’s going on, Alex? I got a little out of Janni, but not much.”
    He shrugged. “I asked her mom’s PI firm to look into some things, but you knew that. Where are they?”
    “The yellow guest room.”
    “All right.