firing a shot. Defeating him seemed impossible.
Smith and Nami yelled in my ear at the same time, but I couldn't understand them. The earpiece must have been damaged, because their voices came through in high pitched, painful screeches. I couldn't concentrate through those awful sounds, so I dug the radio out of my ear and dropped it to the ground.
Dragging my eyes off the overturned truck, I looked back at Murdock. He stood by the open gravesite, staring back at me. Kicking off his pumps, he turned and fled from the cemetery.
Interfering with my revenge is the last mistake you'll ever make.
Splashing footsteps made me look back at Soccer Mom just in time to see the shovel as it smashed into my face.
Chapter 12
Waking up in a strange place with a splitting headache was getting really old.
Once again I was on a bed, staring at the ceiling. At least it wasn't disgusting this time. This room was about as vanilla as you can get. Sterile white or light blue covered almost every surface. No television, no second bed. A bunch of monitoring equipment and an I.V. sat beside me. The only door to the room was shut.
My head felt like it had been squeezed in a vise. I tried to reach up and touch it, but my arm only moved about six inches. Lifting my head, which didn't help with the pain, I looked down at my arms. Both were handcuffed to the bed. Sometime between being hit in the face with a shovel and waking up here, I had been arrested.
All I could remember was seeing the shovel coming at me, then nothing. Until now, anyway. How did I survive?
Still looking down, I saw one of those awful hospital gowns that feel like they're made out of cardboard. My clothes were nowhere to be found. I didn't see any casts or sutures on any of my visible skin. Lots of bruises and scrapes, but nothing that looked permanent. Swallowing hurt like hell where the rosary beads had done their work.
The smell of food wafting in through the door made me realize how long it had been since I had anything to eat. My stomach grumbled at the enticement. I may have been the only person in the history of the world to actually crave hospital food.
The call button for a nurse sat over the side of the bed above my shoulder. No way I could reach it. I decided to try the old fashioned way.
"Uh, hello? Can anyone hear me?"
Speaking gave me a jarring reminder of the punch I took at the cemetery.
No one responded.
Laying my head back on the pillow, I let my mind wander out. A guard, Officer Robertson, sat outside the door, reading People magazine with the torn off cover of Newsweek wrapped around it. He heard me call out, but had been instructed not to speak to me. Several nurses scurried by the door in a hurry to get to a flat lining patient down the hall.
Pulling my mental reach back, I tried to figure out what my next move would be. The confrontation with Murdock in the cemetery changed everything. His capabilities were off the charts. Wiping out that entire team of armed agents hadn't even been a challenge to him. The only hiccup that occurred seemed to be when he released the civilians who were attacking me. If I had to guess, I'd say he wasn't able to control that many people at the same time. In order to kill the agents, he had to focus on them. He didn't stick Carol Brady on me again until after he finished with them.
Why didn't he have her finish me off after she beat me unconscious? Smith guessed he could control people at a range of three hundred feet. Did he run too far away and take himself past his limit?
Murdock was confused by my presence as well. At first I thought it was shock because I was still alive. But he didn't seem to know what I meant when I mentioned the would-be assassins or the police. That didn't give me a warm and fuzzy feeling about Smith. Getting as far away from both of them as possible seemed like a good idea.
I had to get out of this hospital. Being in police custody made me a sitting duck if Murdock found out I was
Smith and Nami yelled in my ear at the same time, but I couldn't understand them. The earpiece must have been damaged, because their voices came through in high pitched, painful screeches. I couldn't concentrate through those awful sounds, so I dug the radio out of my ear and dropped it to the ground.
Dragging my eyes off the overturned truck, I looked back at Murdock. He stood by the open gravesite, staring back at me. Kicking off his pumps, he turned and fled from the cemetery.
Interfering with my revenge is the last mistake you'll ever make.
Splashing footsteps made me look back at Soccer Mom just in time to see the shovel as it smashed into my face.
Chapter 12
Waking up in a strange place with a splitting headache was getting really old.
Once again I was on a bed, staring at the ceiling. At least it wasn't disgusting this time. This room was about as vanilla as you can get. Sterile white or light blue covered almost every surface. No television, no second bed. A bunch of monitoring equipment and an I.V. sat beside me. The only door to the room was shut.
My head felt like it had been squeezed in a vise. I tried to reach up and touch it, but my arm only moved about six inches. Lifting my head, which didn't help with the pain, I looked down at my arms. Both were handcuffed to the bed. Sometime between being hit in the face with a shovel and waking up here, I had been arrested.
All I could remember was seeing the shovel coming at me, then nothing. Until now, anyway. How did I survive?
Still looking down, I saw one of those awful hospital gowns that feel like they're made out of cardboard. My clothes were nowhere to be found. I didn't see any casts or sutures on any of my visible skin. Lots of bruises and scrapes, but nothing that looked permanent. Swallowing hurt like hell where the rosary beads had done their work.
The smell of food wafting in through the door made me realize how long it had been since I had anything to eat. My stomach grumbled at the enticement. I may have been the only person in the history of the world to actually crave hospital food.
The call button for a nurse sat over the side of the bed above my shoulder. No way I could reach it. I decided to try the old fashioned way.
"Uh, hello? Can anyone hear me?"
Speaking gave me a jarring reminder of the punch I took at the cemetery.
No one responded.
Laying my head back on the pillow, I let my mind wander out. A guard, Officer Robertson, sat outside the door, reading People magazine with the torn off cover of Newsweek wrapped around it. He heard me call out, but had been instructed not to speak to me. Several nurses scurried by the door in a hurry to get to a flat lining patient down the hall.
Pulling my mental reach back, I tried to figure out what my next move would be. The confrontation with Murdock in the cemetery changed everything. His capabilities were off the charts. Wiping out that entire team of armed agents hadn't even been a challenge to him. The only hiccup that occurred seemed to be when he released the civilians who were attacking me. If I had to guess, I'd say he wasn't able to control that many people at the same time. In order to kill the agents, he had to focus on them. He didn't stick Carol Brady on me again until after he finished with them.
Why didn't he have her finish me off after she beat me unconscious? Smith guessed he could control people at a range of three hundred feet. Did he run too far away and take himself past his limit?
Murdock was confused by my presence as well. At first I thought it was shock because I was still alive. But he didn't seem to know what I meant when I mentioned the would-be assassins or the police. That didn't give me a warm and fuzzy feeling about Smith. Getting as far away from both of them as possible seemed like a good idea.
I had to get out of this hospital. Being in police custody made me a sitting duck if Murdock found out I was
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