Page 34 of Hoofin’ It

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“That would make you the ex-cop gunned down in Lincoln.” The EMT turned his attention to my back, touching the exit wounds. “And seeing the scar placement, I can understand why they flew her over. Your shoulder blade must have been a bloody mess. Why are you even here?”

Marian leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Don’t you dare.”

My mother was completely to blame with my tendency to enjoy testing my luck, which contributed to ignoring the woman’s hissed threats. “I was originally going to help my godfather keep my parents in line, but then they decided they wanted to sell me into slavery.” I flashed Marian a grin. “And the shooter st—”

Clapping her hand over my mouth, Marian looked the EMT in the eyes and snapped, “Don’t listen to a word he says.”

The EMT chuckled. “Should I be concerned your parents want to sell you into slavery? Aren’t your parents also police officers?”

I grabbed Marian’s wrist and pulled her hand away from my mouth. “My father’s a werewolf and my mother’s infected. I’m pretty sure they won’t sell me into slavery.”

“So we have two possibly panicked lycanthropes outside?”

“I texted my godfather telling him I was fine. They’ve probably graduated from panicked to spitting mad.”

Marian twisted, snagged my arm, and pulled me forward; the instant I was off balance, she tossed me over her shoulder and slammed me onto the floor. The air rushed out of me in a gasp, and she straddled my chest, planting her hands on my shoulders. “Shane!”

It took me a few moments to figure out I’d accidentally dropped a terrible pun about her kidnapping and deserved a beating. “Sorry,” I wheezed while the room flip-flopped around me.

My introduction to the floor caught the attention of the gathered officers and agents, although I found it difficult to care what they thought. While my head hurt like hell from smacking into the floor, the view was spectacular.

“Please don’t kill my patient, Agent Peterson.”

“Not even a little?”

“He is an ex-cop. They take that sort of thing seriously.” The EMT shooed Marian away, knelt beside me, and shined his pen light in my eye. “Did you happen to get a concussion when you were shot, Mr. Gibson?”

“That may have happened.”

The glare the EMT shot Marian would have killed a lesser woman. “Go away and stop injuring my patient. Send someone over to make arrangements about questioning if you need something to do.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know!”

“I’m not upset with you. I deserved it.” I sighed at the thought of returning to the hospital to face a scolding from my surgeon. At least I’d dodge the questioning session for a little while.

Chapter Eleven

Dr. Harting was not happy to see me.

“You’re trying to die, aren’t you?” The woman prowled around the examination table armed with one of the CDC’s meters, scanning me for the fifth time because she refused to believe the results of her initial tests. “I present the fact you have exhausted a large transfusion of lycanthropy-tainted blood as evidence.”

“In my defense, I had no idea it was that sort of nightclub.”

“You shouldn’t have been going to any nightclub. Didn’t it occur to you that alcohol would be detrimental to recovering from a concussion?”

Telling her I’d felt fine until Marian had introduced my head to the club floor hadn’t impressed her the first three times I’d used it in my defense, so I kept my mouth shut. I also refrained from pointing out she hadn’t told me I couldn’t drink any alcohol. She’d mentioned refraining from sex, but no one could blame me for an unexpected encounter with a rowdy incubus and succubus.

At least she’d conceded that point; no one stood a chance against a pair of sex demons on a mission.

“Am I going to survive long enough to be questioned, Dr. Harting? The FBI and police are going to be cranky if they can’t question me.”

“I should make you stay for observation overnight, but even if I did, you’d probably find some way to rattle your brain in your skull just to vex me. Obviously, I made a poor judgment call. I should have been more thorough on my list of things you could and couldn’t do. Let me begin. No rides on motorcycles and no driving for at least three days. Do not hit your head on anything. And I mean it, hit your head on nothing. I’m going to prescribe some medication to help mitigate the symptoms because you no longer have the lycanthropy virus helping you recover. When you return to Lincoln, see a local doctor for your follow-up in four days. I’ll send my recommendations to the hospital.” She paused long enough to wave the meter in my face. “No sex, no physical labor, no getting shot, no playing cops and robbers with your parents. You’re retired, so act like it.”

“So you’re basically saying I’m a menace to society.”

“No, you’re a menace to yourself.” Dr. Harting sighed. “At least you haven’t undone my hard work on your shoulder. Could you explain that bite mark, though?”