She cleaned up the site and then superglued the edges together.
After that, she treated the raw skin on his wrists and ankles, cleaning and bandaging everything. Finally, she put the blanket over him and got him the pillow.
The capsule she left to cool on the steel table. To anyone watching the tracker on a monitor, it would appear that Daniel Beach had just died. She had a feeling that his death wouldn’t bother anyone in the department. She had a better sense of the other side’s plan now, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t all about her.
She exited the tent to attend to her own face, first wiping off the blood and then trying to determine the extent of the damage. The lip was swollen, and the tear needed a stitch; she applied a drop of superglue. Her cheek was missing a few layers of skin and she was going to have a matched set of very pronounced black eyes. Her nose was swollen and crooked, so she took advantage of her current painless state to push it back into shape as well as she could.
The pain would return fairly soon, though she’d given herself the maximum dose of the drug she’d privately named Survive. It wasn’t meant to work long term; it was just for making it through an attack like the one she’d just endured. Kind of like the adrenaline her body naturally generated, just much more powerful, and with some opiates to block the pain. Survive wasn’t on the books; her list of duties had not included creating anti -torture concoctions, but she’d thought it might be something she’d need someday, and she’d been right. This wasn’t the first time she’d used it—she’d overreacted to those earlier assassination attempts—but it was the first time she’d actually suffered through a decent beating with Survive in her system. She was pleased with its performance.
She didn’t have anything to stabilize her nose with, so she would have to try to be more careful with her face for a while. Luckily she was a back sleeper.
The face was going to be a problem. A big problem. She couldn’t exactly walk into a grocery store right now and escape notice.
When she had done everything she could think of to do, she lay on the cot for ten minutes, just gathering her strength—or what was left of it. The drug still made her feel strong, but she knew she’d sustained some damage. There would be repercussions to deal with. She needed time to rest and heal—time no one was going to give her.
CHAPTER 9
She decided to wake Daniel up. Once Batman came around—which he probably would in about fifteen minutes or so—the conversation was not going to be very genteel. She wanted a chance to explain—and apologize—before the shrieking and the death threats started.
She reset the protocols on the computer.
The chemical mixture in the air had long since dispersed, so she didn’t need the gas mask inside the tent anymore. She grabbed the other mask, then tucked both sets of straps through her belt, keeping them close.
She pulled Daniel’s IV first. She didn’t want him tethered to anything at all when he woke up. He’d had enough of that. His veins were still looking good. It was easy to inject the solution into the antecubital fossa of his other elbow. She sat on the edge of the table, lowered so that it nearly rested on the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees and waited.
He came to slowly, blinking against the overhead lights. He raised one hand to shade his eyes, then awareness hit. He stared at his hand—free, bandaged—and then his eyes darted around the bright room.
“Alex?” he asked quietly.
“Right here.”
He turned toward her gingerly, moving his legs under the blanket, checking to see if he was still bound.
“What is happening now?” he asked cautiously, his eyes still struggling to focus.
“I believe you. And I’m very sorry for what I did to you.”
She watched him process that. Carefully, he raised himself up on one elbow, then clutched at the blanket, realizing again that he was naked. It was funny how nonmedical people reacted to that; physicians were fairly relaxed about nudity in general. She felt exactly the same about nudity as any other doctor, but he wouldn’t assume that. She should have put on her lab coat.
“You do believe me?” he asked.
“Yes. I know you’re not the person I thought you were. I was… misled.”
He sat up a little farther, moving warily, waiting for something to hurt. He should feel fine, though—just tired from the muscle spasms. And his upper thigh would be a little sore when the local wore off.
“I—” he started, and then froze. “What happened to your face?”
“It’s a long story. Can I say something before I get into it?”
His expression was full of concern. For her? No, that couldn’t be right.