How do you survive being shot and left for dead in the Chihuahuan Desert? By being found by a beautiful wildlife photographer willing to risk her life to save yours.
A bitter ex-cop fights for his life after he runs to the sound of gunfire on the Ri...
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"Mendocino Jones! I never thought I'd see you here again!" His old nurse, Patty, greeted him in the ICU waiting room with her familiar wide smile and open arms. "Good to see you, kid." She patted his back. "What are you doing here?"
He hugged her tightly. Stepping back, he said, "They're bringing Tillie here. Do you know Tillie Tomlin?"
"All her life. What's happened to Tillie?"
"A man tried to kill her. I think it may be one of the same men who tried to kill me."
"Lord, son!" Patty pushed the bridge of her eyeglasses so the glasses rested on her head. "If you didn't have bad luck, you'd have no luck at all."
He smiled. "We were lucky. He would've killed Tillie if I hadn't got there when I did. I don't guess you know. We're together now. Me and Tillie."
Patty smiled. "No, I hadn't heard. But I can see it. She must be taking good care of you. You look a whole lot better than you did the last time I saw you." Patty held him at arm's length, studying him from head to toe. "Look at you. That scar isn't bad. And I like your hair short."
***
The sun was low on the horizon when Tillie was finally brought to ICU. Patty was off duty. Clute had taken Tillie's protection detail, sitting outside the door to her small ICU room. Amos texted Mendocino the name and photo of the deputy who would relieve Clute at eleven o'clock.
Mendocino spent the night in a butt-numbing plastic chair beside her ICU bed. He had not been told how long it would be before she would awaken. He felt a closeness, an understanding, a trust with her he'd never experienced, not even with the woman he married. This was real. He would be there when she woke up.
***
Amos left home at daybreak and headed to his office earlier than normal. The sun was atop the mountains, its orange glow reflecting off high, thin clouds, creating magnificent swirls of grape and honey.
He often drove in the morning with his windows open, enjoying the morning air, his left elbow resting on the open window, but it was already too hot and still for that. His windows were rolled up, the air conditioner blasting.
At work, Amos checked his email and then drove to the hospital to check on the two patients in Intensive Care. Javier was back on duty, sitting guard outside the suspect's door.
"How is he?" Amos asked.
Javier held up his hands, lifting his shoulders. "They don't tell me anything. As far as I know, he's never come to."
Amos nodded, walking into the suspect's room. He was shackled to the bed by his good wrist and one ankle. Tubes everywhere. The man was long and lean. Amos couldn't help but think of a deflated football. Leathery skin, pointed chin, hollow cheeks. What was normally a tanned face was ashen from blood loss, lined and crisscrossed. Tattoos on his biceps and forearms. Big biceps and forearms for such a slender man.
