Chapter 41

CHAPTER 41

D EVINE, CAN YOU HEAR ME? Devine!”

Another voice said, “Travis!”

Devine slowly opened his eyes to see Detectives Braddock and Walker staring down at him.

“Y-yeah?”

“What in the hell happened?” asked Braddock.

Devine looked around at the antiseptic walls of the hospital room and smelled chemicals and his own sweat and other odors he didn’t recognize. It brought back stark and uncomfortable memories of his time in Army and civilian hospitals wondering if he was going to live or be buried at Arlington National.

Devine glanced down and saw the hospital gown, and then the IV lines jointed into his skin. He slowly gazed to the right again, and eyed Walker standing there next to Braddock. The vitals machine beeped and blinked back at him. Devine read off the numbers; based on that, he concluded he would probably make it. He’d seen far worse numbers when he’d been flat on his back on a gurney in an Army medical chopper with blood pouring out of him faster than they could put it back in him.

He tried to sit up, but Walker gently pushed him back down.

“Be still,” ordered Braddock.

Devine indeed sat very still because just that slight movement had made his head feel like someone had plunged an ax right through the middle of it.

Braddock pulled up a chair and sat down. “You up for talking?”

“Why not?” said Devine, wondering when more pain meds would flow into his IV. “I’ve got nothing else to do at the moment.”

“What happened? Start from the beginning.”

And Devine did, while Walker took notes on her iPad. His wobbly tongue occasionally tripping over the words, and his brain foggy with meds, he slowly rambled through the call from Coburn and his trip to the house where she was staying. Her being scared. Her claims that the postmortem reports had been replaced with fake ones. The fact that she thought the Odoms had been poisoned with cyanide. That she had not been allowed access to the crime scene, or the Odoms’ home to do a background check for substance abuse. And how someone had entered the house, prompting Devine to call 911. Then the men in the hall. The grenade landing against the bedroom door. His running outside. The men going into the woods. His realizing that he had been decoyed out. An insight that had come too late. And then. Boom. The car flashing by. And ending with his collapsing.

“Coburn?” he asked, but he really already knew the answer.

“Remains were found inside,” replied Braddock quietly. “Her Lexus was damaged but not destroyed. We checked the registration. And while she was not… recognizable, we did a positive ID through fingerprints. Because of her employment, she was on the state database.”

Devine stared back up at the ceiling, feeling as miserable as he ever had. Not due to the pain he was feeling, but having been suckered like that. And leaving a woman alone to die when he’d promised to protect her from harm.

No doubt sensing what he was thinking, Walker said, “I don’t see what else you could have done, Travis. You couldn’t have known that they had placed a bomb in the house.”

“Actually, that should have been right at the top of my tactical concerns,” he replied, his voice tight with the self-loathing he was feeling. “I saw that scenario played out a hundred times overseas, and it only took me once to figure it out. Here, I blew it. And it cost Coburn her life.”

There was a lengthy and awkward silence until Braddock said, “So they fudged her reports and she had to die?”

Devine nodded and made fists with both hands, and though the movement hurt, it felt good.

I’m alive. And if I’m alive, I can hunt them down.

He looked at Braddock. “What do the docs say about me? Anything broken? Any permanent damage?”

“You suffered a bad concussion. You got hit by the force of the bomb blast, but no debris. Knocked you around some. Nothing permanent. You’re very lucky. If you had been even twenty feet closer, my bomb guys said you probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“What did they use to blow the house?” asked Devine.

“They’re still working on it. My guys said it was sophisticated, so the people were not amateurs.”

“So when do I get out of here?”

“You’re at least staying overnight for observation.”

“Who says?”

“The docs do,” replied Braddock, giving Walker an incredulous look.

“What time is it?” Devine asked.

“After midnight.”

“I’ve got an appointment tomorrow morning with Danny Glass and Betsy Odom. Then a court hearing after that.”

“News flash, you’re not going to make it,” said Braddock.

“The hell I’m not.”

“Travis, listen to reason,” said Walker. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Get the doc in here.”

“Devine!” snapped Braddock. “You are not—”

“Get the fucking doctor in here. Now! I’m not letting Betsy down, too!”

The hospitalist, a woman in her thirties with dark hair and a calm expression, was summoned.

“If you leave, it will be against medical advice,” she said.

“Am I going to drop dead from any of this?”

“No, but you’re going to be sore as hell. Stiff as a board. Ears ringing. And you’re going to have the mother of all migraines, even with the pain meds. And that’s going to be for the next twenty-four to possibly forty-eight hours.”

“I’ve got a high tolerance for pain due to my own stupidity. So just give me the meds and cut me loose. I’ll sign what I have to.”

“Are you quite sure?” said the doctor.

“Where are my clothes?” demanded Devine. “ And my gun?”