The wounded trooper, Jack Collins, was in the intensive care unit. He had only survived, according to all accounts, because of Jordan’s quick reaction under fire. Dan was also out of surgery, patched up and resting quietly in the recovery room.
“Unbelievably lucky,” the surgeon had explained to Jordan. “I can’t begin to tell you how close this was to a lethal injury. They just missed his spine, his heart…”
Wincing at the lousy cup of coffee in his hand, Jordan said with a smile, “I didn’t know Danny had a heart.” He was hoping to be spared further torment, but the doctor would not be deterred. He described all the gruesome details of Peters’ surgery before Jordan could get away and spend a few moments on his own.
Just as he settled into that reverie, he heard someone say his name.
He slowly raised his head to see a broad, stern-looking man wearing a state trooper’s uniform and a chest full of medals. “Yes.”
“I’m Captain Reynolds,” the man said, his speech as stiff as his posture. “Jack Collins is one of my men.”
Sandor stood, his lean frame of just over six feet tall bringing him eye to eye with the trooper. “Jordan,” he said, offering his hand as he made a quick assessment of this authoritarian old cop.
Captain Reynolds looked like one of the tough, leathery career officers Sandor had served under, certainly a man who had experienced his share of fighting in the military. Now, years later, his weary, gray eyes said he had spent too much time in a rural area, chasing after too many drunk drivers and too many petty criminals, no longer seeing any real action. His glory days were long gone.
Reynolds’ grip was firm, and he held Jordan’s hand as if he didn’t mean to let go. “They tell me you saved Jack’s life.”
“Bit of an exaggeration, I think.”
“I’m not so sure. If you left him there, doctor says he would have bled to death as easily as anything else. You took a real chance, going back for him the way you did. Could’ve run for it yourself, right?”
Jordan was embarrassed for about the twentieth time that afternoon, and since Reynolds was obviously not the sentimental type, he figured he should put an end to this part of the discussion as politely as he could. “Look Captain, I needed a gun, and I figured Collins had one.”
Reynolds showed him as tight a smile as he’d seen in a while. It was one of those official smiles Jordan would get from a commanding officer who wanted to demonstrate his appreciation for something Sandor had done, without getting emotional about it. “That’s a lotta crap,” the Captain said, making the statement sound as friendly as hell. “I know a combat vet when I meet one, Sandor. You didn’t go back for a gun. You went back because you were trained not to leave your men behind.”
“Homework, Captain?”
“Yeah, checked up on you some. Sorry I never met you overseas. Could’ve used you in Nam.”
“Before my time,” Jordan said. Then he shrugged. “Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, right?”
“Probably not.” Captain Reynolds shook his head. “Buy you a real cup of coffee?”
“Thanks, but I wanted to stop by to see Collins, if I can.”
Reynolds nodded. “We’ll catch up a little later then. I have a few questions for you.”
“Right,” Jordan said.
Reynolds stood there for a moment, just to let Sandor know who was in charge. Jordan thought about asking if he was dismissed, but Reynolds turned around, executing something close to a smart about-face, then walked away.
As Sandor strolled down the hospital corridor, it seemed everyone there recognized him. Small town, big news. He stopped at the nurse’s station where he exchanged smiles with a cute brunette sitting behind a long, white counter.
“May I see Trooper Collins now? I understand he’s feeling a little better, and I’m—”
“He’s in the ICU, Mr. Sandor,” she interrupted. “His only visitors should be immediate family. But for you,” she added with a self-conscious tilt of her head, “I’ll speak with the doctor right away.”
She lingered an extra moment to smile into Jordan’s dark eyes, then stepped inside a glass enclosed area behind her, picked up the telephone and, watching Jordan through the partition, made her call. The discussion was brief. She hung up and came back to the counter.
“Follow me,” she said.
The intensive care unit was a jungle of antiseptic technology with large, complex machinery dwarfing the patients it surrounded. Beeping sounds and audiovisual monitors animated the peaceful, yet impersonal, infirmary. The nurse led Jordan through a maze of computers and stainless steel apparatus to Jack Collins bedside.
“This is Mr. Sandor,” she whispered softly, “the man who saved you.”
Jordan could have done without that introduction. “They’re the ones who saved you,” he protested mildly as he gestured toward the equipment and staff around them. “I just kept you company till they got there.” Collins looked about twenty-five, a young officer who had made a rookie’s mistake. A more experienced trooper wouldn’t have gone down that way, his gun still snapped into the holster.
Collins did his best to smile. He was rigged up to intravenous tubing, his head and neck bandaged, his complexion the color of the sheets pulled up to his chin. Jordan thought he looked pretty good, considering the last time he had seen him he was crumpled in a heap on the blacktop, oozing blood.
“They told me what you did,” he said in a hoarse, unsteady voice. His tired eyes searched Jordan’s face for something, then looked past him. “Thanks.”
“Seems you’re already on the mend,” Jordan said cheerfully. “I just wanted to stop by, see how you’re doing.”
The nurse, who remained at his side, said, “He’s doing fine, Mr. Sandor, but he needs his rest. Just a minute or two, please.”
Jordan nodded. “Right,” he said, watching her slowly walk away, giving himself a good look at her exit. “Nice girl.”
“Yeah,” Collins agreed. “Grew up right nearby, in Saugerties. You’re not from around here, Mr. Sandor.”
“It’s Jordan. And no, I’m from the city. Came up to visit an old army pal, Dan Peters. Know him?”
“Not really. Think I heard the name when he moved into town.” He spoke haltingly from the combination of pain and medication. “It’s been a while since anyone rented the Larsen place.”
“But you never met him.”
“Don’t think I ever laid eyes on him.” Collins blinked slowly, the drugs balancing him on the edge of sleep. “I hear they did a number on him too.”
“They did.”
“Captain told me. Coulda been both of us, hadn’t been for you.”
“Forget it,” Jordan said.
“How’d it go… down at the barracks?”
“The questioning, you mean? All right, I guess. I gave a description of the little guy with the automatic. I only saw the driver for a second, caught a glimpse of him in the mirror.”
“Driver’s the one who plugged me.”
“Tall blond guy,” Jordan said.
“Yeah. Captain tells me you gave a pretty good ID on both. License plate too. How in hell d’you manage that?”
“Instincts, that’s all.”
“Sure,” Collins said, sounding like he was about to pass out.
“Strange looking pair, weren’t they?”
Collins opened his eyes a bit. “How do you mean?”
“The little guy was Arab. The driver looked like an All-American linebacker.”
“Yeah,” Collins said with a slight nod. He was fading fast now.
“I wanted to ask you something, Jack. All right if I call you Jack?”