“Fred, you’re never sick. And you said you have an incredibly fast metabolism. So I’m betting your bullet wounds will be all healed over tomorrow.” He wiped his blade on the carpet, and then on his pants.

Artur was kneeling beside them and, at some odd prearranged signal she must have missed, suddenly tore her shirt straight down the middle.

“Hey!”

Thomas ignored her. “So we can leave the bullets in you, which would be bad, or we can take you to a hospital for removal, where they’ll do all sorts of tests, which would be bad. Or I can take them out right here before they heal over.” He unscrewed a bottle of Jack Daniels, thumbed the button on his switchblade, and poured booze all the knife and his hands.

“But—”

“Hold her down,” Thomas said shortly and went to work.

Chapter Thirty-four

Jonas and Barb were sitting at the bar in the Presidential Suite, drinking wine (eh, Thomas was rich, he could afford a bottle of Chardonnay) and having a perfectly nice chat about how they planned to spend the rest of their lives together, when the front door rattled.

“Fortunately we’re fully clothed,” Barb teased. “Finally.”

“I still say we should have gone over to your ex’s hotel and caught the ruckus. I mean, there were a million sirens a while ago. I bet it was cool.”

Barb shook her head. “If the police require a statement of course I’ll cooperate. But best to leave things to the professionals.”

Fred stomped in, looking like somebody had worked her over pretty good. Jonas was off the stool and on his feet before he was aware he’d moved. She’d been his sparring partner more than once, and taken full kicks in the face without so much as a bruise. But now Fred was wearing a blood-stained bra and her favorite (and now also bloody) pair of track shorts.. And how many times did he have to beg her not to wear tennis shoes without socks? Yech.

Thomas and Artur came in behind her and they looked almost as bad: both of them spattered with blood

(whose blood?????)

and Thomas sporting what was going to be one hell of a black eye, and Artur with a split lip.

“Little Rika, surely you could see Dr. Pearson knew what he was—”

“Fred, come on, don’t be mad. I did it to save you from—”

“I said no talking to me ever!” Fred whirled on Barb. “And you! Your crazy ex husband shot me. Twice! Also, he’s dead.”

Barb’s mouth hung ajar. “What? Phillip is dead?”

“And he shot me.”

“But you never get hurt,” Jonas managed.