Colt opened his eyes to the morning sun slanting through the second-story window of the hospital, the skies blue, tufted with clouds. The room smelled of cotton and antiseptic. The only sounds, the hiss of the oxygen machine and the steady beep of the ECG machine attached to his chest with pads.

He needed a drink, his mouth parched, but his hand was taped up with IV lines, and he hadn’t a clue where the nurse’s call button was.

He was a little sickened by his own weakness, the thrumming ache in his chest, the fact that he’d caused such a ruckus.

The worst part was that he’d known something wasn’t right. He wasn’t so stupid as to not notice his struggled breathing, the ever-present tightness in his chest. But he’d thought he could push through, work it away.

Ignore it and get the job done.

This wasn’t him—sure, he’d been wounded before and had spent a good amount of time recuperating from his wounds in Nigeria, but . . . no, he didn’t go down without a fight. He just wanted to tear out the IVs, get out of this flimsy hospital gown, and go back to work.

“You ready to come back to Jones, Inc.?”

The question floated in his brain. Yes. With a fist pump. Except that’s not what he said to Ham, and maybe even then he’d known something wasn’t right. Because it was the only thing that accounted for his answer. “We’ll see.”

It hadn’t been a play for Tae, although she’d looked at him from the top of the stairs with so much yearning in her eyes, he couldn’t help but want to reach out to her.

Had been planning a sweet rendezvous on the beach, something that had been roaming his brain for three days.

And then his heart had to betray him.

A knock came at the door and a nurse came in. “Good morning, Mr. Kingston. I’m just here to take your vitals.”

“Still alive,” he said, and offered her a smile.

She smiled back, moved him to a sitting position, and then promptly stuck a sheathed thermometer in his mouth. Her hands closed around his wrist for a pulse, and even that movement hurt.

Yep, he was pitiful.

The nurse removed the thermometer. “Your temp is normal. And pulse is good.” She looked at the ECG reading. Smiled at him, as if he’d passed an exam. “Anything I can get you?”

“Freedom?”

“Not quite yet. How about some breakfast?”

“I’d be happy with some water.”

“That we can do, Master Sergeant.”

He raised an eyebrow. Apparently, Logan had used his former rank when admitting him. No wonder he landed a private room. Colt didn’t bother to correct her.

Maybe he needed that rank, just a little.

She patted his shoulder, then left.