“Forget this protection detail. Take me to see Denton.”

“Stupid idea. Then the bad guys will have both of you in the same place.”

I stepped into Isaac’s personal space. “My nonconfrontational days that helped me survive in prison are over. Got my rear kicked anyway. Seems to me the hospital would be the best place to be. Are you taking me, or do I talk to the highway patrol?”

“If you don’t follow directions, I can’t be responsible.”

“Drive me to the hospital and then head on home. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Denton thought otherwise.”

The mention of his name shook me. Denton is hurt because of me. “And just look at the condition he and Aaron are in.”

“Shelby, you’d drive a man to drink.”

“I saw you down two beers at dinner.”

“All right. I learned a long time ago the futility of arguing with a woman who has her mind made up. But first, let’s check out the security camera.”

38

DENTON

I welcomed the serene place in my sleep world where I didn’t hurt. I heard my name, but the blissful numbness drew me closer . . .

The sound of my name pulled me upward again, and I climbed slowly. The moment I surfaced, pain wrapped me in a tight cocoon. Not yet. Sleep was my new world . . .

Someone called my name. My eyes fluttered open, and I clamped them shut.

“Mr. McClure, stay with me. It’s time to wake up.” The voice was a woman. A nurse?

I remembered driving back toward Valleysburg alone. Shelby was in good hands with Isaac and Aaron. Then a pickup rear-ended me. The driver fired shots. I lost control.

“Mr. McClure?”

I forced myself to gaze up at a brown-eyed nurse. Wide smile. White teeth.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” She checked my vitals.

“Like—” I swore.

“I expect so. You were in a nasty accident.”

“Is any part of me not broken?”

She laughed, or rather giggled, allowing my worry to dissipate. “Oh yes. But from the looks of the photos of your truck, not sure how you survived.”

I glimpsed the machines hooked up to me. At least they weren’t simply keeping me alive. “Have I been unconscious because my mind’s zilch?”

“You’re in recovery. You had surgery on your right thigh.” She feather-touched my shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” She told me about a metal pin in my leg, a broken collarbone, broken ribs, stitches, and a concussion. “Two police officers are standing guard outside your door. Are you a good guy or bad?”

“Depends on who’s asking. FBI.”

“I get it. On a scale of one to ten, what’s your pain level?”

“Eight and a half.” I closed my eyes, weary from talking.

“The doctor ordered pain medication.”

“Double dose.”

“Spoken like a man in need. This is fast acting and will make you sleep.” She picked up an injection from a tray and stood ready to insert it into my IV. “I’ll be checking on you periodically. Sheriff Wendall is in the waiting room.”