“That might be up for debate.” Her eyebrows elevated. “So? Your pain level?”

“Maybe a five. Or . . . a seven. Yeah, a seven.” It actually was much higher, but he couldn’t bear looking as weak as he felt. He always struggled when he wasn’t in control.

“Mmm.” She wasn’t buying it, had probably seen it all before. “No reason to be a hero.”

“That, I’m not,” he assured her. No lie there. It was one of the things he did know about himself, one bit of insight he recalled. And about the only thing. At least as far as recent history went.

“I’ll get you something to make it a little more tolerable,” she promised as she stripped her gloves at the door and tossed them into a wastebasket.

“Wait,” he said as she started to leave. “What day is it?”

“The date? The fourth.” When he didn’t respond, she clarified, “Of December.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to do the math, but had no real starting point. “So I’ve been here . . . what? Two days?”

“It’s Sunday. You were brought in Thursday night.”

“The first.” He’d been here three damned days? And in that time, he remembered only glimpses of people coming in and out of the room, bothering him, not allowing him to sleep, always asking how he was feeling or poking or prodding him; he’d had no awareness of time passing.

Until today. A digital clock mounted over the door told him it was a little after two in the afternoon, the gray sky outside confirming that dusk was still a few hours off.

“I’ll talk to Dr. Monroe,” the nurse said. “He’s on duty this weekend.” She stepped out of the room.

Two and a half days of his life gone. Lost in the black hole of his memory. How had it happened? James had no inkling why he was here, though he was sure he’d been told. In the haze of the last few days, he recalled seeing the doctor, though it was vague, and he couldn’t call up the guy’s name or what the doc had said was wrong with him. If they’d even had that conversation. If so, he couldn’t call it up.

Obviously, he’d screwed up his shoulder. It hurt like hell, no matter what he’d told the nurse. And his chest ached, sharp pain cutting through it when he shifted—bruised or broken ribs, he figured. Then there was that ominous bandage over half his head. And when he rubbed his jaw, it hurt.

He glanced around.