Chapter 36

By Sunday, Ty is finally recovered enough that I'm comfortable "discharging" him from the villa. It's a brilliant early morning in mid-June when I throw back his curtains and let sunlight stream into the room.

"Harrumph," Ty mumbles from a tangle of sheets. The weather outside is already warm, veering quickly to hot, but the villa's air conditioning system keeps the whole place pleasantly cool all day and night. Ty flings a pillow over his head and tries to burrow further into the bed.

"Wakey wakey," I sing-song at him with a mischievous grin. Ty is decidedly not a morning person, I've come to learn. More so than most other "not morning people," in fact. Getting him out of bed is like pulling teeth, and he's had so much time to rest up the past few weeks that he seems out of practice.

Plus, his usual schedule is pretty geared toward nighttime antics, I remind myself. I've always been an early riser, myself, but I feel sorry for the guy, which is why I set a steaming mug of coffee on his nightstand before pulling the pillow off his face.

He blinks up at me blearily, looking grumpy.

"Really, Doc?" he huffs. "You're gonna interrupt a sick man's sleep?"

I snort. "My friend, you were never sick, and now you're not even that badly injured. I'm setting you free today. You can go back to work by the end of the week, even."

Ty groans. "And here I was getting used to living in the lap of luxury and leisure," he says, snatching at the pillow in my hands. "I should get shot more often."

I tsk. "None of that talk, please. If I never have to patch one of you up on my kitchen table again, it'll be too soon. Now, come on, get dressed. The gang is coming over for a meeting."

"A gang meeting? At five in the morning?" Ty whines. "We aren't built for this, Doc."

"It is not five in the morning," I say with a roll of my eyes. "It's 8.30."

"Same difference," Ty grumbles, finally hauling himself into a sitting position. He probes with a wince at his side. "It's still sore, Doc. Are you sure I'm cured?"

"I'm sure," I say. "And I'm going to give you painkillers to keep taking for another week. But yes, Ty, you really are cured. Your wound is completely healed on the surface, so there's no risk of further infection. You don't even have to wear a bandage anymore.

"But you will need to take it easy for a while still, and keep doing your stretches twice a day. Your abdominal muscles got pretty roughed up, and that's just one of those irritating injuries that stay sore for a while. You're fine, though. You had a lucky break, Ty."

My tone turns more serious on the last sentence, my smile faltering. Honestly, I hate to think what would have happened if the injury had been worse, if Torsten had made the wrong call, if the bullet had gone just a little bit lower…

I suppress my shudder and hitch the smile back on my face, leaning over to nudge at the coffee cup.

"But I brought you an early-morning remedy potion," I say cheerfully. "Drink up and get dressed. There will be more coffee in the kitchen. Everyone should be here by nine."

"Oh, all right," Ty grumbles, reaching for the coffee and taking a long, grateful sip. "I'll see ya down there, Doc."

Ty is well past the point where he can get dressed on his own – he doesn't even need the dressing changes anymore – so I leave him to it and head down to the kitchen myself.

I bought a box of muffins from a bakery on my way home from running errands yesterday – I wanted to pick up a few more work outfits – and I pop them into the oven on low just long enough to heat them all the way through.

By the time the gang arrives, the muffins are on the table in a wicker basket, with a few dishes of softened butter and some local jams on the side. The coffee is steaming in its pot, filling the kitchen with a homey aroma.

Ty comes clattering down the stairs just as Torsten and Brady arrive, with Kent pulling up in the driveway behind them. Ty makes a beeline for the coffee pot to refill his mug, splashing some milk from the jug into it and taking a gulp.

"Really, Ty," I laugh. "It's not that early. Torsten and Brady don't look like they're about to drop dead, and they've probably been awake half the night."

"Torsten and Brady dip into the stash to keep themselves going," Ty retorts with a sly quirk of his lips.

I feel a bit shocked and turn to the others, ready to deliver a lecture. But Torsten is laughing and gives Ty the finger.

"Oh, bugger off," he says good-naturedly. "Doc, don't look so alarmed. None of us touch the shit ourselves, I promise you."

"Trust me, Doc, we know better than anybody what that shit can do to you," Brady adds, going for the coffee pot himself. "We deliver it, that's all. And we stay awake because we drink gallons of this nectar of the gods." He waves his mug at me, a few drops sloshing down the side.

"Are you assholes tormenting the poor Doc?" Kent asks as he comes through the front door. "Don't tease her, boys; she's too serious to tease."

"I'm not too serious!" I say, outraged. They all laugh.

"Case in point, Doc," Ty says. He motions for my mug and fills it up for me, adding just a dash of milk, the way I like.

I shake my head and look around the kitchen. I can't believe how fond I've gotten of these men in such a short time. They're nothing like I'd expect gang leaders or drug dealers to be – they don't even use themselves, for god's sake.

I've had to re-examine a lot of my biases since I started working with them.

I never thought of myself as a particularly prejudiced person, but as the weeks go by, I realize that my upbringing in such a snobby, hateful home did more damage to my character than I'd previously known.

I've never been consciously hateful or judgemental of certain groups of people, but I do think I just assumed a lot about them. Going to prison helped dispel some of that, but in some ways it also reinforced it.

It's not until lately that I've learned that…well, that I have a lot to learn about people. In a weird way, this whole experience is probably making me a better person.

After everyone gets settled around the kitchen table with coffee and muffins, Kent calls our meeting to order.

"Right," he says, wiping buttery fingers on a napkin. "The doc has seen some shit this week, and you all need to hear about it so we can decide what the hell we're gonna do."

I recount everything I've learned lately to the guys. There's a silence after I finish, everyone looking thoughtful. Torsten is the only one who moves, getting up to refill his coffee mug.

"All right," Brady says after a few long moments. "So, this is obviously some concerning shit. What should we do about it?"

"I think Doc has it pretty well in hand, for now," Dave says. He drums his fingers on the tabletop while he thinks. "I say there's nothing much more we can do, for now. Doc, you gotta keep an eye on this, though. Watch and wait."

"See if you can get any more info, especially about Charles and what he might be planning for the gang," Jim adds.

"I agree," Kent says, slapping his hands decisively on the table. "Doc, keep an eye on this, and get any more information you can, without getting caught. If you get caught, it's game over for all of us. We won't get a chance to plant a spy like this again."

Everyone around the table nods in agreement.

"Right, then," I say. I reach for another muffin. "I'll keep it up from my end. And the rest of you, try not to get shot again – at least until we can figure some of this out."

Ty chuckles, touching his side ruefully.

"Good luck, Doc," Kent says.