Dumont.
Holt swore again. His friend was a mess, bruised, bloodied and torn. And it looked as though he were too late to do anything other than mop up the spills.
Did you get a good look at them?
Yeah, good enough. I kicked their butts back to Boston to deliver a little message to Dumont.
Half carrying Nathaniel to the door, Holt stopped, took another survey.
You look
like this, and you won?
Nathaniel merely grunted.
Should have known.
The news made Holt marginally more cheerful.
Well, we'll
get you to the hospital.
No.
Damned if he'd give Dumont the satisfaction.
Son of a bitch told them they'd
get a bonus if they put me in the hospital.
Then that's out,
Holt said with perfect understanding.
Just a doctor then.
It's not that bad. Nothing's broke.
He checked his tender ribs.
I don't think. Just
need some i.e.
Yeah, right.
But, being a man, Holt was in perfect sympathy with the reluctance to be bundled off to a doctor.
Okay, we're going to the next-best place.
He eased
Nathaniel into the car.
Take it slow, ace.
I can't take it otherwise.
With a snap of his fingers, Holt ordered Dog into the car.
Hold on a minute while I
phone Suzanna, let her know what's going on.
Feed the bird, will you?
Nathaniel drifted between pain and numbness until Holt returned.
How'd you know to come by?
Your dog.
Holt started the car and eased it as gently as possible out of the drive.
He played Lassie.
No fooling?
Impressed, Nathaniel made the effort to reach back and pat Dog on the head.
Some dog, huh?
It's all in the bloodlines.
Nathaniel roused himself enough to probe his face with cautious fingers.
Where are
we going?
Whereelse?
Holt headed for The Towers.
Coco squealed at the sight of him, pressing both hands to her cheeks, as Nathaniel hobbled into the family kitchen with one arm slung over Holt's supporting shoulders.