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The room was actually a small space separated from a lot of other small spaces by privacy curtains that didn’t give you much privacy. I filled out a lot of paperwork, waited a half hour for something to happen, and finally a nurse came in with a pair of scissors and cut my jeans off above my knee.
“Omigod,” she said, “what’s that on your ankle? It looks like a flea collar.”
I’d forgotten I had them on. They were hidden under my jeans. Ranger was sitting in a plastic chair on one side of the bed. He didn’t move, but his attention went to the flea collar and it drew a smile.
“You can cut it off,” I said to the nurse. “I have one on the other ankle, too.”
It was after six by the time I had all the pieces of gravel picked out of my cuts and abrasions and everything was cleaned and bandaged. I’d needed ten stitches under my elbow. I got a tetanus shot. I had blood drawn. I was started on antibiotics. And I was told to return if I developed symptoms.
Three guys in suits were slouched in more of the plastic chairs in the waiting room. They all stood when I finally limped out of the examining area, and they all handed me their cards. Chris Frye, CDC. Chuck Bell, FBI. And Les Kulick, Homeland Security.
“I’d appreciate it if you would come downtown to give a statement,” Bell said.
“I’ve been run over by a van, stun gunned at least twice, injected with some sort of narcotic, and there’s a good chance I’ve got bubonic plague,” I said. “Today isn’t a good day.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Bell said. “It’ll wait.”
Ranger moved me out of the building, and one of his men drove up with the 911 Turbo. Ranger took over behind the wheel, and we left the hospital grounds.
“I’m going to take you home with me,” Ranger said. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone in your apartment tonight.”
This was perfect. I didn’t want to be alone in my apartment. I was exhausted and scared and my elbow was killing me. There would be food in Ranger’s kitchen and silky soft sheets on his bed. The air would be cool and clean and not smell like dead mice soaked in plague blood. And I’d have Ranger next to me making me feel warm and safe.
“I’d love to stay at Rangeman tonight,” I said, “but I might not be up to a lot of romantic stuff.”
“That works for me,” Ranger said. “Nothing personal, but I’d rather not exchange any bodily fluids until I do more research on the plague.”
He called ahead to tell his executive housekeeper, Ella, we were on our way home, and I would be spending the night, and that I needed some necessities. Ella and her husband manage the building and food service. Ella knows me, and she knows my sizes. She outfits everyone at Rangeman, and that’s included me on the occasion when I’ve worked in uniform for Ranger. Everything from shoes to underwear to jeans and a shirt would be waiting for me in the morning if not sooner.
By the time we got to Ranger’s apartment on the top floor of the Rangeman building, my knee was scabbing over, and I was barely able to bend my leg. I was anxious to get out of my bloodstained clothes, so I borrowed a T-shirt and sweatpants from Ranger and hobbled into his bathroom.
I stood in his Zen shower until I felt clean again and the sick odor of Pooka and his house was out of my head. I washed my hair with Ranger’s Bulgari shampoo, and carefully patted my scraped and bruised body dry with one of his fluffy bath towels. I found some big Band-Aids in his bathroom linen closet and patched myself up. I pulled the sweatpants on and cinched in the drawstring. I dropped the nice comfy too-big T-shirt over my head. I was a new woman.
I padded barefoot to the kitchen and wrangled myself onto a counter stool.
“Wine,” I said. “I need a glass of wine. White and cold.”
Ranger took a bottle out of his under-the-counter wine cooler and uncorked it. He poured out two glasses, gave me one, and kept one for himself.
He clinked my glass. “To Wonder Woman,” he said. “I’m impressed. You didn’t need me to rescue you today.”
“No, but I’m glad you did.”
We drank some wine, and Ella knocked on the front door and came into the kitchen with a tray of food. Bread basket, New Zealand lamb racks, herbed vegetables cooked al dente, and fresh fruit for dessert. She set the tray on the counter and handed a shopping bag to me.
“Let me know if this isn’t right,” she said to me.
I looked in the bag. Black Pilates pants, black T-shirt, black undies, black Converse sneakers.
“Perfect,” I said. “This is really nice. Thank you.”
She smiled and a little color came into her cheeks. “You’re the only lady who visits,” she said. “I enjoy doing the shopping.”
Ella left, and we ate in silence until I pushed my plate away.
“That was delicious,” I said.
Ranger stood and moved the plates from the counter to the sink. “Ella brought fruit, but I have ice cream in the freezer.”
