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“Well . . . then you need to be more careful. Learn from your mistakes.”
Rapp thought of the hotel room, the five jackasses with the suppressed MP5s, and made his first big mistake of the morning. “You think this shit is easy?”
“Excuse me?” she asked, pushing back.
Rapp realized his mistake. “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough few days. I can’t tell you what happened other than to say some other people didn’t do their jobs and I ended up with my ass getting shot at.”
“Stan?”
Greta’s grandfather had close ties with Stan Hurley and Thomas Stansfield. He was a very discreet and successful Swiss banker, which came in handy in Rapp’s line of work. He didn’t want to get her directly involved in this, though, so he suppressed his theories and said, “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.” In an effort to redirect the conversation he said, “You’re handling this pretty well.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you’d be mad.”
“I’m not exactly thrilled but I don’t see how getting angry would help . . . at least right now. There will be plenty of time for that later, but for now I need to have a look at your wound.”
Rapp hesitated. “Have you ever worked on something like this?”
“Not specifically, but I have plenty of first-aid training and I grew up hunting, in case you forgot.”
“Of course I didn’t forget. I watched you kill an elk at eight hundred meters.”
“That’s right. And I don’t see how I could do a worse job than you.” She gestured at his haphazard tape job. “Do you have more supplies?”
“Yeah . . . they’re in the bathroom.”
“Good . . . get on the bed.”
He smiled. “Slow down, princess. I’m not just a piece of meat. Maybe you could buy me breakfast first.”
She ignored him and went to grab the supplies.
“Fine, I’ll order my own breakfast. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine.” She came back out of the bathroom with a plastic shopping bag and motioned for Rapp to sit on the bed. She set the supplies down and took her jacket off. After pushing the sleeves of her sweater up, she headed back into the bathroom and started scrubbing her hands.
Rapp grabbed the phone and ordered breakfast for two. If Greta didn’t eat her food he would. When he was finished ordering she sat down next to him on the bed and began peeling back the tape as carefully as she could manage. Rapp tolerated it fairly well until she pulled the bandage off the back of his shoulder. A semidried scab was stuck to the gauze and came off with it. Greta took a warm washcloth and gently wiped down the entry and exit wounds. After that she started dousing cotton balls with rubbing alcohol and did a more thorough job. Rapp did his best to ignore the burning.
“How does it look?”
“I’m not sure,” Greta answered. “There’s a lot of swelling. How do you feel?”
“Not bad.”
She grabbed him by the chin and turned his face toward her. “Don’t lie to me. This has to hurt.”
“It doesn’t feel good, but it sure as hell beats being dead.”
She looked at the front of his shoulder and then the back. “You were shot from behind.”
“That’s right. How could you tell?”
“The wound on your back is small and the one in front is bigger. You’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit anything major. What kind of round—nine-millimeter?”
Rapp was surprised. “I think so. How did you know?”
“I told you, I grew up hunting. Almost everyone in my country is taught how to fire rifles and pistols, even the girls. I’ve seen what a rifle round does to flesh. If you had been shot with a rifle round the exit wound would be much bigger.”
