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The man opened one eye. “I’d say so. Otherwise, how did they know to wait on the bridge?”
“Who’s they?”
The man closed his mouth, gave a small shake of his head.
Right.
They got off in front of the stadium, and Hudson guided him another block to the long, two-story Lindner Hotel with its outside doors and balconies.
That was providential.
He led the spy to the second floor, nearly putting his arm around the guy to help him up the stairs, but just his luck one of his teammates would see him and, well, he wasn’t going there.
Instead, he stood behind him in case he fell. Then he rushed ahead and opened his door.
The man came inside. It wasn’t a big room—a king-sized bed, a bathroom, a small sitting area. The Vienna Vikings didn’t have a massive budget for travel.
He eased the man down on the bed.
“You’d better get towels if you don’t want me to bleed on your sheets.”
Hudson headed to the bathroom, grabbed a few towels, and set him down on them, then helped him ease off his coat.
“You probably need stitches for that puncture wound.”
“Maybe. It’s the tear across my chest that hurts more, though.” He wore a fleece, so the fact the knife had torn through his fleece and the Under Armour beneath it said the woman—assassin?—had meant business.
“Was she trying to kill you?”
“Maybe send a message. Shoot, I really liked this shirt. My wife gave it to me.” He pulled one arm out of his shirt, then Hudson helped him ease the other off and the shirt over his head.
This wasn’t his first scar. Slicker’s torso had a few nicks and cuts on it, but probably something that Hudson might expect from a spy.
Interesting that he was married. Or maybe that was a cover.
He was right about the chest wound. It wasn’t deep but had parted his skin above his chest, leaving a six-inch slice.
He sat up, trying to look at it.
“Glue should take care of that,” Hudson said. “I have a few nicks that deep they patched up on the sidelines.”
“Right. Good. As for the puncture wound, I’ll pack it and get one of my guys to look at it. Take the sock out and let’s take a look.”
Hudson knelt and removed the sock, easing it slowly out of the wound. Blood spilled out of it, and he pressed it back in. “It looks deeper than you think.”
“Do you see any white or yellow goo?”
Hudson made a face at him.
“I’m just asking because if you do, it’s pierced the inner layers of skin, and yes, I’ll need not only stitches but antibiotics.”
“I don’t know—”
“Sheesh. Just take the sock out and look again.” The man lay back, his eyes closed, and talked through clenched teeth.
Fine. “This will hurt.”
“No duh. Just check.”
