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I close my eyes and reach around to my back. “There was no time.”
Ham stills my hand. “I removed the bullet. You were lucky. It was very close to your kidney.”
“You…removed…a bullet? From me?”
“I got Scotty on the radio and she walked me through.” Scotty is a doctor in NIIA, but even with her help, I can’t imagine performing surgery on someone. Especially not here. “I gave you a shot for the pain. I’m not sure how long it will last.”
I shift with a wince. “Will I have a scar?”
“Most likely. I’ve never taken out a bullet before.”
I meet his still-troubled gaze. “Thank you. For taking it out, and for coming for us. You saved our lives, both mine and Nick’s.”
Ham rests his hand against my forehead, and as gentle as his touch is, I know it’s only to check if I have a temperature. “You fell off the snowmobile,” he says needlessly.
“I…oops.”
“You could have been killed.” His fingers drift onto my cheek, and I grab onto them with a weak smile.
His fingers are cool, and for the first time I realize he’s not wearing a coat, only a wool sweater with a few smears of what might be blood, and a pair of…jeans? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Ham wearing jeans. “Not the first time.”
I pull my fingers away as Ham rises to his feet and stalks to the fireplace, staring into the flames. “I almost lost you.”
My heart stutters in my chest.
“I almost lost you,” he repeats without looking at me.
“Well…you didn’t. I’m pretty tough to kill.” From the set of his shoulders, I can tell Ham is angry. “What? Am I missing something?”
“Other than the fact you almost died?”
“What else is new? There was Columbia…that time in Florence in the museum…in Belize. A couple other close calls in South America, so that’s not a good place for me to visit.”
Ham whirls around, his expression one of pure frustration. “Why can’t you take this seriously?”
“Because I don’t know why you’re so upset.” And I’ve never seen him like this—I’ve seen him in a fight, I’ve watched him argue with his uncle countless times, and even when he had to meet a plane when one of the agents didn’t make it back, I’ve never seen him with such fury blazing across his face.
And…fear?
“Really?” Ham snaps. “You have no idea why I would be upset that you were shot, and then I almost ran you over.”
“You did?” I start to laugh, then stop with a groan. “That’s not good.”
“And you let Nick have the extraction without telling me you were shot? You don’t have any clue why all that would upset me?”
My heart stutters again and then starts to pound like an African war drum. There might be a reason why Ham is so upset, but I’ve never let myself consider that. Because that would mean… “You don’t want to lose an agent as good as me?” I ask weakly.
Ham covers his eyes with his hand. “Is that what you really think?”
My head hurts and my body aches. I’m tired and sore, and it sounds like I might have almost died. Even though, as an agent, it’s not the first time and probably won’t be the last, but it’s still a little disconcerting to be told, especially when I have no memory of the snowmobile incident.
That’s a little embarrassing.
Right now, I don’t have the mental bandwidth to try to figure out what’s going on in Ham’s head because if I look just a little closer—look at the way Ham is staring at me, listen to the concern in his voice—then I might start to hope.
Hope is a very good thing in my line of work.
“I don’t know what to think,” I admit. “You’re my boss now. You kind of were before, but now, you’re really my boss.”
