head hit the pillow, her last thoughts were on the kids. She let her mind go over the events of having them there and was thrilled beyond words that they’d taken them in. Rolling to her side to snuggle with Beck, she wondered what the next fifty or so years would bring the two of them.
Chapter 9
Dawson looked over the file that had come in with the newest patient. She’d passed away not an hour ago, her injuries just too much with the blood loss she’d sustained. He wanted to figure out who he was supposed to notify, and there just wasn’t enough information in the thing to tell him if she even had next of kin. He heard someone coming toward him as he closed the file. It was Agent Fry.
“I can take it from here for you, Doctor. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” He said he’d been able to handle it. “I’m sure you have been. You and Doctor Thatcher have saved more than we’ve been able to before this place opened. It’s nice for the rest of us to know that there is someone out there that will care for us like we’re someone important.”
“You all are. Every life is.” She nodded at him like she didn’t believe that line anymore than he did. “All right, most every life is important. The lowlife you guys brought in here the other day has had me second guessing everything I worked for in becoming a doctor. Why was he brought here, anyway? I thought this was just for agents.”
“He’s giving us information that we can use to close up a lot of loose ends. Mr. J will end up in prison when we’ve gotten all we can from him. Right now, he needs to be healthy so we can get it. You did all right. I know for a fact that it was touch and go there for a few minutes when he called you a fucking hack, but you got over it and helped him to mend.” She laughed. “I might well have ended him myself the way he was treating my agents.”
Agent Fry had been their go to person since the clinic had opened. She made sure that the paperwork was filled out correctly and filed away in the room that held as many files as he’d bet the largest library did books. He’d not been in there but the one time, and that was enough for him to know he wanted no part of it. The place was guarded by armed people that wore only black and carried large guns. Also, the rooms were fireproof as well as protected against any other major disaster that might hit, including a direct hit with a bomb. Yes, he stayed the hell out of there.
Since they’d been working the clinic, he and Thatcher had lost three patients—one agent, and the other two just people in their town. It was strange having to keep the place he was in now private. He’d bet his last paycheck from the government that not one person would believe him if he were to talk about what they did in here. Not that he ever would.
The pay was amazing, too, more than triple what he’d been making when he’d been a partner in a firm. As they also paid his malpractice insurance as well as his health, he was able to put away even more than he’d ever been able to before. His home was paid for. A new car was his every year, he’d been told, and since he was working for the government, his home was furnished with the best equipment and staff. They took care of their own very well.
Thatcher was in his office when he got back to his own. “Hey, do you have a couple of minutes?” Dawson told him he had lots of time, as it was only a half-day for them. “I really needed this half-day today too. Christ, it’s been a strange few weeks. Do you remember that man? His name was Carlos or something like that? He’d been in here for an infected splinter. Do you know who I’m talking about?”
“Not Carlos, but Theos.” Thatcher said that was it. “Yes. He even did his follow up last week as you told him to do. What’s up? Did he skip out on the bill or something?”
“No. I don’t know, actually. But I just got a phone call from his wife—or so she said. But