Tate laughed as he straightened. "One night while I was on call, I went to pick up a body that wasn't dead. If not for Hunter, I'd be the one in the body bag."
"Shut up, Tate," Hunter snapped, "and drive."
"I'm going," Tate said as if completely unoffended by the high-handed way Hunter treated him.
"You know," Amanda said to Hunter as Tate got up front and started the ambulance. "You could try being nicer to people. Especially when they're helping you."
She heard his aggravated sigh even through the plastic. "Shouldn't that advice apply to you, as well?"
Amanda opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. He was right. She had been rather testy with him since all this started. "I guess you're right. Maybe we should both try and make the best of this."
If he responded, she didn't hear it since the siren blared again. Tate drove them to the hospital in record time, but the ride was far from smooth.
By the time they arrived, she felt as if she had been tossed around like sweatsocks in a dryer.
Tate pulled up to the rear of the hospital, under an awning that kept the sunlight from touching them. With a warning to her to remain quiet, he carefully pulled the stretcher out of the back so that he wouldn't hurt her arm as they descended out of the ambulance.
Once inside the hospital doors, Amanda held her jacket closed to hide the bloodstains on her sweater.
Hunter remained completely still and silent as Tate pushed the stretcher through the bustling areas. Amanda walked along beside them, and wanted to cringe and die given how obvious the handcuffs were.
Did they have to gleam so brightly under the fluorescent lights? Couldn't Desiderius have found nice, small police-sized cuffs?
Oh no, these had to be five inches thick with some kind of weird Greek design all over them. And a chain that ran a good four inches in length. Anyone who saw them would definitely think they came from one of Tabitha's weird sex catalogues.
The horror of it! Amanda had never even been inside a Frederick's of Hollywood. For that matter, she'd blushed profusely the handful of times she'd been in Victoria's Secret.
And everyone they passed turned to gawk at them.
"I haven't seen that in at least six months," an orderly said as they passed the admissions desk.
"I heard that," another orderly responded. "Wonder how old the poor guy was?"
"I dunno, but by the looks of her, I'd say sign me up."
Their laughter made her entire face burn. By the interested looks the men were raking over her body, she could surmise Hunter's words about her having dates might not have been too far off the mark.
"Hey, Tate?" a young doctor asked as they drew near the elevators. "Should I ask?"
Tate shook his head. "You know all the weird shit comes through my office."
The doctor laughed while Amanda covered her face with her hand.
As soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, Amanda whispered under her breath, "Hunter, I swear, I'm going to kill you for this."
"Dearie," an elderly hospital volunteer said from beside her. "It looks to me like you already did." She patted Amanda lightly on the arm. "The same thing happened to me and my Harvey. Poor thing. I sure do miss him, too."
Tate choked on his laughter.
Amanda groaned and prayed for this ordeal to end.
Once they reached the morgue, Tate took them into a dim, metallic lab and locked the door. Hunter unzipped the bag from the inside.
"Thanks," he said to Tate as he sat up and removed the bag from his body. He folded it and placed it on a table.
Tate opened a drawer in the small cabinet next to the door. "No problem. Now, take your coat and shirt off and let me see what happened to you."
"It will heal."