“Bailey? Can you hear me?”
The voice beside me caught me unawares. I think I’d pretty much accepted I’d lost the Hollywood plot completely by this time. My forehead felt clammy and my fingers were numb on the left side. Whoever said blood was warm? It was cold and sticky under my armpit. There was a sour taste in my mouth and a hissing noise in my ears. I’d certainly never heard anyone approaching—let alone him.
“How bad is it, Bailey?”
I sighed. “Fletcher. Hi. It’s nothing.” Damned if I was going to give into the humiliation of passing out. The hero always chatters on in the face of agony, doesn’t he? I would have shrugged if it didn’t hurt so badly. “Is it all over, then? Mad, Hungry Guy dead?”
A bottle of water appeared at my lips and I took a grateful swig. There were reassuringly
