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Rapp started for the hallway but then stopped after a few steps. “Where is that?”
“Directly opposite of where we are now. You can’t miss it.”
• • •
Anna had been coached, too, but it didn’t help. She let out a high-pitched shriek when he walked through the open door.
“It’s okay! It’s me. Mitch.”
The young girl slid off the bed where she and Scott Coleman were attempting to build something that may have been the Eiffel Tower. “Mom said you were in a car accident. Were you wearing your seat belt?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You know that’s illegal. You have to!”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Anna,” Coleman said, “your mom probably could use some help. Why don’t you go see.”
“When are we going to finish?” She pointed to the LEGOs. “Maybe Mitch wants to play.”
“I’m sure he does, but we should save the rest for tomorrow.”
She nodded and went for the door, giving Rapp’s leg a quick hug before starting down the hallway.
“Anna?” Mitch called after her.
She stopped and turned.
“Maybe you could ask your mom to put my food through the blender.”
The request obviously confused her but she gave a quick nod before tearing down the hallway.
Coleman waited until she was out of earshot before he spoke. “Jeez . . . Mas said he worked you over, but I had no idea.”
“You don’t look so great yourself.”
Rapp was happy to note that his retort wasn’t entirely accurate. While Coleman had lost a lot of weight and his skin was pasty white, his eyes were clear and his voice had regained its strength. Most of all, though, he was aboveground.
“I hear you’re going to make a full recovery,” Rapp continued.
“Yeah. But at the end of a long road.”
“No problem. Take a couple of weeks.”
Coleman managed to produce the Boy Scout grin his friends had become so familiar with. “The docs say that I should be dead. That if it weren’t for you, the infection I got would’ve been fatal.”
“Me? What do I have to do with that?”
“Turns out you dragging me through every third-world shithole on the planet has given me a pretty good immune system.”
They fell silent for a few moments and Rapp ran through the Pakistan op in his head—the trashed motorcycle, going for position instead of entering the warehouse . . .
“I’m sorry, Scott. That should have been me in there.”
“Fortunes of war, man. What’ll you do?”
Rapp nodded. “When you’re done with your rehab are you coming back?”