Page 29 of Out of Control

“Hey, Spencer. It’s me.”

“Two guys. Watch. Out—”

“No worries, buddy. I took them both down.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Neither one’s getting back up for a while other than to go to a hospital and get a shit-ton of sutures. You’re safe now.”

Spencer started to gather himself as if to stand up.

“Hold on, there, Captain Macho. Let me check you out for any injuries that ought to be immobilized.” He ran his hands gently over Spencer’s skull, where he felt several lumps beginning to swell. He was even more careful when he felt Spencer’s neck, checking for any spinal deformities or loose bone chips. He finished with Spencer’s spine and moved on to checking limbs for obvious, serious injuries.

The good news: most leg or arm injuries were not life-threatening unless massive bleeding was involved. The problem with Spencer lying on sand was that it would soak up most of the blood evidence of an open wound.

“Are you bleeding, Spencer? Can you feel any wetness beneath you? Do you feel faint?”

“No.” A pause. “And no.”

Thank God.

Spencer was alive. The relief that washed over him was so profound it literally made him light-headed.

“I was so scared I wouldn’t get to you in time,” Drago confessed as he finished up with Spencer’s ankles, neither of which felt injured.

An urge to puke coursed through him.

“Glad you came,” Spencer sighed.

“Me too. Can you walk, babe?” he asked gently.

“Don’t know. My knees—”

“I saw the blow,” he bit out. “I’ll help you up. Lemme move to this side so I can hoist you by your good arm.” Squatting down, he dragged Spencer’s left arm over his shoulder and lifted him to vertical as carefully as he could.

Spencer groaned and sagged, going down as his knees collapsed, unable to stand.

Drago caught Spencer around the waist, bodily holding him upright for several seconds, until his legs could bear weight. Eventually Spencer’s weight eased off his shoulders a bit. But Spencer hissed in pain, sucking wind between his clenched teeth, as he stood on his own for the first time.

“It’s not far to the car. Lean on me as much as you need to. I’ve got you.” Drago kept up a steady stream of encouragement in a low voice. “You’ve got this. I see the Land Rover. Almost there. You’re doing awesome.”

“Sorry. Shoulda seen that coming,” Spencer slurred from his injured mouth.

“I gather you’ve made some enemies in this part of the world over the years?”

“A few.”

And unfortunately, two of them had caught up with him tonight.

They staggered across the dunes at the edge of the beach, and he matched his steps to Spencer’s shuffling ones. At long last they reached the Land Rover, and he gently deposited Spencer in the passenger seat. When the backs of Spencer’s knees touched the upholstery, the poor guy groaned and lolled sideways.

Drago reached for his shirt and dragged him vertical. “Stay with me, buddy. Don’t pass out.”

“Sure. ’Kay,” Spencer mumbled.

He raced around to the driver’s side and climbed in just in time to catch Spencer again and push him back upright. “Hang in there, man. I’ve got morphine in my gear. It’ll only be a few more minutes.”

But first they had to drive far enough across Tel Aviv to put some distance between themselves and the two assholes—and their possible cronies. He left Spencer in the car while he checked in to a middling hotel that wasn’t the kind of place people hid from detection in. He used a fake ID, though, to be safe.