Target on Our Backs (Monster in His Eyes 3)

I give them a moment, excusing myself to the kitchen. I splash water on my face from the sink before staring at my hazy reflection in the window, running my hands through my hair.

Please be all right.

Dr. Carter isn't far behind us. He pulls into my driveway, squealing tires, driving like a bat out of hell. As soon as I open the door, he looks me over, stepping into the foyer, carrying a black medical bag. "What's wrong with you?"

Hell of a question.

Wouldn't even know where to begin answering that.

"It's actually Karissa," I tell him, pointing toward the living room where she's still sitting. "I need you to take a look at her."

Confusion clouds his expression as he heads that way. Right away, he fixates on her foot. "Ah, why don't you come to the kitchen and we'll get you fixed up?"

Karissa stands up, making her way toward the kitchen, with Killer protectively right on her heels. I stall in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, giving them space. Karissa climbs up on the counter, washing her filthy foot right in the sink. Dr. Carter grabs her by the calf and surveys the gash.

He doesn't ask any questions about how she got injured. He knows better than to pry. Wordlessly, he opens his bag and starts digging out supplies. "You're going to need a few stitches. I didn't bring anything to numb the area, because, well, Vitale never wants it, so if you've got any liquor around here, now's probably the time to break it out."

She clears her throat, and I can barely hear her when she says, "I can't."

Dr. Carter looks at her peculiarly. "Oh, right... not old enough, huh?"

"No. Well, I mean, you're right, but that's not why." She pauses. "I'm pregnant."

He freezes, eyes widening, like that shocks him. He doesn't comment, though, as he turns back to his supplies. "It'll hurt a bit. Feels like someone pushing a needle and thread through your skin, because, well, that's pretty much what I'll be doing."

He lets out an awkward laugh.

He's nervous, working on her.

I figured he would be.

The man sews me up all the time without issue. He happily takes my cash in exchange for subpar medical care. He does it, knowing I don't expect perfection, knowing his silence is what really matters to me. I've been through hell and back, dragged myself out of the pit more than a few times, toying with death because I don't fear it.

But her? She's different.

He has to take extra care with Karissa.

"It's okay," she says quietly. "I'm sure I've felt worse."

Before me, she hadn't. She'd been coddled. People were careful. But I introduced pain into her life. Don't know that I'll ever forgive myself for that.

Carter does what he needs to, getting down to business, giving her five stitches right on the side of the foot. The second the needle goes in, Karissa grimaces, but she doesn't make a sound even though I know it stings.

As soon as he finishes, he takes a step back, eyeing her. I know he can smell the ether. It's a potent stench. Once you smell it, it's a smell you never forget. Reaching into his bag, he grabs a stethoscope, warming it before pressing the metal to her chest.

He's not an idiot. That's why I employ him.

He can figure out the real issue here.

"How far along are you?" he asks, listening to her heartbeat. His voice is casual, like he's just making conversation, but I know he's taking this serious.

"Eight weeks... or, uh, I guess maybe nine now."

He motions for her to turn her body as he moves to her back, pushing her shirt up, using the stethoscope to listen to her lungs. "Deep breaths for me."

Karissa obliges.

He seems satisfied after a moment and puts the stethoscope away. "No cramping, no bleeding, no other issues?"

She hesitates. "My head is killing me."

"We can do something about that," he says. "Anything else?"

"No," she says. "Nothing."

He smiles softly, laying a hand on her shoulder, patting it. "You're going to be just fine."

She looks relieved, as she closes her eyes briefly, returning his smile as she hops back down off the counter, carefully not to hurt her foot more. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"I'm going to go take the longest bath known to man now, wash off this stink."

"You'll want to be careful not to get your stitches wet for the next forty-eight hours," he calls after her. "They should come out in about two weeks."

She nods, acknowledging she heard him, as she limps past me. Killer follows, as usual, giving me a wide berth as he leaves. Carter starts to pack up his things as I stroll further into the kitchen.

He glances at me. "I'm guessing congratulations are in order."

I pause beside him. "Give it to me straight."

"I always do," he says, turning to lean back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Like I said, she'll be fine. A couple Tylenol and a good night's sleep and she'll be good as new by morning."

"And the baby?"

He hesitates.

Hesitates.

"It's so early on, there's no way to know. Ether effects at a cellular level, and at nine weeks, the cells would be rapidly changing. So much can go wrong at this stage. Chances are, it'll all be fine, but if it isn't, well… not even the greatest doctor in the world could do anything to change it."

That's about what I expected to hear.

"I appreciate you coming," I say. "Before you leave, I need you to do me one more favor."

"What's that?"

"Check to make sure the mutt is okay."

He looks at me peculiarly. "What's wrong with the dog?"

"Let's just say he went up against the same opponent as Karissa and he didn't fare any better."

"Ah." He motions toward the doorway. "Lead the way."

Killer is lying in the hallway, right at the top of the stairs. He growls when I approach, but he lets Carter crouch down and look him over, not trying to get away.

"He seems all right," he says after a moment. "A little banged up, maybe a broken rib or two. The blood on him, well..."