The Betrayal Read Online Free

have to sign a form.”
    â€œSo go get it.”
    Determined to change into street clothes before his visitors arrived, while George was gone Boone laboriously made his way to the closet. The smell of dried blood nauseated him. The parka was a mess, not worth keeping.
    Reaching for the plastic bag made him recoil in pain. And now he was dizzy. He tried reaching again, but his bad side convulsed and he yelped. And now he felt himself blacking out.
    His spine pressed back against the closet doorframe, and as Boone began to slide to the floor, he heard something fall and then felt George’s hands under each of his arms, moving damaged tissue on that left side.
    Boone grunted as George guided him back to his bed.
    â€œThat wasn’t too smart now, was it?” the nurse said.
    â€œCan’t blame a guy for trying.”
    â€œI get back ten seconds later and your head hits the floor. Then where are we?”
    George got him situated, then retrieved the fallen envelope. “Hope your watch survived, but it seemed more important to keep you from falling.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œAnd if your clothes are so important, here.” He yanked the bag off the shelf and plopped it between Boone’s legs. “You expect to find anything in there you can change into? Get real.”
    Boone pulled the plastic apart, revealing a black-red ball, stiff with blood. It proved to be his shirt and undershirt. George quickly donned rubber gloves and took them. “May I dispose of these, or did you want a souvenir?”
    Boone pointed to the trash and dug his jeans from the bag. They too were a wrinkled mess, and a patch of blood covered the belt and reached the bottom of the front pocket.
    â€œThese are salvageable. I’m going to rinse them out and change into them before my guests arrive.”
    â€œAnd how are you going to do that? Balance over the sink next to your IV pole and work with one hand?”
    â€œNothing worthwhile is easy.”
    George shook his head. “Incorrigible. Listen, we’re about the same size. Okay, so I’m fat and you’re not. But I’ve got a couple of sets of clean work clothes if you’re so determined to get out of that gown.”
    â€œI accept.”
    â€œYou’re going to look like a nurse in scrubs.”
    â€œBetter than this.”
    â€œGive me half an hour. You’re not my only patient, you know.”
    â€œI appreciate this, George,” Boone said, handing the man his bloody jeans.
    â€œI’ll deep-six those shoes, too.”
    When George returned, he brought everything—slippers, socks, underwear, undershirt, and scrubs. He even produced a large sheet of clear plastic with adhesive on the edges.
    â€œThis’ll allow you to take a shower if you want, and believe me, you want. You’re getting gamy.”
    â€œTell me about it.”
    â€œThe IVs, all that, are waterproof. We tape this over your wound, you sit on the fold-down bench in there, and you can use the flexible hose and nozzle. Don’t rush. You want to shave too?”
    â€œDo I!”
    â€œYou’re going to be exhausted after all this, but you’ll be glad you did it. And so will your visitors. Especially the one.”
    Boone shot George a double take.
    â€œI’ve got eyes,” the nurse said.
    A few minutes later Boone sat in the shower with his chin on his chest, catching his breath. With the plastic protecting his ugly wound and stitches, he lifted the nozzle over his head and let the steaming water cascade over him. This was as good as he’d felt since hitting the concrete floor with a .45 caliber hole ripped through him.
    Shampooing with one hand was a new experience, and Boone knew it would be his lot for months. When he finally turned off the tap he felt as if he could sit in the steam for an hour.
    George reached in with a razor and shaving cream, and Boone slowly managed that task. When he finally emerged,