brick.’
‘Brick?’
‘That’s what we call our four-man units. He was the medic. A captain had just been hit by a sniper and I was holding him while he died. Big mistake on my part, I should have been looking for cover but I stayed with the captain and got hit in the shoulder probably by the same sniper.’
‘Can I see the scar?’
‘What?’
‘Come on, you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.’
‘I don’t want to see yours.’
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Please.’
‘If it’ll shut you up.’ He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it back to reveal the scar just below his right shoulder. ‘Satisfied?’
Bosch moved closer and ran a fingertip along it. ‘Nice,’ she said. She put her hand on his shoulder and turned him so that she could see his back. ‘No exit wound,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said Shepherd. ‘It hit the bone and went downwards. Just missed an artery. Geordie got it out and stopped the bleeding.’
‘Tampon?’
‘What?’
‘Best thing to plug a bullet hole. Can’t beat them.’
‘I’m pretty sure he used a regular field dressing. If he’d used a tampon he’d have told me. And I’d have got stuck with a new nickname.’
Bosch ran her finger across the scar again. ‘I’m guessing a 5.45mm round?’
‘Good guess,’ said Shepherd, admiringly.
‘AK-74?’
‘And you know your assault rifles. Most people assume it was an
AK-47.’
‘I’m a big fan of the AK-74,’ said Bosch, ‘but you don’t want to go firing one out here. The Yanks hear it, they’ll assume you’re with the bad guys.’
Shepherd buttoned his shirt. ‘If it wasn’t for Geordie, I’d have died in the desert. Like I said, I owe him big- time.’
The Major came out of the kitchen. ‘Everything okay?’ he said.
‘Spider was just showing me his war wound,’ said Bosch.
‘He does that with all the girls,’ said the Major. ‘I don’t want to sound like anyone’s father but it’s getting late and we’re up at five tomorrow. I’m heading up.’
‘I was about to turn in too,’ said Shepherd, standing up.
Bosch raised her bottle. ‘I’ll finish this first. Sleep well, Spider.’
‘You too.’
Bosch blew him a kiss. Shepherd and the Major walked together to the stairs. ‘You okay?’ the Major asked.
‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll be happier once we’re under way, that’s for sure.’ They went up the stairs together.
‘You’ve got a good team behind you,’ said the Major. ‘The best.’
‘I know. It’ll be fine.’
‘I’m supposed to be the one giving the pep talk.’
‘I don’t need one,’ said Shepherd. ‘I know what the risks are, and I know what I have to do. We just roll the dice and see what happens.’
They arrived at Shepherd’s room. The Major held out his right hand, clenched into a fist. Shepherd banged his own against it. ‘See you tomorrow,’ said the Major.
Shepherd went into his room. He had just finished showering when there was a knock at the door. He assumed it was the Major and frowned as he wrapped a towel round his waist. He opened the door.
It was Carol Bosch, with the bottle of Jameson’s. ‘I thought I’d come and show you my scars,’ she said.
‘There’s no need,’ he said. ‘Really.’
She ran her hand down her left thigh. ‘I’ve got a really interesting knife wound here that I think you’d find fascinating.’
‘Carol…’
Bosch pushed the door open and slipped inside. ‘Where are the glasses?’ she asked.
Shepherd closed the door. ‘You’re impossible,’ he said.
‘Here they are,’ she said picking two glasses off the bedside table. She poured two slugs of whiskey and handed one to him. ‘Nice towel,’ she said, and clinked her glass against his. ‘To being shot,’ she said, ‘and surviving.’
Shepherd sighed, but drank to her toast.
Bosch put her glass down on the bedside table and began to undo her dress.
‘What is this? A condemned man’s last request?’ asked Shepherd.
‘This isn’t about you,’ she said. ‘Have you any idea how difficult it is to find a half-decent man out here?’
‘Surprisingly enough, no,’ he said.
She stepped forward, slipped her right hand behind his neck and kissed him. For a second Shepherd resisted, but her tongue probed between his teeth and he felt himself grow hard. She ran her other hand down the towel and between his legs.
Shepherd broke away. ‘Carol-’
‘What?’
‘There’s something you should know.’
‘Well, we’ve already decided you’re not gay. And you’re not wearing a wedding ring.’
‘I work undercover,’ said Shepherd. ‘Undercover cops don’t wear wedding rings.’
‘If you’re married, it doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’m not asking for lifelong commitment. I just want to have sex with you.’
‘She died,’ said Shepherd. ‘Three years ago.’
Suddenly Bosch looked concerned. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I loved her.’
‘Okay. I loved my husband, too, right up to the point I found him in bed with our maid. But this isn’t about my ex-husband or your wife, this is about you and me.’ She grabbed him and kissed him again. This time Shepherd kissed her back. Bosch pushed him towards the bed.
Shepherd put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Carol, wait-’
‘Now what?’
‘I haven’t had sex for a while.’
‘Shame,’ she said. ‘How long?’
‘A while.’
‘A month?’
Shepherd shook his head.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘A year?’
‘A bit longer.’
‘How much longer?’
Shepherd swallowed. ‘Since Sue died.’
‘Three years?’
‘Thereabouts.’
Bosch’s jaw dropped. ‘Wow,’ she said.
