“We don’t have much time,” Fang said. “Are you with me?”
Coyle tried to sit up, but her abdomen resisted with flares of shooting pain. She winced and lay back down, and her mind spun. She had heard another name mentioned. Embeth? It sounded familiar.
“You may have a couple of fractured ribs, strained muscles and ligaments, a mild concussion, numerous lacerations and contusions. Nothing life-threatening.”
“Are you a doctor as well as a vampire?” Coyle asked.
Fang tilted her head. “I was trained in combat medicine. It does come in handy from time to time.” She stretched pieces of gauze across her lap and reached for scissors.
Coyle rested her head. Soft light from a small lamp allowed her to see what was necessary. They were in a small room with rough, used furnishings. Almost everything was made out of metal. Desk. Chairs. File cabinets. The slightest odor of old rust and cigar smoke lingered. This was an engineer’s office, and she was lying on the floor. Cool air brushed over her skin.
Her bare skin.
Her hand went up to her chest, and she squinted at Fang.
“Your suit got in the way of my assessment. Not to worry, though. I didn’t bite, and after I’m done wrapping your wounds, you can re-dress and be ready for the rest of our short adventure.”
Coyle closed her eyes as she let the trained killer sew a cut on the back of her head. She winced at the pain. “Thank you.”
“Been a while since I sutured someone beside myself. My business is wounding, not healing,” Fang said. “But I need you in tip-top shape.”
“Again, thank you for... Why,” Coyle asked, “Why are you helping me? You could take out Moreci by yourself.”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question.” Fang bit the thread and pulled it tight. Then she picked up a long strip of gauze and measured it before using the scissors. “Roll toward me. There, now roll away. Perfect. Yes, yours is a complicated question.”
“I love complicated questions and answers. They’re my bread and butter, as the saying goes.” Fang tightened the bandage and Coyle grunted. She reached up and tapped her side where it hurt. She was going to look like damaged goods when she got hold of a looking glass.
“I’ve noticed. And in a small way, my appreciation of you and your work has increased. Tenacity. Attention to detail. Patience.”
“Agency.”
“Agency.” Fang nodded. “And while we may live and work on opposite sides of the proverbial railroad tracks, I see myself in your personality and habits.”
“You’re helping me because you see some of me in you?”
Fang stopped and looked at her. “I’m helping you because there is no one else on this ship I’d rather have at my side than someone like myself.”
They remained silent, Fang on wound care, Coyle wondered if Fang wanted companionship. Or maybe just a one-time joining of abilities to solve the last few bits of this riddle. Working side by side with Fang seemed altogether beneficial and frightening at the same time. According to Fang, Coyle was someone worth rescuing.
What was going to happen when Treece was finished with her? What was going to happen when Fang was finished with her? She shook her head. All of it had been a huge nightmare, and it all led to death.
“I feel as though the world has been against me since the very beginning,” Coyle said.
“Go on.”
“My parents were never interested in me, mostly because of my inclination toward subjects that had nothing to do with being a lady. And then I fell in love—and that didn’t work out. And then I tried to become a detective. Now I’m working under Treece, and I’m still not sure how things will turn out. It’s obvious he’s using me to find and stop Moreci, but he doesn’t need me.”
“You’re afraid Treece may eliminate you.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“No, I don’t believe so. He’s made mistakes, but he actually is a decent person trying to do his best to fix his wrongs.”
Fang wrapped and tightened the bandage and stretched out another piece. Coyle watched her measure the cloth and hold the scissors. With a quick motion, the blades separated the cloth, and she pulled it taut around her left elbow. Coyle’s mind flashed to the still form of Bolt as Fang dragged her away from the firebox.
“I’m not a killer, though,” Coyle said.
“Not yet.”
“I would never.”
“Don’t be modest. Of course you would. Apparently, you and Bolt jumped into fisticuffs. Something made you fight, gave you the extra edge you needed to overcome the obstacle you faced. A modern twist on David and Goliath. You may have had him, but you obviously got too close. What was your intention in facing off against a man at least twice your size and obviously more skilled at brawling?”
“He had to pay for what he did to our team. I intended to place him in custody,” Coyle said. “He was a criminal, and as the ship’s only law enforcement, it’s my duty.” Heat brushed through her face and chest.
“Ah! There, you see? Feel that?” She tapped her fingers against Coyle’s chest. “Anger. Focused, unbent will. Do you think I’m any different? The only difference between us is I used lethal force. I stepped forward and pulled the trigger. I used my anger, focus and unbent will to save your life. We have the same qualities when it comes to our work. That’s what I admire about you. Now lie back down while I finish mending your pious frame.”
“My unbent will is for the enforcement of the law, not vigilantism.”
“Our wills are not so different, Coyle. We actually share the same occupation.”
“And what would that be?”
“Rubbish collection. You remove the rubbish from the street to make things safer. Cleaner. Your work involved a lot of rules and the inevitability the trash would be released back
