Chapter Nineteen

It took thirty-five minutes to arrive at his friends' home, with Bill giving her street by street directions for the last few minutes as she wandered around a residential district foreign to her. She pulled up at the curb and heard keys jangling. Turning, Bill separated one key out on the key chain.

"This one works the front door, if it's locked. It may not be. Kidnappers don't usually lock the doors when they leave."

He seemed to be an expert on kidnappers. "Is your life always like this?"

"Pretty much."

"I hope you get a decent salary."

"Don't make me laugh. It hurts too much."

"Is the morphine kicking in?"

"A little. It's helping. Now find that red suit, boots, cape, belt, and bring it all back here to me in a gym or shopping bag. Look in the bedroom first; to the right through the living room."

"That's what's going to get your friends back? A Halloween costume? In March?"

"Trust me here. I'm not doing this for my health. Leave the front door unlocked."

Shaking her head, she took the keys and walked up to the house. She disappeared behind the wall which hid the front door from view and reappeared just a couple of minutes later, the suit in a little gym bag of Pam's.

"Here it is," she said, handing him the bag and his keys.

"Good. Thanks. Now, get me into the driver's seat. Write your phone number and address on a piece of paper and leave it in the glove compartment. Then skedaddle back into the house and get yourself home. I'll get you your car by tomorrow."

"You promise you'll still be alive by then?"

"Can't you see? I'm pretty tough to kill. "

He had been blown out a window only two days previously, and looked like it, but there he was, tough as old leather, still living. She believed him.

"What should I tell my husband?"

"Make something up. That's what I do with my boss all the time. Works like a charm."

She smirked at that.

Luckily, the lower dose morphine cut the pain enough that transferring Bill to the front seat was only agonizing, instead of excruciating. He almost passed out once, calling out "No!" as his knees started to give out, but by sheer force of will, he contracted the muscles and called himself back. Nina heard the "No!" and, confused, she stopped helping him for a moment until he ordered, "Keep going!". Holding onto him, as she got him on the seat, Nina felt his shirt was drenched with perspiration.

"Get the crutches…into the front seat…Please," he choked out, hardly able to get a breath.

Thirty-five years of nursing had programmed her to do as she was told, without question. She continued to follow Bill's directives, too respectful of him to cause trouble. When the crutches were placed next to the suit bag, she leaned over the driver's window, which Bill had rolled down with his left hand.

"How will you drive?"

"Left-legged."

"Be careful, you brave, obstinate Fed. Heroes are hard to come by."

Maxwell gave her a look of gratitude. "Thanks…for helping. You're…alright, No Nonsense Nina…if you like fishing…lemme know…if you ever get divorced."

Nina smiled broadly. She had some well-established wrinkles, was a little chubby, and her head was topped with white hair. She had long ago passed through the age of flattery. Hearing such a compliment from a younger, handsome man like Agent Maxwell swelled her ego immensely. Whatever the personal consequences she suffered, she knew she had done the right thing.

Maxwell started the car with his right hand fingers sticking out from the cast. Nina watched the vehicle drive away until it turned out of her sight. She had broken just about every nursing law on the state books, some a criminal offense. However, Bill's commitment to saving his friends alone while so banged up, when other patients with hang nails wept hysterically and couldn't be dragged out of the hospital, was too profound to ignore.

Definitely this was not her typical Sunday. But it probably was for Agent Maxwell, and God bless him for it.