Bryce was angry, almost furious. He was sick and might die. He had seen most members of the good family who had hosted him and Eddie die. And now Eddie had ordered a newly orphaned 10-year-old girl, last surviving member of that family, recovering from not one but two emergency operations (just 15 hours ago!) to stay behind with a sick soldier. Bryce would never forget Erin shuddering with fright as long (or more likely short) as he lived.
What stayed him from yelling at Eddie was the look on the older man's face. It was the same look he'd had after talking to Margot by phone on June 18. Sometimes a boss has to make a command decision that forces him to wrestle his conscience. Eddie had wrestled as he led Bryce out of his plush Sugar Land office five days like five years ago, and he was wrestling now.
He parked the Cadillac at the north end of the station's lot, about thirty feet from the Camaro. Although gasoline was not continuing to flow, a lot had been spilled. Bryce's nose was still comatose, but he sensed a change in the air and had no doubt that Erin would be verbalizing her alarm about fumes if she were here. It was getting so that Eddie's team needed her nose, eyes and ears, and she'd been a damn fine team member — comforter, lookout, water girl. That wrestling match between Eddie and his conscience needed to continue.