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I tilted him forwards gently, lifted the shirt at the back, running my hands tentatively over his goosebumped skin. I was feeling for the exploded exit, but couldn’t find it. I’d been hoping for a flesh wound, but the bullet was still in there.

I pulled my fleece off over my head, dragged the T-shirt I had on underneath out of my jeans and yanked that off, too. Sean wasn’t in any state to admire my underwear, and I didn’t give him much chance to, quickly shrugging my way back into the fleece. I used the T-shirt to wad against his shoulder, trying to stem the flow with fingers that felt abruptly fat and clumsy.

“You never could keep your hands off me, Charlie,” Sean said, his voice blurred. He tried a laugh, but something went wrong on the way out and it became no more than a gasp. He was staring at me without focus again, his exhaustion total, and I realised how much it had taken out of him to stay operational until now.

Operational. Jesus, the people who trained me would have been proud that I fell back instinctively on their evasive terminology. Operational. It meant alive and conscious. Sean becoming non-operational, on the other hand, was something I didn’t want to think about right now.

I leaned him back into his seat. “Sean, listen to me.” I was mildly surprised to find my voice came out relatively calm and clear. “The round’s still there, and I don’t know where it is. I have to get you to a hospital.”

“No!” His response was stark, immediate. “No hospitals,” he reiterated, struggling to get the words out. Struggling harder not to plead with me. “When they’ve found that blood bath back there, the first place they’ll come looking for us is the local hospitals. You know what’ll happen then, don’t you, Charlie?”

I tried hard not to let him get to me. “You can’t help your brother if you’re dead,” I told him brutally.

He managed a weak half smile that looked as though it was ripped out of him by something with claws. “I can’t help him if I’m in a prison cell, either.”

I said nothing for a few moments, not meeting his eyes, then let go of his coat and sat back in my seat, annoyed. With Sean. With myself. It was as though he was deliberately trying to kill himself and it was eating away at me to have to watch him do it.

“Dammit, Sean, you need a doctor,” I said at last, my voice low with anger.

“If you can find me one, Charlie, who won’t go running to the police, I’ll see him,” he said, and I knew by the stubborn set of his mouth there wasn’t going to be any shifting him on this one.

“It’s all going to be academic if we don’t stop you bleeding,” I threw at him, wanting to hurt him as much as he was hurting me. “I could always just let you pass out, and then cart you off to the nearest Casualty anyway.”

I saw the flinch he tried not to let show, and my temper deflated like a slow-punctured tyre.

I sighed. “OK, OK, we’ll deal with this,” I said. “But first, we’ve got to get you some place safe. Some place out of the way, where the police aren’t going to find us.”

Twenty-two

I took Sean to Jacob and Clare’s. Under pressure, it was the only place I could think of that was secluded enough to hide him.

Besides, Jacob’s work means he has a tendency to be highly security conscious. As well as a sophisticated alarm system, a couple of sensors hidden on the driveway link direct to a buzzer in the house. At least we would have fair warning of unexpected visitors.

When I rumbled the Patrol to a jerky standstill on their moss-covered forecourt, the whole place looked dark and quiet, lying as it did under the shadow of the trees, but I knew Jacob would be watching the strange vehicle warily from somewhere. I cut the engine, suddenly aware of a fatigue so overwhelming it made me want to weep. I twisted in my seat.

“Sean?”

For a moment there was silence and all manner of nasty scenarios slithered past my eyes, but then I heard the quiet rustle of clothing as he moved.

“Yeah.” His voice was clogged and raspy. “I’m still with it.”

I climbed out and, once they’d seen my face, both Jacob and Clare came hurrying out of the front door. The orange glow of the hall light flooded out after them, and threw elongated shadows onto the stone sets.

“My God, Charlie, what the hell’s happened?” Jacob demanded, limping forwards as I yanked the passenger door open and Sean’s bloodied figure all but fell out into my arms.

“He’s been shot and he needs help,” I said bluntly, staggering under the weight. I caught their instant withdrawal, their hesitation, and swung to face them.

“I know I’m pushing my luck coming here, but I didn’t know where else to take him,” I said, speaking fast and low. “If you want me to go, tell me now, but make your minds up quick, before he bleeds to death.”

That broke them out of it. Jacob came forwards to help me then. If he hadn’t, I never would have got Sean into the house.

Clare went ahead, fluttering anxiously, holding doors open for us and shooing the dogs out of the way. They were taking far too much interest in the state of the new arrival for my liking.

By general consensus, we put him in the kitchen, where at least the blood he was losing could be mopped off the flagged floor. We propped him gently against the kitchen table and Jacob supported him there while I carefully peeled his coat away from the wound.

Underneath it, my makeshift dressing was drenched scarlet. In the strong light it seemed that the front half of his jacket was stained wet with it. It scared me, the amount he was losing. He couldn’t hope to sustain it.

I took one look at Jacob’s troubled face, and realised he knew it, too.

I clenched my teeth with the effort it took not to cry. You are not going to die on me, Sean . . .

Clare came bustling in then with a big First Aid kit. We broke the seal and found decent-sized sterile dressings inside. I’m not sure they were much more effective than my T-shirt, but at least they looked the part.

Jacob moved away, filled the kettle and shoved it to boil on top of the Aga. Clare had gone again, reappearing with a bundle of ragged towels. “They’re only old,” she said, pale but determined, “but they’ve been washed.”

I nodded gratefully to her, suddenly fiercely proud of my friends. The way they’d taken us in without asking awkward questions. Like who was this guy? And why would anyone want to be shooting at him?

All the time I kept up pressure on the site of the wound, leaning into him, the only way to curb the bleeding. It finally seemed to be slowing up, and at least it gave me the excuse to watch him for a few moments.

Even through the pain and the anger, the times when I’d hated Sean as violently as I’d loved him, I’d never forgotten the beauty of him.

“Sean.” His eyes flickered open at my soft call. There were grim circles round them, shadows etched in deep. “We need to get to that wound, clean it up,” I said. “Are you up to this?”

He nodded once, and eased himself upright. I helped him with the coat, but left as much of his tattered shirt in place as I could. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, he still felt chilled.

“Get him onto the table,” Jacob suggested.

We laid him down flat then, bunching the coat under his head. Clare unfolded some of the towels and laid them over Sean’s torso and legs, trying to keep him warm.

Once the kettle had begun to hum, we ferried hot water in bowls to mop the worst of the blood away. He could still move his fingers, but the front of his shoulder had started to swell, and he didn’t seem to be able to lift his arm much.

At length, I stepped back. “It’s no good, Sean,” I said, dropping another ruined towel into the bowl at my feet. “That bullet’s going to have to come out, and the sooner the better.”