said as he knelt beside King. He took a pair of surgical scissors from his

th, Dr. Evans stopped. He stared at the neat rows of antiseptic wipes, the precise applicati

his shoulder at the anxious butler. "Wh

the silent, blood-stained woman standing in the c

. He hated being the center of this pathetic spectacle, hate

wound. "It's clean, no signs of tendon damage, luckily. But you'll ne

ft, a heavy silence descended on the room. Alf

help you

rom the floor back into the uprighted wheelchair. But King was dead weight from the wais

ity guards, of course. But he couldn't bear the thought of mor

nting, and King's face was a t

of weary resignation. She placed the tab

one not unkind but firm. She gent

rmission, hooking her arms under his,

ried to shove her away, but his injured right arm wa

t next to his ear. She braced her legs, using a perfect lifting technique

. To stabilize the awkward weight, her left hand slid down his side, her

hand made con

flicker. A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of the mu

feeling of atrop

est of neurological signs, went on high alert. It

pressing deeper into the muscle, sea

faint, resistant tremo

gn that he had felt it, any flicker of awareness. But all she saw was pure, unad

ecialists had told him his legs were gone forever, and he believed them. But h

om her face. With a final, controlled burst of strength,

at the sleeve of his suit where she ha

heating video, the marriage license, the revenge against her family-it all suddenly seemed tr

t. She needed to run a

icked up the tablet. Her original plan was back in

ble. She held the tablet in front of his fac

lay on the file n