CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Tom wasn't sure how often he'd end up in a hospital, watching Ilse Beck sleep. She looked so peaceful on the hospital bed, on the other side of the privacy curtain between their rooms. She had bandages on her cheek and head. More bandages along her arm. Thankfully, Ilse's burns, unlike his, hadn't been too severe.
Sawyer glanced towards his shooting hand, wincing. The worst of his burns had been along the back of his right hand. His shooting hand. There'd been talk of amputating the damn thing, but Sawyer had refused. Well, more accurately, he'd threatened to kill the doctor in his sleep if he even tried it.
The pain along his arm, and up and down his leg was immense. It had been touch-and-go at first, but now the doctors said his skin should heal.
The same, of cou
