CHAPTER TWELVE
Hana woke, feeling groggy and out of sorts. The clock showed after nine and shocked her with its lateness. Logan slept next to her, drugged by painkillers and the dull, relentless agony he rarely complained about. The borrowed phone vibrated itself off the bedside table and onto the floor. Logan groaned as the sound dragged him from slumber. His right hand scrabbled on the floor, trying to reach it. A moan of agony escaped his lips and he clutched his side with white-knuckled fingers.
“Leave it, I’ll get it,” Hana sighed, dragging herself from the cosy bed and running round to retrieve it. “Hello?” she said, rubbing her eyes and hearing only the disconnect tone. “Damn, I missed them.”
“It’s a wrong number,” Logan sighed, gingerly touching his dressing. “Oh crap, this leak
