Mara nodded, her professional composure returning instantly.

“I will call Dr. Patel on the secure line,” she said. “He will be here in ten minutes.”

Together, Mara and I draped Roman’s arms over our shoulders and hauled him out of the SUV.

He was heavy, his feet dragging in the wet gravel.

He groaned, his eyes fluttering open for a brief second before closing again.

We carried him up the stone steps and into the grand foyer, leaving a trail of muddy water and blood behind us.

We laid him down on the long leather sofa in the study.

Mara ran out of the room to make the call to the doctor.

I knelt beside Roman, my hands covered in his blood.

I carefully peeled back his coat and shirt to look at the wound.

There was a entry wound in his side, but there was also another wound higher up on his shoulder.

It was deep, sluggishly dripping dark red blood onto the leather.

The bullet from the shootout in the woods had hit his shoulder, but the secondary wound in his side looked older, perhaps re-opened from his previous fights.