“I don’t need a doctor,” I said, though my hands were shaking so hard I had to sit on them.

“Hale is more than a doctor,” Vincent said. “He is discreet. And his clinic has three different exits.”

He opened his door and the smell of wet asphalt and diesel exhaust rushed into the car.

I followed him through a heavy steel door that opened into a brightly lit hallway.

The smell of rubbing alcohol and bleach immediately hit my nose.

Dr. Hale was waiting for us, wearing a clean white lab coat over a dark sweater.

He looked older than Vincent, with graying hair at his temples and sharp, observant blue eyes.

“Vincent,” Dr. Hale said, nodding once. “And this must be Lena.”

“Is the perimeter clear?” Vincent asked, skipping any greeting.

“Two of your men are on the roof,” Dr. Hale said, leading us into a small examination room. “No one followed you.”

He turned to me, his expression softening slightly.

“Let me look at that wrist, young lady,” he said, pointing to a chair.

I sat down and let him gently take my arm.