Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft Read Free Page A

is by far the worst. The bullet
entered just below my collarbone and lodged against my scapula. After being surgically
repaired, everything had been re-damaged in my escape when the killers had
kidnapped me. The leg injury was through-and-through and left almost no
lingering affects aside from matching scars on both sides of my thigh. I don’t
even walk with a limp anymore.
    I sat on the table and
removed the sling.
    “How’s the shoulder
feel?”
    “Better.” Truthfully,
it was aching from my run-in with the Dennisons that morning.
    He pulled some
measuring equipment out of a drawer and walked me through a series of tests,
making notes on a piece of scrap paper from his pocket. We chatted about his
latest competition and my gym workout routine. He’d finished second in the St.
George Ironman triathlon, and I was back to thirty minutes on the elliptical
three days a week. He would have come in first had he not tripped over the
runner that went down in front of him and torn several ligaments in his knee. I
was considering pushing myself to forty minutes, now that my leg was healed.
    Exam complete, he sat
at the small desk in the corner and punched notes into my chart on the
computer.
    “Your strength has
improved greatly,” he said. “You’re about eighty-eight percent recovered
there.”
    “I sense a ‘but’
coming.”
    “ But your range
of motion is less than ideal—less than what I’d expect to see at this stage.
Have you been doing your home exercises?” He turned away from the computer and looked
at me.
    “Yes.” And it was the
truth. Generally speaking, I have a hard time taking orders of any kind. But it
was my shoulder in question, and since it had been compromised, I’d discovered
I relied on it more than I realized. I needed it healed and dependable.
Slacking on Sam’s homework wasn’t going to help me accomplish that.
    “All right, good,” he
said, turning back to the computer. “I’ll make some adjustments to your routine
today to include more stretching and range-of-motion stuff. I also think we
need a repeat MRI. I’ll call your doctor’s office when we’re through here.”
    “Is my shoulder as
good as it’ll get? Dr. Allen projected I would only recover eighty-five to
ninety percent of my strength and function.”
    Sam looked at me
again. “I’m not saying that. And I’m not giving up. But I don’t want to lead
you on, either. It’s been six weeks. The window for healing is closing.”
    “No. I don’t accept
that. It’s my shoulder. And this isn’t good enough.”
    Sam smiled. “That’s
the Zoe I know and love. A fighter to the end. If you’re serious, there are a
couple other things you can do.” He swung around and pulled open another
drawer, withdrawing two business cards. He handed them to me as he spoke. “We
talked briefly about massage therapy, and I think that would help now.
Particularly with range of motion. Second, you can try acupuncture. When I
injured my knee, the surgeon told me I’d never race again. I couldn’t accept
that, so I started doing some research. Western medicine is beginning to take a
closer look at acupuncture, and it’s proving acupuncture works.” He pointed to
one of the cards. “I see this woman myself. And it’s helping. I plan to compete
in the world championship at the end of the year.”
    Wow. I couldn’t deny
that was impressive.
    “I’ll call her. Thanks.”
    “No problem. Now,
let’s go work out, huh?”
     

2
     
    Ironman Sam gave new meaning to the
word “workout.” For this, I loved and hated him in equal measures, though not
always simultaneously. As I walked to the parking lot, it was a lot more of the
latter.
    I returned to my
truck, a 1978 International Scout II, and tossed the sling onto the seat. I’d
found the Scout four years before by happenstance. I’d been selling my
Mercedes, a reminder of a life I no longer had nor wanted, and Stan had been
looking to buy something new for his wife. There was