He’d been in dangerous, difficult situations more times than he cared to remember, moments that required quick thinking and a cool, collected head, but this was too much. Sure, Ross had complained during the long drive about his stomach bothering him, but whatever this was, it was much more than whining. Tentatively, unsure of what, if anything, he could do, Jack knelt beside Ross as the man writhed in pain. “Oh, my land sakes!” Virginia shrieked from behind the Belvedere’s front desk. “What’s the matter with him?” Given Ross’s current state, there was no point in asking him. Sweat dotted his pale white skin and ran in streaks down his cheeks, pooling in the recesses of his neck. The Bureau agent’s hands were pressed against his stomach so tightly that the tendons stood out, his nails dug in deeply as if he were clinging to a crumbling cliff side. Sounds hissed through his clenched teeth; there were no words, only guttural noises that spoke of hurt. Frighteningly, his eyes had rolled back so far in their sockets that Jack could no longer see the pupils.
