Fifty-two

Bobby Manning sat in the waiting room, stewing over the whole situation. "Stay put," he says, the Aussie thought sourly, glaring at the door Dimitrius had disappeared behind. That's all I've bloody well been doing for two weeks. I didn't tag along with D to just stay put.

He glanced at the nurses' station; there were only two nurses visible right now, but he'd have to walk right past them to get to Tara's door. He checked his watch; D was finally getting a report from Myles, so hard telling how long he'd be. I'd love to hear that twist on things. Bet he thinks he can weasel out of responsibility.

The truth was, Bobby really had no proof for his feelings. But it hadn't stopped the image of his teammates, lying there in a pool of blood, Tara with nothing but a sheet wrapped around her and her recon clothes ripped apart and flung nearby, from implanting itself on the inside of his eyelids for the past two weeks. He knew, knew, that there was no way the computer tech would have gone without a fight— that left only the appalling thought that Myles had allowed her to be taken. And that thought was fast eating a hole in Bobby's gut.

A sudden beeping brought him out of his thoughts. "Ugh," he heard one of the nurses say. "It's Mr. Weis again." Both nurses vanished around a corner.

May as well give it a burl, he thought. No time like the present. She needs her friends.

Keeping a watch for the nurses, he stood and headed for her room, telling himself it really was for the best. The sooner they all knew for sure what he felt in his gut, the sooner they could take necessary action and get back to normal.