(Chapter 24. Community General Hospital, FBI Safe house. March 28.)
"Ok, Moretti," Ron said as Al and 'Fredo Cioffi came to join him, "let's go."
"I don't think so," Moretti said flatly.
"We need to get you to a safe house, now."
Ignoring Ron, Moretti walked up to the desk and said, "I'm a friend of Emily Stephens. They took her ta surgery a couple minutes ago. Where can I go ta wait an' see how she is?"
After getting directions to the OR waiting room, Moretti turned and told Ron, "Ya can protect me here, or ya can go home. I'm stayin' 'til I know how she's doin'." With that, he walked away.
Knowing he'd already blown it at least once and that he had no right to expect Moretti to follow his instructions after the mess that had been made of things, Ron just rolled his eyes and went after Moretti, motioning the Cioffis to come along, too.
Jesse had been having a busy day on the six-to-six shift in the ER. He had arrived in the grayness of dawn, and now he knew he would be going home in the dark of the night. He hadn't had time to step out and see the sun all day. I'm getting too old for these long shifts.
When Emily was brought in, all four trauma suites were already in use, so it was just as well that Steven had filled them in from the ambulance. They had been able to send her straight to the OR, which was where she needed to be. Since Alex was just coming on duty and was well rested from a day lounging at home with his wife Marilyn and their two Newfoundland puppies, he took the surgery and Jesse stuck around to cover for him in the ER until he was finished.
Suddenly finding himself with two minutes on his hands and an empty trauma room, he decided to pick up the phone and call Amanda. The ER had been too busy for him to want to risk a visit to the path lab to look for her, but he figured she was probably still down there, working on one of the patients he hadn't been able to save, and she would be close to the phone.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Amanda Bentley-Wagner," she said in that warm, welcoming tone that Jesse always thought was ill suited to someone who cut up dead people for a living but was perfect for such a charming woman as Amanda.
"Hey, it's Jesse."
"Oh, hi, Jess." She said cheerfully. "You sound tired. What are you still doing here? It's ten after six."
"You haven't heard, then?"
"Heard? What? Who's hurt?" The panic was rising in her voice already. "Is it Dion, Ron, or Steve? Jesse, what happened?"
"Oh, God, no, Amanda. You know I'd have sent someone to tell you in person if it was one of them. That was a bad way to start a conversation, I'm sorry. They're all fine."
He heard a big sigh as she calmed down, "Well, if it's not one of them, then what?"
"Emily was shot as she was leaving the courthouse," Jesse said on a sigh. "It was bad. One in the shoulder, two in the chest, one in the abdomen. She crashed once on the way here. They took her straight to the OR. Alex, CJ, and Maribeth are working on her now."
"Oh. Poor Liv."
"Amanda, that's only the beginning." He told her what he knew of the shooting at the courthouse, about the words Steve and Liv had exchanged in the ER lobby, and about how she slapped Steve when he finally, in the heat of the moment, brought up his suspicions about Em being his daughter.
"Oh, no. Then what?"
"She just walked away. Never answered him. The lobby was mobbed with press, too. They got it all in living color and surround sound, and what they didn't get, they will make up so they have a good story," Jesse was disgusted with the media and worried for his friends. "I think Steve is gonna need some support, and I think someone should get Mark here. He's alone at the beach house, and I would hate for him to find out about all this when he's on his own."
"You're right, Jess," Amanda agreed. "I'll call Hannah and have her bring Mark here. He and Steve can look after each other, and I'll keep an eye on them both."
Jesse heard another ambulance pull up and he sighed. The night showed no signs of slowing down any time soon. "Ok, and thanks, 'Manda. Gotta go."
"Not a problem. Talk to you later, Jesse."
"Ok, here's the plan," Dr. Alex Martin said when he and his two colleagues were finally scrubbed and standing around their patient. It had taken only minutes, but to Alex, when a life was in the balance, it always seemed to take forever to get scrubbed, gowned, and gloved for surgery. "We have a female, very fit, early thirties. Four gunshot wounds to the shoulder, chest and abdomen. Collapsed lung, damage to the heart, coronary and pulmonary blood vessels likely. Also probable damage to the liver and stomach. Amazingly enough, she's only crashed once so far. Let's try to keep it that way."
Over the speaker in the scrub room, they had all heard Steven's entire assessment as he rode in on the ambulance with Emmy and again as he followed the gurney down to the ER to brief them one last time from the observation gallery, but it was Alex's habit to review once more before he made the first cut. On several occasions, a colleague had provided more essential information or made a helpful or even life-saving suggestion in these brief moments before the surgery began, and Alex had never felt he'd lost a patient to this few-seconds-long delay, so, despite the sense of urgency in the room, he carried on as he always had.
As the trauma surgeon on duty, Alex was in charge of Emily's case, and despite her seniority and his higher degree of specialization, both Maribeth and CJ awaited his instructions. CJ stood across the table from him, and Maribeth stood to his left, near Emily's shoulder. Both were impatient but respectful, as they knew Alex had more experience in dealing with multiple trauma patients than either of them.
"CJ, you and I will start with the thoracic injuries," he said as they all turned and looked at the images that had been taken by the portable x-ray machine while they were scrubbing. "They are your forte, so I'll follow your lead." Holding his hand out for the scalpel, he continued, "Maribeth, you will stop any major bleeds in the shoulder and then go to work on the abdominal injuries."
"But Alex, if I let the shoulder go too long, swelling could shift the bullet and cause a permanent disability."
"I know it could," he replied as he cut his patient open from just under the notch between her collarbones to the tip of her breast bone, "but if you let the stomach go too long, the stomach contents and gastric juices will cause peritonitis, and as serious as her condition is, that will probably cause a permanent death. You can go back to the shoulder when we have finished dealing with the life threatening injuries."
"Oh, duh," Maribeth said, not at all offended. She knew one of Alex's pet peeves was doctors whose practices were so specialized they forgot to see the whole patient. He hadn't meant to be sarcastic, and she realized her comment had been a bit short-sighted.
With that, the three surgeons got started on what they knew was going to be a long night.
Keith looked back at the hospital in disgust as he crossed the street and headed into the park. It was getting dark, and he knew he shouldn't be out alone at night, but he had to get away from that place, from all the history he'd never shared, and from the press, circling like a flock of vultures, and he'd rather be walking in the cold than waiting in purgatory. His face rumpled into a thoughtful frown as he hobbled along. A group of vultures wasn't a flock. There was a special word for it, one he'd learned when Emily was small and going through her, 'I want to be a zookeeper,' phase.
What lasted several weeks in most children had usually taken only a day or two with Em. She had often been intensely interested in something for a short time, and he or Olivia would spend hours with her, researching it on the Internet and at the library, sometimes even helping her construct experiments to test her theories. Then, without warning, she'd lose interest and be off on another topic before they'd had a chance to catch their breath.
She sure taught the old man a thing or two. Keith grinned wryly. Having such a precocious child had made him smarter, there was no doubt about that; but it also made him more easily frustrated. Many times, he felt a thought or scrap of knowledge he once possessed hanging at the edge of his consciousness, and he couldn't rest until he had captured it and committed it to memory again. He envied Emily her flawless memory.
Now, what was that word?
Steve could not stop pacing in the doctor's lounge. He felt Charles Donovan's eyes on him as he made yet another circuit of the small room, and wondered just why the kid had tagged along to the hospital, then he remembered Donovan had been assigned to protect Emily. He wanted to send the young man home in the worst kind of way, but he didn't want to be alone, and he preferred Donovan's company to solitude. He wanted so badly to be with Liv while she waited for news of Emily's condition, but he knew he would not be welcome. There hadn't been a good time, Hell, there never would be, with a matter like this, to raise the issue of Em's paternity, but he had picked the worst moment imaginable.
"Hannah, honey, it's Mom."
"Oh, hey Mom, what's up?"
"I need you to do me a favor, sweetie."
"I wish I could, Mom, but I have an experiment going here. It's been running since noon, and it will be done by midnight. If I stop it now I can't come back later, and I'll have wasted six and a half hours."
"Is there anyone who could watch it for you for a little while? This is important."
Hanna's voice was concerned when she replied. "Are Daddy, Dion, and Uncle Steve ok?"
Amanda smiled. Her daughter was so much like her, she often jumped to the same conclusions about the important men in her life. "They're fine, sweetie, but Emily Stephens was hurt today, and . . . "
"Hold on, Mom, I've got a beep." As long as her family and friends were ok, the world could wait while Hannah answered call waiting. A few minutes later, Hannah was back, and Amanda could tell from her voice she was shaken.
"Oh, my God, Mom, have you seen the LA Times evening edition?"
"No, honey, why?"
"That was Lauren. She's been trying to call her dad for an hour now, but apparently Uncle Jess has been really busy in the ER."
"Why?" Now Amanda was concerned. "What's in the Times?"
"I . . . I can't even tell you, Mom."
"Hold on, Mom, I've got another beep."
Amanda rolled her eyes and sighed. She was about to hang up on her sometimes too-sociable daughter and go back to work, when Hannah's voice came back on the line.
"Mom? That was Lauren. She finally got through to Uncle Jess."
"Hannah, what's in the Times, honey?"
"Lauren read it to me, Mom, and it's horrible. Bring up the e-edition and read it for yourself. I . . . I'm gonna get Uncle Mark and bring him to the hospital. He shouldn't be alone right now. I can start the experiment over from scratch later."
Amanda heard a click. "Hannah? Hannah!" What in the world has her so upset?
Amanda went over to her PC and called up the e-edition of the LA Times. The front-page headline immediately caught her eye. Even more distressing was the photo.
"Oh, my God. This will destroy them . . . "
"Mr. Moretti!" Liv exclaimed as she stood in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Moretti blushed slightly and stammered when he spoke. It hadn't occurred to him until just that minute that he might not be welcome here.
"I . . . uh . . . Er, I wanted to stay until there was word on Emily, if you don't mind, that is."
She smiled slightly and said, "I don't mind at all, but is it safe for you to be here?"
"Yeah . . . "
"No," Ron said. "Too many people roaming the halls. He needs to be in a safe house, now."
Liv looked from Ron to Moretti and asked, "Is that true?"
Moretti shrugged and said, "Probably, but ma'am, Em stuck with me an' looked after me. I feel I owe it to her to stick around at least until she's outta surgery."
"I appreciate your loyalty to Emily, Mr. Moretti, but you need to go somewhere safe. Now."
"Ma'am," he said earnestly, "I really think I should be here." He undid the top button of his shirt to show the body armor Em had made him wear. "This is hers an' she shoulda been wearin' it. She altered it ta fit me."
It took Liv a moment to compose herself; the sudden realization that Emmy had sacrificed her own safety to such a degree was shocking, but then she shook her head. "No, Emmy wouldn't want that. She worked too hard to keep you safe. If you were hurt on her account, she wouldn't take that well. Your only obligation to her now is to stay safe."
"Dr. Stephens," Moretti said, "it's my fault she got hurt. If she hadn't been protectin' me, or if she hadn't given me her gear, she'd be ok, now."
Olivia smiled tightly and nodded. "I know, and if a bullfrog had wings he wouldn't bump his ass when he hopped along. Emmy wanted you safe, and she kept you safe." She looked behind him at Ron, Al, and 'Fredo. "Now you have to let Agent Wagner and the police take over."
"But ma'am . . ."
Steven Sloan, who had been sitting with Liv when Moretti walked in, came to stand behind her now. He had learned quickly that Emily's mother was one of the nicest, most genteel women anyone would ever want to meet, but when she started using harsh language and sarcasm, trouble was imminent, and so, when she made the bullfrog comment, he knew he needed to intervene.
"She's right, Mr. Moretti. Em knew the risks, and she accepted them. She would kick your butt if she knew you were wandering the hospital." Looking to Ron, he asked, "Uncle Ron, is there a number where we can call you when we have word of her condition?"
Ron was thoughtful for a bit, then deciding to do what was necessary to get Moretti out of there, he took out a business card and wrote a phone number on it.
"That's my secure cell number," he said, hating to give the number out to a civilian, even one he trusted, but knowing he had to surrender something to get Moretti's cooperation and trust. "Don't call from a conventional phone or a commercial cell. The wrong people can track it. Use your dad's secure cell. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." Looking at Moretti, Steven said, "I'll call as soon as we hear anything. Please, go and be safe, so when Em comes around we can tell her she did her job and you are ok."
Moretti thought a minute, considering, but when Liv whispered, "Please," he nodded, turned, and walked out of the room, with Ron, and Al and 'Fredo Cioffi, scurrying in his wake.
Mark yawned and stretched as he sat up straighter in his chair. He'd been reading the latest Tracy Wood mystery, and had put it down a moment to review the clues and see if he could identify the stalker yet. He knew the desk sergeant was a red herring, but that still left the photographer, the rookie, the psychiatrist, the boyfriend, and the seeming hero of the story. The stalker had taken photographs of the woman, and as he was trying to decide if that clue was too obvious, he must have drifted off.
Looking at his watch, he found it was just past seven and he had missed the news. He glanced out the French doors to the beach. He'd sat down to read around mid-afternoon, and now the moon was frosting the waves with silver. He got up, groaning as his old joints popped and cracked, and went to check the answering machine. He didn't always hear the phone these days. He never missed much in conversation, but the high-pitched wail of the telephone, along with most timers and electronic alarms, was almost beyond his range of hearing now. It was the reason he'd finally retired from medicine. One day in the ER, a patient had flatlined, and he'd never heard the alarm. He'd just continued working and giving orders for several seconds until a nurse brought it to his attention.
He'd saved the patient, finished his shift, found other doctors to take his regular patients, written his resignation, and retired that afternoon. His son and grandson and Amanda and Jesse's children had provided him with plenty of bumps, scrapes, bruises, colds, coughs, and sniffles to treat since then, but he had never again taken charge of a serious case. There were days he missed it, to be sure, but he'd never regretted the decision.
Coming back from his memories, Mark found there were no messages on the machine, and figured the judge had decided to hold out for a verdict tonight, which meant everyone would be late getting home and hungry when they arrived. He needed to get something for dinner that would keep well until they were ready to eat.
Since he was awake now, he turned off the answering machine. He didn't move as fast as he used to, either, and found it hard to get to the phone before the machine picked up. Then he decided the photos were too obvious a clue and moved the photographer to the bottom of his list of likely suspects.
He hurried off to the kitchen to throw something together so he could get back to his book and see if he could figure out the stalker's identity and the catch the murderer before the main characters did.
"I wanna gun," Moretti said as the car rolled off into the night.
"Mr. Moretti, it is not our practice to provide federal witnesses with firearms while they are under our protection," Ron said tersely.
"Ask me if I care," Moretti said, knowing his next remark would cut deep. "I wanna gun. Your protection is the reason I don't feel safe."
Ron pegged him with a cold stare, then he slipped his backup weapon out of his ankle holster. "I suppose letting you get shot would be worse for my career than letting you have the means to defend yourself, but you don't use that unless I tell you to, got it?"
"I understand," Moretti agreed, but that doesn't mean I'll wait for permission.
Amanda sighed as she picked up the phone to call Mark. She had read the article three times before she could work out how to break the news to him, and now, she waited anxiously for her friend to pick up. As the phone rang again and again, she knew he had turned off the answering machine and wondered what was taking him so long to take the call. She could only hope he hadn't gotten the paper yet.
"Hello, this is Mark Sloan," he answered on the tenth ring.
The cheerful greeting buoyed her spirit. He hadn't seen the paper or watched the news yet. She could warn him so it wouldn't take him by surprise.
"Mark, it's Amanda. What took you so long to answer?"
"Oh, hi, honey!" he said happily, "I was working on dinner and didn't hear the phone at first. Since I haven't heard from Steve, I figured that Judge Greer had decided to finish the trial today. I'm going to fix lasagna, I think. I can eat what I want when I'm hungry, and it will reheat well when the rest of them come home."
"I see." Ok, this is a good way to start off. "Mark, I think you can hold off on fixing the lasagna for quite a while. In fact, I don't think anyone's going to be home for dinner any time tonight."
When her friend spoke again, the joie de vivre was gone. "Amanda, is Steve ok?"
"Yes, Mark. He's ok. The only one hurt was Emily. She's in bad shape, but there's something else I have to tell you . . . "
"No wonder she lost so much blood," CJ exclaimed. "Look at this!" He placed two bullet fragments on the green sterile sheet that was draping Emily's body while they operated.
Alex looked at the small white shards stained pink with Emmy's blood and grunted. "I've been seeing those a lot in the ER lately," he said as he went back to work. "It's a new material, a ceramic polycarbonate. Very strong when unmarked, but snaps easily when scored or scratched. Steve showed me one they had confiscated a while ago. The bottom half of the bullet is smooth so it can withstand the force of the gunpowder explosion. Then the top half is scored, the lines dividing it into six or eight pieces. When it hits a bone, it fragments in a starburst pattern. Makes a much larger wound, and the sharp edges tear everything up."
As Alex had been talking, he and CJ had removed several more pieces of a bullet from Emily's chest, and it was easy to see the devious, sadistic design of the projectile.
Maribeth leaned over for a look and muttered, "Sick bastards."
Then they all lapsed back into intense silence.
A colony! A flock of vultures is a colony! Keith had been puzzling for what seemed like hours as he wandered nervously through the park across the street from the hospital, limping heavily. He had known the word wasn't flock, but he'd been running through odd words searching for the right one, not realizing the term he sought was so mundane. He'd remembered a congregation of alligators, a shrewdness of apes, a sleuth of bears, a cartload of chimps, and an intrusion of cockroaches--which always made him laugh because it was so apt--a murder of crows, and a bloat of hippos, which made him laugh again. Then he realized he and Em had learned the collective terms for animals in alphabetical order and he would never get to vulture that way. So, he'd left it as he hobbled along and worried and sure enough, 'colony' came to him out of nowhere.
After berating himself for the foolish mistake of looking for an esoteric word when something common would do, he went back to walking. He'd left his pager number with the OR administrator's desk, so he knew if there was any word about Em he would be contacted. He couldn't believe he'd let his baby down. He knew under the circumstances he couldn't bear to face her mother, and he didn't have anyone else there to sit with him, so he decided to go for a walk. He had a hunch it was going to be a very long walk, and he was grateful for the lights along the path and the tolerance to the chill of the night a lifetime of living in Pennsylvania's Allegheny Mountains had given him.
A passel of hogs, a mute or a cry of hounds, a charm of hummingbirds, a cackle of hyenas, a bury of hyraxes-what's a hyrax?-and a fluther of jellyfish-Fluther? Yes, a fluther of jellyfish . . .
Steve sat for a bit on the couch at the end opposite Donovan. He wasn't sure why the young officer had followed him.
"Donovan?"
"Sir?"
"What are you doing here?"
The young man obviously thought frantically for a moment, then he explained, "Well, I was assigned to protect the lieutenant until she was debriefed, but I don't want to intrude on her family. Commander Banks never gave me any new orders, so I figured I might as well stick close until you dismissed me. That way, if you need anything done, you have someone to handle it for you."
Steve looked to the young officer then, unmasked gratitude in his eyes. "You're a good man, Donovan," he said gruffly.
"Amanda," Mark said earnestly after she had finished explaining the whole disaster and the horrible newspaper article, "I need someone to come and take me to Steve. You know what he's like. He's going to take this to heart, and it will just ruin him."
"I know, Mark, and I knew that's what you would want. Hannah's on her way now."
"Ok, thanks Amanda." There was a long pause, then with dread, Mark said, "I . . . uh, I'm going to read the paper for myself, so I know what we're dealing with, but thanks for warning me."
"All right, Mark. You know I'd go to him, but there's a detective waiting for the report on this autopsy, and since the prime suspect is a flight risk, well, I just have to get it done."
"I know, sweetie. You just do your job. You know that's what Steve would want. I'll take care of him."
"You always have, Mark. I'll see you later."
"Bye, Amanda."
Mark hung up the phone and went out on the stoop to get the Times. He read the headline and shuddered. Amanda had said it only got worse from there.
"You know," Olivia said as Steven brought her another cup of bad coffee from the machine in the lounge, "three years ago, when Emmy was sick with the BioGen virus, her condition fluctuated so wildly from day to day, we didn't know for a long time if she was improving or not."
"It must have been very hard for you," Steven sympathized as he sat on the sofa beside her and angled himself to face her.
"It was. I think it was harder than it would have been if she had stayed sick the whole time and only improved gradually." Olivia shook her head, trying to clear those bad memories, "But it had its good points, too. On her better days, she and I talked for hours. We settled most of the issues between us, but I always felt there was something left unsaid."
It was several moments before Steven realized Liv had just trailed off. Finally, he asked, "Are you wondering if she told me something? Something I am supposed to tell you . . . if anything ever happens to her."
Liv nodded and shrugged at the same time.
Steven searched desperately for something she could cling to. When he and Emily had talked about their parents, he could always hear the affection in her voice and see the light in her eyes when she mentioned her dad, but often, her memories of her mother were bittersweet at best and furious at worst. He frantically cast about in the dark corners of his memory for something, anything, Olivia could latch on to, and after some thought he recalled a conversation he and Emily had shared just before Halloween.
"I don't know if this is the kind of thing you're looking for, Olivia, but she remembers picking berries with you and all the fascinating things you'd tell her, and all the cool things that would happen. She really enjoyed those times, and when she talks about them, I can tell they are precious, treasured memories for her."
"Really?" If anything, Olivia seemed even more anxious now to know what message Emily may have left her.
"Oh, absolutely," Steven affirmed. "When she talks about those days, her voice drops in register and it gets all warm and soft. She smiles, and her eyes sparkle. She remembers the dove you found tangled in the briars, and the turtle. She really enjoyed feeding the turtle." Steven smiled, "Boy, was she mad though, that you wouldn't let her carve her initials into its shell."
Olivia laughed. "Oh, she sure was, but we compromised. I let her take it home and paint them on, and they were still there the next year when we saw him. Did she tell you about the bear?"
"Oh, yes," Steven laughed aloud. "I still can't believe you scared it off by flapping your arms and yelling at it!"
Olivia shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do. Black bears aren't much for fighting. They're just big and curious, but there was no way I was turning my back on one and retreating down the trail the way I had come. So, I made myself look as big as I could and made as much noise as possible, and sure enough, he ran."
Steven laughed even harder now as he replied, "I think I would run, too, if you charged me, flapping like an angry chicken and hollering like Tarzan."
Liv shot him a cool look. "Tease me if you must. It worked."
After another long laugh, Steven caught his breath and said, "She still treasures those days, picking berries, and making jam and juice and tarts, when it was just you and her and the work to be done with nothing to argue over or be upset about. Liv," he put his hand over hers and squeezed gently, "I know you and Em haven't had the easiest time of it, but when things were at their worst between you, she held on to those memories. You built a solid foundation with her, in the meadow picking berries and in the kitchen, storing them up. Those wonderful things you two shared when she was little brought her back to you after she did her time in Washington and after the BioGen virus, and they will bring her back to you now, too. I know they will."
Olivia smiled, and when the smile reached her eyes, it made the tears that had been building there spill over. Sniffing and dabbing at the wetness on her cheeks, she said, "Sometimes, I forget what it was like for us to be . . . good to each other. I just hope I get another chance."
Steven slipped one long arm around Olivia's shoulders and pulled her close in a hug. "You will, Liv. Count on it."
She just nodded and settled into the crook of his arm.
"Uncle Mark," Hannah asked as she pulled up outside the hospital's delivery entrance to avoid the press, "are you gonna be ok?"
Mark patted Amanda's daughter on the arm. "I'll be fine, sweetie. It's your Uncle Steve and Aunty M. I'm worried about."
Hannah just smiled. It had been years since she had called her aunt by the affectionate allusion to the Wizard of Oz, but Uncle Mark refused to let it die, much to Maribeth's annoyance and Uncle Steve's amusement.
"Ok, Unk." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "If you need me, call me. You know the number at the lab, right?"
Just to prove his memory was still working, he recited it back to her along with her cell phone and pager numbers. "I will call if I need to, Hannah, but your mom and Uncle Jesse and a lot of other friends and family are here. There are a lot of people around to look after your Uncle Steve and me."
"I know." Hannah said, "I just wanted to make sure you knew I'm here for you, too, even though I have to get back to the lab now."
"I know that, honey," he said, getting out of the car. "Now, get back to your experiment. In a couple of days when the excitement settles down, we can talk about the results."
Hannah smiled broadly, then. She loved discussing her work with Uncle Mark, and he was always eager to help her formulate hypotheses. Even at his age, he had a keen mind, and she was certain she would not have advanced as far as she had as quickly as she did in the Ph.D. program if not for his subtle prodding and guidance.
"Ok, Unk." Checking her watch, she said, "It's eight fifteen now. It will be about nine by the time I get back to the lab and restart my experiment. It needs to run twelve hours for this first phase and then I need to clean up the lab. I'll talk to my dissertation advisor and make sure I'm free until this crisis is over, and then, about ten thirty tomorrow, I'll give you a call or show up at the beach house to see what I can do to help, ok?"
"All right, sweetie," Mark agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow, but why don't you call the hospital first? I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."
"Will do, Unk, and you'll call me at the lab as soon as there's word about Emily . . . or . . .um, anything else, right?"
"You bet, sweetie. Now, get back to your lab, ok?"
"Yes, Uncle Mark," Hannah said sweetly, and blew him a kiss.
Mark caught Hanna's kiss and blew one back at her in a familiar ritual they had shared since she was a tiny baby. The he shut the door and headed for the hospital. When she was sure he was safely inside, Hannah headed off for the lab again.
"You know," Maribeth said as she felt around for a piece of shrapnel in her patient's abdomen, the bullet had struck a rib on the way in and sheared off in six different directions. "I was a field surgeon during the Persian Gulf War back in '91. We heard that back home they were calling it the Nintendo war because all the high altitude and high tech images people were seeing made it seem like a large-scale video game."
She paused as she found a shard of bullet and carefully extracted it. The edges were razor sharp, and she knew if she wasn't careful, removing it could cause more damage. As the devastating little hunk of polymer clinked into the basin, she continued.
"I laughed when I heard that," she said. "I thought it was clever."
"But?" Alex encouraged, knowing there was a 'but'. Some surgeons required absolute silence when they worked, others listened to music. He preferred quiet conversation. It relaxed him, but didn't distract him.
"The next day," Maribeth said sadly, "I worked on a young marine who had . . . found . . . an Iraqi landmine. I had to amputate both legs above the knee, and I knew the war was no damned game."
"I see," Alex said.
After a few moments of quiet concentration, CJ asked, "Maribeth, why did you tell us that?"
"I'm not sure," she said, "I guess I just wonder, when we have weapons that can blow a man's legs off or make a hole the size of your fist through his chest or irradiate an entire city, why do some people continue to look for more devious and horrible ways to kill one another?"
"In this case," CJ said, "I think Leigh Ann knew she'd have to sneak into the courtroom to get the job done, so she needed something the standard scans wouldn't spot."
"Then why wait until after the verdict?" Maribeth asked. "The damage had already been done. She should have killed Moretti the moment he took the stand."
"Didn't you hear what Steven said?" CJ's tone was surprised. "Leigh Ann wasn't after Moretti, she was shooting at Uncle Steve. Emmy knocked him out of the line of fire."
For just a few seconds, Maribeth paused in her work. Her eyes grew wide, and her hands froze in position, deep inside her patient's body. She let her gaze lift to meet CJ's. Oblivious to the impact of his words, the young surgeon glanced up and then away, and went back to his own task. "I just want to know why she wasn't at least wearing a flack jacket."
Looking daggers at his young colleague, Alex prompted softly, "Maribeth?"
She blinked twice, and Alex saw her mask draw in and puff out as she took a deep breath. He heard her swallow hard, and he knew she was imagining Steve on the table, the three of them rooting around inside him, searching for scrips and scraps of the four shattered bullets.
"Maribeth."
She nodded. "I-I'm ok. Let's take good care of her, ok, guys?"
Alex smiled beneath his mask. "Finest kind," he said.
Keith sat on the park bench, tired of walking and thoroughly disgusted with himself. He'd gladly trade the advances that had given him feeling in his artificial legs, even the ticklishness that so delighted his wife, for the lifeless but reliable old fiberglass models he'd started with if only it meant he could have acted the moment he saw the danger and saved his daughter.
Steve continued to pace and fidget in the lounge. He had a feeling he was persona non grata almost everywhere else he was likely to go at a time like this, and he was actually afraid to go to the OR waiting room and face Liv, Keith, and Steven. He knew Jesse was busy in the ER, and he just wasn't sure he could go to Amanda yet. He didn't know how she would react to what he'd said or when he'd said it. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. Suddenly, it entered his mind that there was one possible worse time to have questioned Liv about Emmy's paternity, and the fear of that loss overwhelmed him. He felt his gorge rise, and swallowed hard as he sprinted for the bathroom. Just in time dropped to his knees before the bowl, grateful that he was in a hospital and the bathrooms were sanitized regularly.
Donovan looked up as the Chief sprinted out of the lounge. He'd heard the tape, and he'd heard what Chief Sloan had said to Dr. Stephens. He knew it was none of his business, but he respected and admired the man despite his indiscretion. He didn't know what he could do to help, but he wouldn't leave the Chief alone, not yet anyway. He'd wait right here until his boss told him to go.
"This is no good, Wagner," Moretti said in disgust as he shut the refrigerator door. The tone was chosen as much to needle Agent Wagner as it was to convince himself that he really didn't want to eat himself sick on every greasy, starchy, salty scrap of food in the house.
"What's wrong now, Moretti?" Agent Wagner snapped.
Moretti grinned inside. The guy was so easy to bait. "Frozen pizzas, microwave popcorn, canned pasta, whole milk, cold cuts, an' soda. Nothin' in here's fit ta eat," he said.
"Look, Moretti . . . "
"No, you look." Moretti was agitated. He was worried about Em, and as his situation wore on his nerves, he wanted more and more to gorge himself on the junk in the refrigerator to help him keep his worries at bay. "I am in the best shape of my life, thanks ta Em, and I intend ta keep it that way. She got me ta realize that I eat ta relieve stress, an' since I am stressed now, I might as well have something healthy ta eat. I'm gonna make a list, and then someone is gonna get some groceries . . ."
"Moretti," Agent Wagner said, "no one is leaving this house until . . ."
"Or I can get them, if you want," Moretti finished, knowing what the response would be.
"If you try to leave, I will shoot you myself," Wagner shouted storming out of the kitchen. "Al, get in here." For a few moments, Ron stood there huffing like an angry bull, then he swallowed hard, straightened up, and said, "When . . . Mr. . . . Moretti has completed his . . . grocery list, I want you to go out and buy whatever the hell he wants. Save the receipt and we'll charge it up to the FBI, ok? When you get back, send 'Fredo home. We'll take it in twelve-hour shifts. I want him on with one of my men from noon to midnight. You and I will cover until noon tomorrow. By tomorrow midnight, Steve and I should be able to arrange a couple more teams to for guard duty."
"Ok. Anything else?"
"No."
"Yes," Moretti said, following Wagner out of the kitchen, and Agent Wagner glared at him, "Clean out the fridge an' the cupboards an' take it all ta the nearest soup kitchen."
Al looked to Wagner who continued to glare at his witness.
"Don't worry," Moretti said, "I'll cook for us all."
After a tense silence, Wagner nodded and stalked out.
Charles Donovan was still staring out the door where the Chief had gone when a familiar face appeared in his view. He blinked and grinned.
"Hey, Dr. Sloan! How are you?" He stood up and crossed the room to shake the older man's hand.
"Holding on, Charles," the old man said, "like everyone else involved in this mess. Any word on Emily?"
"No, sir, nothing yet, but Agent Wagner and 'Fredo and Captain Cioffi got Moretti safely away."
"Good, good. At least something is going right, I suppose. Um, Charles, do you think you could help me out a bit?"
"I could try, sir. What is it you need?"
"I need some help getting my bearings, I'm afraid. I have been wandering around for the past twenty minutes looking for my son. I slipped in through a delivery entrance, but the layout of the place has changed so much over the years, I had a hard time finding my way here. Have you seen him?"
"No . . . err . . . yes." At Mark's bemused expression, the young cop tried to explain. "He was here, with me, but he ran out. I don't know why, and I don't know where he went, but I don't think it had anything to do with the lieutenant, and he didn't tell me to come along. I've sort of been lost in thought, so I don't even know how long ago that was. I can give him a message, if you'd like."
"No thanks, Charles, I know a couple of other places he might be. I'll check there first. Could you refresh my memory? What floor is the OR waiting room on?"
After getting directions from Donovan, Mark headed off and left the young man to his thoughts once again.
Olivia yawned and stretched, and Steven knew she would soon be awake. She had drifted off into a much-needed sleep shortly after he had told her all about Em's fondest childhood memories, and, unwilling to disturb her rest, he had sat still and held her, curled against him for about forty-five minutes.
She smiled slightly, nestled closer, and opened her eyes. Then, when she looked up at him, an expression of absolute horror crossed her face and she jumped up and moved quickly away from him.
"I-I'm sorry," she said, clearly embarrassed. "I . . . guess I was just really tired."
"You were, Olivia, and it's ok," Steven soothed her. He moved toward her where she stood beside the window and put a hand on her shoulder. "Now, what startled you so much?"
She turned away from his comforting touch and crossed the room to sit in a large armchair. Looking up at him, she said, "You are almost the image of your father when I met him. Maybe the hair's a bit darker, and your eyes aren't so . . . troubled, but you look just like him."
"You didn't know him when he was blonde, did you?"
Olivia smiled slightly and said, "No, why?"
Steven laughed. "You should see some of the old family photos, then. The hair that glowed." Steven opened his eyes wide on 'glowed' and gave it the aura of an old low-budget horror movie.
Olivia started to giggle as she pictured the deeply tanned Steve Sloan with a thick mop of shiny yellow hair. "Oh, my."
As he moved to sit on the coffee table facing Liv, Steven said, "But that's not what frightened you, is it?"
She shook her head. "No, it's not." There was a long moment of silence between them, then Liv said, "How much do you know about your dad's . . . relationship with me?"
Steven drew a deep breath. It was one thing to discuss an old flame with his dad, but to talk about it with the woman in question, especially when he thought she might one day become his own mother-in-law . . . Steven did not like where this conversation was heading.
"I know you two were close."
Liv raised an eyebrow.
"Ok, intimate. Why?"
Liv pursed her lips, weighing her words. "I just need to straighten out with you what he asked me about when Em was carted off to the OR."
Steven shook his head. "Liv, I went all the way to Pre-Op with Em. I didn't hear him."
Olivia sighed with relief. "Ok, then, never mind."
Steven was puzzled now, but she was so clearly relieved to avoid a conversation that he hadn't wanted to hold anyway, he let it go without another word. He moved over to the window to look out on the city, and Liv picked up an out-of-date magazine and started to read.
As Mark approached the OR waiting room, he heard, "How much do you know about your dad's . . . relationship with me?"
"I know you two were close . . . Ok, intimate. Why?"
Knowing Steve could not be there and deciding now was not the time to interrupt, Mark turned and headed back down the hall.
"She won't talk to anyone but you, Steve," Cheryl explained over the phone.
Steve sighed and thought a moment. "Ok. Take her back to lock-up."
"You aren't coming to question her?"
"She worked for me for three years, Commander," Steve said, stressing her rank as a way of indicating she was pushing the boundaries of their relationship to question him at such a moment, "and she betrayed me. I can hold her forty-eight hours without charging her. She can wait until I am ready to see her."
"Yes, sir," Cheryl replied formally.
"Well," Olivia said, "you've seen the worst of the job, now. Do you still want to marry my daughter?"
Steven looked at Olivia in surprise and grinned. "What makes you think I ever intended to marry her?"
"You're your father's son, and an honorable man. You wouldn't have moved in with her if you didn't plan to make an honest woman of her. So, have your plans changed?"
"I love your daughter very much," Steven said, "and I think she loves me, too." He suddenly found himself blinking back tears. "I want to marry her, but right now, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to be with a cop."
"You've been through some bad times with your dad," Liv said, "and you managed that ok."
"Yeah," Steven agreed, laughing slightly, his voice still choked with emotion. "But Dad's just . . . well, he's Dad. When I was little, I thought he was indestructible, and I think maybe he did, too. In fact, he probably still does. When I was old enough to understand, I was proud of him and he shielded me from the worst of it. Then for a few years, I acted like I wouldn't have cared if he had gone straight to hell. And, now, well, he's still just Dad, stubborn and determined to do what he loves, what he's best at. I know forcing him to quit would kill him as surely as a bullet to the brain. It would just take longer. If he ever leaves the force, it will be by his choice or in a body bag."
"And Em?"
"I love her, Olivia, and I still want to marry her, but I don't know if I could bear to lose her to the job."
Liv nodded. "You couldn't bear to lose her to the job, huh?"
"No, I couldn't."
"If you decide not to marry her because of the job, isn't that exactly what you are doing?"
"I suppose so," he agreed after some thought, "but at least I won't have to bury her." He fell silent again, then, "I do want to marry her, but I am afraid of what she does for a living. Whatever I choose to do, Liv, I will wait until she is strong enough to handle it. You have my word on that."
"I know you will, Steven, and I am glad you need to think it over. I would be more concerned if you had no reservations. A lack of doubt about the future often indicates unrealistic expectations. May I make a suggestion?"
"Sure."
"Search your heart, say your prayers, and ask the Lord to guide you. Trusting something greater than yourself usually gives you the strength to handle problems that would be insurmountable for you on your own."
"You know, Em told me you were big on faith."
Liv smiled, "I don't leave home without it."
Steven smiled back. "Say a prayer for me sometimes, would you?"
"I will," she said heading for the door, "right now. I'm going to the chapel. You're welcome to join me."
"Uh, no, thanks," Steven said. "I want to stay here in case there's word."
"Ok," Liv agreed, "Have them page me if there is any news."
"Is there any word on the lieutenant, sir?"
"Enough with the 'sir,' Cheryl," Steve grumbled into the phone. He looked to his watch and cursed softly to realize it wasn't there because it had interfered with the glove. Then, since it had quit working when Emily had fallen atop him like a sack of stones, he had taken the glove off and stuffed it in his pocket.
"Steve?"
"What time is it?" he demanded.
"About nine, why?"
"Em's been in surgery three hours now," he told her. "It'll be a while, still. You and Dion finish your reports and go home. Even when she comes out of surgery, it will be a couple days before they can say for sure if she'll recover."
"Ok, Chief. You take care of yourself, you hear?"
"I will."
9:05
"Man, this shoulder is a mess," Maribeth said. They'd been working for a while, now, and she had finally finished up in Emily's abdomen. She had just asked Alex to check her work, and CJ was still repairing the chest injuries.
"Everything is a mess, Maribeth, but we've held onto her this long, she might make it."
"She might at that," Alex said grimly, "but how will she be?"
"Hmmm," CJ grunted, "it might be rough, but she'll have a lot of support. I remember Liv from when Uncle Steve was hurt. She was good . . . for . . . him. . . " He looked sheepishly at Maribeth. "Sorry."
"It's ok, CJ, you're right. She was good for him with his ulcers, too. She knows how to handle him, and I'm grateful she was here when he needed her."
"That's not what the floor nurse says," CJ said teasingly.
"Well, the floor nurse doesn't know everything," Maribeth told him as another bullet fragment clinked into the basin.
Chuckling, he said, "That's not what the floor nurse says, either."
"Guys," Alex said nodding toward the observation gallery, "we have company."
"Awww, crud," CJ said after he had glanced up and back to his work.
"Problem?" Maribeth asked.
"That's my date. I stood her up in Chicago to come check on Uncle Steve when he was admitted for his ulcers. I was supposed to pick her up at the airport . . . " He looked at the clock. It was just past nine. ". . . two and a half hours ago, and I forgot to call."
"CJ," Alicia Birch-Geiger said in a pouty voice over the speakers from the observation gallery, "I'm beginning to think you don't like me. You've stood me up twice now."
"Yep," Alex said, looking to Maribeth, "that's a problem."
Hearing the laugh in Alicia's voice, CJ relaxed, and asked the nurse to hit the intercom. He called out, "Alicia, how'd you get in here?"
"Nice to see you, too," she replied. "I just told them who I was and that I was here to see you, and they sent me through. Being a world famous vascular surgeon does open doors in any hospital."
"I suppose. Sorry I wasn't there to pick you up. I, uh, got a little busy here."
"Just another day at the office, huh?"
"I suppose," he agreed. Alicia seemed relaxed and happy to see him, even though she'd had to take a cab from the airport and come looking for him. "Actually, this patient's a cop. She's here because she got hurt saving my Uncle Steve's life."
"Oh, I see," Alicia's voice was more subdued this time. "Is it bad?"
"Yes, but we've taken care of the worst of it. She should be out of the OR by ten."
"And the prognosis?"
"Too soon to tell."
"Do you need any help?"
CJ looked to Alex because he was in charge. "She is the best in the country," he said softly.
"Is it anything you can't handle?"
CJ thought a moment, and then said for Alicia to hear, "No thanks, sweetheart, we've got it."
"Ok. Mmmm, do you want me to stay until you tell the family?"
"No, thank you, that's all right."
"Well, then, I guess I'll just get settled at the hotel. If you aren't too late, come by for a nightcap. I'm staying at the Argyle in West Hollywood. Once she's stable, be sure to get some rest yourself, you hear?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am," CJ responded cheerfully.
CJ smiled as he heard the genuine concern in her voice. He knew Alicia was a fantastic surgeon, but what he liked even more about her was her caring nature. There had been a wedding reception in the ballroom of the hotel where they both had attended a conference recently, and the cake had toppled over when two rambunctious children had run into the table. Alicia sympathized with the couple, feeling bad about their disaster, and was mortified when CJ had laughed about the mess. He had insisted the reaction of the children and the wide-eyed shock of the cake server had been funny, and told her about Steve and Liv's wedding that never was, claiming that was a real disaster and something to get upset about. Then Alicia had suddenly shouted, "I knew I recognized you from somewhere!" and had told him she was the little girl he and his brother had entertained the whole weekend.
As he recalled that Liv and Alicia's adoptive father were old friends, his smile faded. She probably knew Emily.
"CJ?" Alex said, calling him back from his recollection. "Is there a problem?"
"Huh? No, no, not here anyway. Nurse, hit the intercom again." The nurse pressed the button, and CJ called, "Alicia!"
She turned away from the door and came back to the observation window. "What's up?"
"Alicia, does your dad keep in touch with Dr. Olivia Regis . . . well, now her name's Stephens?"
"Oh, yeah, I see Aunt Liv and Uncle Keith a couple times a year, why?"
When CJ didn't respond immediately, Alicia got the idea. "Oh, God, is that Emily?"
"I have to go, Cheryl," Steve said. "I'll talk to you later."
"Ok, Steve. Take ca . . . "
He didn't even wait for her to finish her goodbye.
"Liv! Wait up." He caught up with her at the entrance to the hospital chapel.
Olivia stopped and turned to face him.
"Look, what I said earlier . . . I can understand why you never told me, but now that my son is dating her . . . "
"I can't discuss this now, Steve, I'll fall apart. I promise we'll talk later, but not until Emmy is doing better." She turned and started to walk away but Steve put a hand on her shoulder.
"Look, Liv . . . "
She spun away from him and pushed him, hard, taking him by surprise and causing him to stagger back. "I said not now!"
Steve looked at her and saw she was trembling. There was something in her eyes, too, an emotion that frightened him. He wasn't sure if she was on the edge of rage or insanity or both, but he knew any more stress and she would go over the edge and into the darkness beyond.
"Ok, Liv, I . . . I'll leave you alone. We'll talk later. When Emily is stronger."
She nodded, turned away, and headed into the chapel.
Keith paced the corridors of the hospital looking for a decent vending machine for a cup of hot coffee. He'd stayed out in the park as long as he could, but even life in the mountains hadn't completely inured him to the kind of cold that settled in the bones on a foggy night. Eventually, he had known that between the cold and the stress that was playing havoc with the neural receptors from his prosthetics, if he didn't get inside and warmed up, he would be stuck on the park bench until someone came looking for him.
The smell of food caught his attention, and, surprised the cafeteria stayed open so late, he walked faster. He joined the line, and as he went through, he chose some hot soup, a sandwich, and coffee. He wasn't terribly hungry, but he knew he'd caught a chill, and the soup and coffee would hopefully knock it out of him.
Glancing around, he spotted an empty table with a newspaper on it. Perfect. If he were reading, people would probably leave him alone, and he could find out if the rest of the world was still out there. He'd been caught up in his own personal crisis for so long, he'd forgotten anything else existed.
As he sat down and unwrapped his sandwich, he glanced at the headline. Suddenly the room started to turn. This isn't happening. He felt his world unraveling. It's not possible. He put the sandwich carefully on the tray and began to read.
As his eyes scanned the page, the words made less and less sense, and his mind screamed a denial. Finally, he put it aside and buried his face in his hands.
After his confrontation with Olivia, Steve had to duck back into the men's room. He'd thrown up everything in his stomach earlier, but the dry heaves were just as bad. He needed something to settle his stomach, but he didn't want to show his face where too many people would recognize it, and he sure as hell didn't want Jesse dragging him into a trauma suite and shoving a tube up his nose again.
He splashed his face with cold water and stepped out to the water fountain to rinse his mouth. Amanda would have something to make him feel better. She had all kinds of meds in her desk, and everybody else there would be dead at this time of night.
"Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy . . . will . . . be done . . ." Suddenly everything fell apart and the ritual of prayer that usually brought Olivia solace in time of trouble only deepened her anguish.
"Oh, God," she sobbed, "Please don't take her away from me. Not yet. Not yet . . ."
Mark watched in fascination. He had always known Liv was a woman of deep faith, but he had never pictured her pouring her heart out like this.
"She has been through so much, Lord, and I know she deserves to be home with You, but I can't bear to lose her now, not before things are . . . right . . . between us."
She took a deep, shuddering breath and began again, her plea punctuated with little hiccoughing sobs. "Oh, Father, please . . . just give us a little more time . . . together. I need to know . . . that she knows . . . how much I love her."
Suddenly, Mark was embarrassed. He was eavesdropping on a private, personal conversation with God, and what was said here was none of his business. His son wasn't here, so he had no excuse to linger. He sent up a brief word of his own, asking protection and guidance for everyone caught up in this horrible crisis, and then he went back on his quest for his son.
"Keith?"
Keith started at the voice invading his thoughts, and looked up into the concerned eyes of Dr. Jesse Travis.
"Is it Em?" he asked, starting to stand. "My God, why didn't they page me? How is she?"
Jesse put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back down.
"No, Keith, there's no word yet. They're still working on her."
At the man's stricken look, Jesse wished he had something more to say. Abandoning thoughts of getting in line for his own very late dinner, he sat down to face the worried father.
"She's in very good hands, Keith."
"I . . . I know, Jesse, I'm just so worried. She's always worried her mother and me, y'know?"
Jesse smiled and nodded. "My daughter, Lauren, isn't as . . . active . . . as Emily, but I know what it's like." He glanced to the newspaper. Poor guy. Why'd he have to see that now?
Keith followed Jesse's gaze and folded up the paper disgustedly.
"Birdcage liner. That's what Liv would call it. Lies and half-truths slapped together minus the important facts to make a grand story to sell papers."
"Steve . . . knew . . . a while ago, about Emily."
Suddenly outraged, Keith stared the smaller man down. "She is not his daughter."
"Keith," Jesse tried hard to sound sympathetic, "I know you raised her, and you did a great job, but if she gets through this, she has a right to know. She needs to know."
Overcome with his misery, Keith put his head in his hands and wept. "Maybe she would have been better off with him. Maybe he could have kept her out of trouble. I've always been her daddy, but he sure as hell would have been more help to her tonight."
At a loss, Jesse just put a hand on the other man's shoulder and said, "Keith, there was nothing you could do."
Keith folded his arms on the table, buried his face in them, and began to sob in earnest. "You don't understand. You have a daughter, too, how could you not understand?"
". . . how could you not understand?"
Mark sighed. He'd been searching for Steve for over an hour, and was beginning to feel tired and frustrated. The layout of the hospital had gradually changed over the years since he had retired, and while he still visited colleagues from time to time, he no longer had the run of the place as he once did. It had taken him a while to find his way through the now unfamiliar halls of Community General, and now that he'd been wandering for some time, he wasn't sure where to go next. It seemed everywhere he went, not only was his son elsewhere, but the familiar faces he saw were involved in other matters and he was unwilling to intrude.
After seeing Olivia deep in prayer and now watching from across the cafeteria as Keith dissolved in tears, he decided he needed to go see just how badly his grandson's girlfriend had been hurt. Walking up to a fresh-faced young doctor whom he did not know, he introduced himself, and, gratified that his name, if not his face, was still recognized and respected, he got directions to the new OR observation gallery.
Amanda sat on the edge of the desk, gently rubbing her friend's back. Steve had come in looking for something to calm his upset stomach, and after gratefully accepting the whitish liquid she had poured into a dose cup for him, he had sat down at her desk and begun to lament his predicament.
"Ok, so you could have picked a better time to raise the issue," she told him, "but the fact remains that you'd have had to ask her sooner or later. The paternity test was inconclusive, and the only way you can be sure now is to have Keith take one, too."
"I know, Amanda," Steve said, fighting to keep his voice even, "but she was so mad, and after all that has happened, she has every right to hate me."
"Steve Sloan, you listen to me!" Amanda's tone was sharper than she had meant it to be, but it got his attention, so she kept going. "Olivia loved you the moment she saw you. I should know, I was there, and even before your dad introduced the two of you, she had gone all dewey-eyed. She's not going to hate you."
"But Amanda, that was thirty years ago, and she has Keith now."
"Steve, this is Liv we're talking about," Amanda tried to sound encouraging. "She didn't hate that guy who tried to kill the two of you years ago. What makes you think she could hate you now? Her feelings for you may have changed, but not that much. Besides, my friend, even if you have pushed her too far, she may have Keith, but you have Maribeth."
Steve gave Amanda a small but genuine smile then. Maribeth was his anchor. As long as he could explain to her about Em before the press got hold of the story, everything would be ok. Steve closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, willing himself to relax.
Alex stopped in his work for a few minutes and stretched. As he did so, he spotted a familiar and very welcome face watching from the observation gallery. At his request, the nurse turned on the intercom system, and he spoke with his old friend and mentor.
"Mark, it's good to see you."
"Hello, Alex. Maribeth, CJ, how's it going?"
The three surgeons looked at each other, then Maribeth replied. "Slow, Dad," she said, "but she's hanging in there. She crashed once at the courthouse, but she's held on since then."
"Well," Mark said, brightly, "that's a good sign."
"One can hope," Alex replied.
"What do you mean, Alex?"
"Well, Mark," Alex began in a doleful tone, "CJ and I just spent the last . . . " he glanced at the clock, " . . . three and a half hours picking a dozen pieces of shrapnel out of her chest. The heart and both lungs were damaged, and the aorta was nicked. Maribeth dug another five bullet fragments out of her gut, and had to repair a damaged liver and holes in the stomach. If she doesn't throw a clot or succumb to peritonitis, there's still a chance that she might have suffered brain damage. She lost so much blood, I'm not sure her brain got enough oxygen on the way from the courthouse to here."
"As bad as all that, is it?"
Maribeth confirmed Alex's speculations. "Even if Mr. Sunshine here is wrong about everything, Dad, one of the bullets turned her shoulder to hamburger. I would be very surprised if she ever went back to police work."
"You're saying her career is over, aren't you?"
"There's a chance she'll recover, Dad, but it's a slim one. Even if there's no nerve damage, the injuries to her muscles, tendons, and the shoulder joint are devastating."
Mark sounded surprisingly cheerful when he replied. "As long as there's a chance, Maribeth, I'm sure with help from you and Liv she will recover completely. How much longer do you have to go?"
Alex considered for a moment. "We're almost finished, Mark. We need to do one more check to be sure there are no more nasty little bleeders, then we'll close her up and take her to recovery. When I'm sure she's stable, I'll have her moved to ICU. Say, another hour, give or take."
Mark nodded, "Ok. I'm going to see Amanda. Give me a call when you're ready to talk to Liv and Keith. I'd like to be there for them."
"Ok, Dad," Maribeth said.
As Mark left the observation gallery, the nurse cut off the intercom, and Maribeth looked to her two younger colleagues and said, "I wonder what brought him out here tonight."
"Alicia?" Olivia said in surprise as she entered the waiting room again.
"Oh, Aunt Livvie," the young woman cried as she ran across the room to be enveloped in a hug from the older woman.
As Alicia sobbed in her arms, Liv looked to Steven and mouthed the words, 'What in the world?' but Steven just shrugged and looked up as if to indicate that Alicia had just dropped out of the sky as far as he knew. Slowly, the sobbing calmed.
"Alicia, honey," Olivia held her at arm's length, "look at me. Why are you here?"
Ever obliging, Alicia started to babble. "CJ stood me up in Chicago, but he promised to make it up to me when I came out to LA, but he forgot to meet me at the airport, so I caught a cab here, and they told me he was in surgery, and when I went to the observation gallery to speak to him, he told me the patient was a cop who'd been shot saving his Uncle Steve, and then he told me it was Emmy, and, oh, Aunt Liv, what happened?"
Olivia chuckled softly. Alicia was a few years older than Emmy, but she had been coddled and spoiled by her doting father, and so could seem much younger. Liv had seen the young surgeon at work a few times, and there was no doubt in any sane medical mind that Alicia Birch-Geiger was the best vascular surgeon on the continent, but outside of medical practice, she'd had little experience with the cruelties of life. As a result, she tended to fall apart at the drop of a hat.
"Shh! Alicia, come on. Sit down, baby." Olivia guided her gently to a chair, and once she was seated, Liv fished a tissue out of her purse.
As Alicia calmed down, Liv said, "In answer to your question, Emmy was shot four times, but she has three very good doctors working on her, and we're all praying for her, and she did manage to save Steven's dad. As for the rest of the story, that will keep."
"Steven?"
"Em's boyfriend." Liv gestured toward the young man, and Steven waved.
Alicia looked to Liv. "Oh." Then she looked at Steven and smiled and waved back.
In spite of the serious situation, Liv had to stifle a chuckle and wonder if Steven had decided Alicia was an airhead yet.
"Now," Liv asked, "what were you saying about CJ in Chicago?"
"Finally," Mark muttered as he glanced through the window into the pathology lab. Steve was sitting at Amanda's desk, with his eyes closed and his hands flat on the desktop. He watched Steve's shoulders rise and fall several times as he took deep calming breaths and tried to relax while Amanda kneaded his shoulders.
Well, he seems to be taking it rather well. Pushing the door open, he said softly so as not to startle his son, "Steve, are you all right?"
Steve opened his eyes wide in horror and then tried to cover with a smile. "I'm fine, Dad, but I'm worried about my lieutenant."
"I saw the paper, and I . . . figured . . . you might be . . . " Mark trailed off as Amanda stopped the massage she was giving to point at Steve, mime reading the paper, and frantically shake her head no.
Steve seemed puzzled and, looking oddly relieved, he asked, "It made the papers already? Isn't it a little late for the evening edition?"
Amanda yawned and stretched as Steve turned to look at her and say, "Thanks, Amanda, I actually feel a lot better."
Finally comprehending that Steve had no clue about the devastating, slanderous article in the LA Times Mark did his best to cover smoothly. "I . . . ahhh . . . I guess it just beat the deadline."
He knew there was no way he could spare his son the fallout of such muckraking so-called journalism, but if he could forestall it until morning, at least Steve wouldn't have to face it before he was well-rested. As he contemplated the slanderous reports his son would have to answer to in the morning, his heart ached, and when Amanda brought him a chair, he accepted it gratefully and pulled it as close to Steve as he could. Putting a hand on Steve's arm, he said kindly, "It's gonna be all right, son."
Worried as he was about Emily, and his wife and son's reaction to the news that he'd always had another child out in the world, Steve still managed a brave smile for his dad. Putting his hand over Mark's, he said, "I know, Dad, but thanks for saying so."
Mark, Steve, and Amanda spoke quietly of inconsequential things for a while, then they lapsed into comfortable, if worried, silence.
"Alicia, sweetie, I am sure CJ is a wonderful man," Liv said, "but have you asked how he would feel about you coming to LA permanently?"
Alicia dropped her gaze and said shyly, "No, ma'am," then she looked up and smiled brightly, "but he did say he wanted to see a lot more of me, so I am sure he'll be pleased."
Olivia shook her head at Alicia's impulsive behavior and hoped she was right about her young man. She hadn't had much of a chance to get to know CJ Livingston-Wagner, but she got the impression that he was a very independent, self-determined person who would object to Alicia's unilateral decision simply on the grounds that he hadn't been consulted.
As she halfway listened to Alicia natter on about her hopes for a future with CJ, Liv allowed her thoughts to roam, and the first place they stopped was with her daughter. Emily was strong, but she had been badly injured. Liv was sure her own heart had stopped when Emmy coded in the elevator, she just didn't know what she would do if . . . Her mind refused to go any further down that path.
Then there was Steve. Both she and Keith had been deeply touched by his concern for Emily. It had been encouraging to Liv to see how determined he was to get her back safely, but now that she knew where that drive came from, she wondered if things would ever be right again. How long had it been worrying him, and what would happen when she told him the truth?
Finally, her mind settled on her husband. Why hadn't Keith spoken up when Steve voiced his concerns? Why hadn't he defended her? Come to think of it, he had been cold and distant all day, not once during the whole ordeal had offered her any emotional support. And where was he now? Liv grew suddenly angry. He was her husband! He should be with her now while her only child was clinging to life! Then, as quickly as her anger had started, it unexpectedly left her. Keith was nowhere to be found, and, Liv realized, feeling quite proud and pleased with herself, she was doing just fine without him.
"Ok," Alex said, "I think that does it. Let's close her up and say a prayer. Nurse, contact the OR administrator's desk and have them start tracking down this young lady's friends and family so we can fill them all in on her condition."
After stitching Emily's wounds closed, CJ and Maribeth went with her to recovery. They would continue to monitor her until she was ready to be moved to ICU. Then, CJ would head home and Maribeth, who was supposed to be on call until noon, would continue checking on her throughout the day. As Alex watched the gurney roll away, he sighed, stretched, squared his shoulders, and prepared himself to tell Liv, Keith, and the others news they didn't really want to hear.
