Monahan turned southeast out of Las Vegas toward Victorville, and Brill turned directly east, heading for Lake Mead. The ex-lieutenant stared into his rearview mirror, but there was no sign of anyone following him; still, his nerves were on edge. The moan from the backseat grabbed his attention.

"Quincy? Are you okay?"

A louder groan of pain issued from the coroner. "Hurts like hell, Monahan," he managed to say through clenched teeth.

"I know it does. You just hang on..."

Monahan swallowed hard and drove quicker toward the next exit. He pulled off the I-15 into a truck stop, parking the car far away from any other cars or people. He turned in his seat to check on Quincy, and the pool of blood dripping down the leather made his stomach drop to his knees.

"Jesus, Quincy, you've lost a lot of blood."

The coroner was terribly pale, sweaty and in a lot of pain. "Yeah." He looked up into Monahan's concerned eyes. "I need Asten."

"I'm callin' him now so that he can get on the road and meet us. I'm also gonna get some water for you. Anything else you need?"

Quincy nodded slightly. "Blanket. I'm going into shock..."

"All right, I'm gonna lock you in here, and I'll be right back. Just hang tight."

"Monahan...hurry."

The ex-cop swallowed hard, and laid a soft hand on Quincy's brow. Then he got out of the car, locked it and headed toward the main area of the truck stop. He spotted a phone and quickly went to it, shoving a dime in the slot. He dialed a number and fed some more coins into the pay phone.

"Dr. Asten's office," the secretary answered after one ring.

"Patsy, it's Monahan. I need Asten. Now." Damn the fact that the FBI was monitoring the lines, there was no time to worry about it.

After a moment, Asten picked up. "Monahan?"

"Secure number in ten minutes."

"But--"

"--Asten," there was a gravity in Monahan's voice that scared the director, "please just do it."

Asten swallowed down a bitter fear. "Okay," was all he said.

Monahan hung up the phone and went into the truck stop. He bought basic groceries, some water, and a couple of travel blankets. He looked at his watch: it was time to call Asten. He walked back out to the pay phone, but a young woman was on it, and from the sound of it, she was having a fight with her boyfriend. Monahan nervously looked at his watch; it had been 12 minutes. He walked over to the girl and politely tapped her on the shoulder, but she shrugged him off. He waited another minute, then set his bags down, and reached past her, pressing the disconnect lever. She screamed at him, but he calmly took the receiver from her, smiling.

"Sorry, honey, IRS business." He glared at her. "Have you filed your return yet this year?"

She took off quickly, and Monahan pulled a small paper from his pocket. He dialed the number on it.

"Monahan?" Asten said.

"Yeah. Bob, I've gotta tell you something and I want you to stay calm."

Monahan never used his first name, and it made Asten's heart quicken, but he kept his voice steady. "Okay."

"Quincy's been shot--"

"--Oh dear God, how bad is it?"

"He took a 9mm in the belly, and he's lost a lot of blood. It's bad."

"Then for God's sake, get him to a hospital, now!"

"Asten, I can't do that; I need you and Sam to bring whatever you need to take care of Quincy, and also the basics to perform an autopsy."

"An autopsy? Monahan, that's a terrible thing to say..."

"No, Asten, not on Quincy. Look, I don't have time to explain this to you, please just trust me and do it."

"What kind of autopsy?"

"Quincy said it was a skeleton."

"Whose skeleton?"

"Oh hell, I don't know!"

"What about the FBI? They're still on our tails."

"Don't worry about that, I've got an idea how to lose them. You and Sam just get what you need and head out on the I-15 to Victorville. Take the Stoddard Wells exit and follow the main street through town. You'll go over an old, white bridge. Keep following the road until you come to a dirt turnoff on your right; it'll be the first place you can turn after the bridge. It's about five miles after it. The road's not marked. Drive up it about two miles, and you'll find a small, white house there, out in the middle of nothing. A blue rental sedan'll be parked next to it, that's where we'll be."

"Are you sure about the FBI?"

"Damnit, Asten, while you're worryin' about the FBI, Quincy's dyin'."

The fear in Monahan's voice shook the director to the core, and he was quiet for a short moment, then he said, "Keep him warm, and try and stop the blood flow as best you can." Asten swallowed hard. "Is he in a lot of pain?"

"Yeah, he's hurtin' pretty bad..."

"Put ice on the wound, it'll help anesthetize the area."

"Okay."

Asten couldn't keep the panic from his timbre, "Monahan...you keep him alive until I get there."

"From your mouth to God's ear, Asten. I'll see you soon."

Monahan hung up the phone, and immediately put more money in and dialed another number.

"Donovan," came the gruff answer.

"Stan..."

"Frank? Are you all right? We've seen some pretty damned scary things come across the APB wire."

"I'm okay, Quincy's not. He needs Asten and fast."

Hearing the unspoken words, Donovan carefully answered, "He's got resources."

"It's gotta stay in the house, Stan."

"Is there a backdoor?"

"Yeah, if it doesn't slam shut on us."

"Don't worry, there's always a little back-up in the cookie jar, Frank."

Monahan closed his eyes in relief. "Thanks Stan."

He hung up the phone, picked up the bags and headed quickly back to the car. He unlocked it, and opened up the back door. He slid onto the seat, gently lifting Quincy's head, resting it in his lap. The coroner moaned in pain. Monahan pulled some water from one of the bags, and poured a little into Quincy's mouth.

"I'm so cold..."

Monahan reached into another bag and pulled out the two travel blankets. He put them over Quincy.

"Better?" Quincy nodded, and Monahan brushed a hand over the man's warm brow. "Hold tight, Quincy, I know you're hurtin' but Asten's gonna be with you before you know it."

Monahan slid out from under him, softly setting Quincy's head on the seat. He took his jacket off and placed it under the man's neck, then closed the door and put the bags on the passenger side of the front seat. He climbed in and started for Victorville, driving as quickly as he dared.