2
Minutes trudged by like sewage. Emptily, Peter wondered if he'd rubbed up against some type of sedative from the EMT. The ride to New York Downtown Hospital was the longest, most agonizing thing Peter could ever remember. Diana was driving. He couldn't see straight. Everything around him, the traffic, the siren of the ambulance; everything was a blur.
They worked in the White Collar division. His people never got hurt. …not Neal, anyway.
He hardly remembered calling Elizabeth or Mozzie. It was autopilot, a reaction.
"El," it was her voicemail. 4:15; she was in a meeting. "I'm not…meet me at Downtown Hospital when you get this. Its Neal…"
"Moz," of course, Mozzie always answers after two rings.
"Suit."
"Listen, you need to get to Downtown Hospital. Its Neal."
Peter didn't miss Mozzie's sharp inhale. "Dead?"
Peter sighed. "Not yet."
TBC
