Stone’s head had fallen forward as he sat in the waiting room, and he was dozing when a man burst through the double doors of the ER.
“Where is she?” he shouted.
“Where’s who?” Dino asked.
“That Holly . . . Whatshername.”
“You’re drunk,” Dino said. “Get out of here.”
“Only a little drunk,” the man said. “It’s New Year’s Eve, after all.”
Dino looked at the uniformed cop standing there and made a little motion with his head.
The cop took the man by the wrist and elbow and frog-marched him out onto the street, then returned. “Taken care of, Commish,” he said to Dino.
The man outside crashed through the doors again. “Didn’t you ever hear of freedom of the press?”
“Didn’t you ever hear of getting your head broken?” the cop asked.
“You hear that, Commissioner?” he shouted. “I’m Mickey Fields from the Post.”
“What do you want?” Dino asked.
“Where’s the secretary of state?”
“Try Washington, D.C.”
A nurse who was leaning on the opposite wall, her arms akimbo, caught the reporter’s eye and pointed up with a thumb.
“Never mind,” Fields said, then ran for the elevator. He was on his way upstairs before the cop could reach him.
“Is there a uniform upstairs?” Dino asked the cop.
“Yessir.”
“Radio him that a maniac is on the way up and to stop him.”
The cop made the call.
A man with a camera hung around his neck ran in. “Where’s Mickey Fields?” he asked.
“Under arrest,” Dino replied. “You want to join him?”
“You can’t arrest Mickey Fields, Commissioner,” the man said.
“I can arrest anybody who’s causing a disturbance,” Dino replied.
“Who’s causing a disturbance?”
“You are.”
Before a cop could throw him out, the elevator doors opened and Dr. Battle walked out, followed closely by Mickey Fields. “She’s out of surgery and in recovery,” the doctor said. “We’ll keep her overnight and discharge her in the morning.”
“That’s who I’m looking for,” the photographer said, pointing at Fields.
“Nobody can see her,” the doctor said. “She’s in recovery.”
Stone got up, walked to the elevator, and got on. Fields and the photographer tried to follow him in, but he lifted a leg and kicked them both out. The doors closed.
“Commissioner,” Fields said, “I want to file charges against that guy!”
“Go fuck yourself,” Dino said.
—
Stone found the recovery room and, inside, Holly on a gurney, eyes closed. A nurse stood by.
“You can’t come in here,” the nurse said.
“Yes, he can,” Holly said, suddenly awake. “You shut up.”
The nurse looked outraged, but she shut up.
Stone leaned over her and kissed her on the forehead.
“First time you’ve ever kissed me there,” she said.
“What do you need?” Stone asked. “Anything at all?”
“Get me a change of clothes and come back in the morning,” she said. “I need a good night’s sleep.” She closed her eyes again.
—
Fred drove Stone home. “Mr. Barrington, I’m sorry I had to shoot that bloke,” he said.
“You did the right thing, Fred, don’t worry about it.”
“How’s Madam Secretary?”
“Pleasantly medicated and asleep,” Stone replied. “We’ll go back to the hospital first thing in the morning.”
Once home, Stone went upstairs, hung up his dinner jacket, and fell into bed.
—
Stone had breakfast while watching the morning news; Holly was all over it—the attempt on the life of the secretary of state. Everybody on TV was going nuts—people reporting from outside Lenox Hill’s ER, cameras everywhere.
“Drive around the block,” Stone said to Fred. “Let’s find another entrance.” He picked up some flowers from a market on the way.
—
Holly was sitting up in bed, her left arm in a sling, eating scrambled eggs. He kissed her. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m ravenous,” she said, stuffing bacon into her mouth and taking a bite out of a bagel.
He held up a small bag. “Change of clothes, makeup, et cetera.”
“Good boy.” She shoved her empty plate aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
A doctor walked in. “Whoa,” he said, “are you up to that?”
Holly stood up. “I’m just fine, and I’m going . . . home,” she replied, picking up her bag and walking toward the bathroom. “I won’t be a minute,” she said to Stone, kissing him. She closed the door behind her.
“How is she?” Stone said.
“She looks okay to me,” the doctor replied.
“Don’t you have to examine her?”
“I did that before she had breakfast. She was raring to go. You want to argue with her?”
“No,” Stone replied.
A Secret Service agent knocked at the open door and came into the room.
“Good morning, Agent,” Stone said.
“I hear you got my boss shot last night,” the man said.
“That’s a dirty communist lie,” Stone said.
A nurse came in with a plastic shopping bag and handed it to the doctor, who handed it to Stone.
“Change her bandage daily,” he said. “She’s had an antibiotic injection, and there are pills in the bag. At the slightest sign of infection, get her back here. Her stitches will come out in ten days.”
“Will she have a scar?” Stone asked. “She’ll worry about that.”
“We had a plastic surgeon close her incisions, front and back, and they’re small, so that shouldn’t be an issue. He offered to come and see her, if it will make her feel better.” He handed Stone two cards. “Him and me,” he said, then left.
Holly came out, looking fresh. “Thanks for the hairbrush,” she said to Stone. They got her into a wheelchair and rolled her onto an elevator and out the back door. Stone waved at Fred, who was parked by the door, and he pulled up and opened a door for her. The agent followed in the usual black SUV.
“What are the media saying?” Holly asked.
“You’re feisty, hardy, and brave,” Stone replied.
“I’ll settle for that,” she said.