Lupe could see that the door was ajar. She listened, but couldn’t hear anything. She pictured what she would see when she went inside. She would see the kitchen table from the doorway. She thought Delilah and Cornelius might be sitting there, but she didn’t think whoever was with them would join them.
The woman would have to stand, be threatening. Maybe by the sink, maybe by the counter, or the stove, but away from the table. She touched the door. She couldn’t remember hearing it squeak when Delilah opened it. She hesitated. God, if this was a mistake, a bad call. What if she wasn’t doing the right thing? What if she caused them—Delilah and Cornelius—to be killed? She wasn’t even armed.
The TAC officer tapped her on the shoulder. He had his weapon in hand. He nodded and she went in.
“Delilah, Cornelius,” she called. “It’s me, Lupe, the visiting nurse.” There was no response. Cornelius was sitting with his back to her. His head was on the table. She continued down the hall. “How are you two doing, today?” As soon as she reached the kitchen she saw Delilah crumpled on the floor. Blood was pooling around her.
“Get your ass in here,” a woman said.
Lupe turned and saw her standing with her back against the sink holding a knife. There was blood on the blade.
“Hostage down,” she called. The woman rushed her, arm upraised, knife pointing. Lupe ducked low and head-butted her in the gut. The woman grunted, and the knife clattered to the floor as she doubled over. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach. She staggered back, then slumped to the floor, moaning.
The TAC officer was there as Lupe reached Delilah. She felt a pulse in her carotid artery, but was afraid to move her to check out the bleeding.
By the time she looked up, the woman had been taken out by Vik and Marti, and the second TAC officer was telling her to get out of the way.
“Ambulance coming,” he said. “She hasn’t bled out yet. Bleeding looks like it’s slowing down. We might be getting some clotting. Don’t move her. She’s better off right where she is.”
Lupe sat on the floor beside Delilah. “Be all right,” she said, repeating something Delilah often said. “Be all right.” She couldn’t see Delilah’s hands so she patted her shoulder. Delilah’s face was ashen, her eyes closed. Don’t die, Lupe thought. Don’t die, old girl. “Fight,” she whispered. “Fight, Delilah, fight.”
“The old man looks like he’s in shock,” the TAC officer told her. “No wounds, and he’s breathing okay.”
Lupe and Holmberg followed the ambulance. Delilah was rushed into a cubicle in the emergency room and, almost as quickly, taken upstairs. “Surgery, now,” the doctor said.
“How . . .” They were gone before she could ask the question.
She asked the nurse where Cornelius was. He had an IV drip going and was on a heart monitor, but conscious. “I told Lila we ought to call you,” he whispered. “She gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know,” Lupe admitted. “If I just went in a few minutes sooner . . .”
“She didn’t keep nothin’ from you deliberate,” Cornelius said. “That actress in the picture, that was her granddaughter. Sara is her great-granddaughter. She just wanted to know the truth about the jewelry. She was going to tell you. She just wanted to protect her kin. That’s all she got left, that one great-grandchild.” He closed his eyes. Soon he was snoring.
Lupe wandered over to the surgical waiting area, and glanced at the clock, surprised that it was only a little past two o’clock. She had been having breakfast with Delilah not more than six hours ago. Holmberg brought her some coffee.
“Poor old thing,” she said. “Poor old thing. If we hadn’t wasted all that time with the lieutenant ...”
“Things happen the way they’re supposed to,” Holmberg said. “We’re just the ones who have to live with it.” “Hungry?” he asked a few minutes later. “No. And if anything happens to her, I’ll never eat a blueberry pancake again.”
She caught Holmberg’s puzzled expression, but didn’t explain.