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Maren’s eyes ached, her throat was dry, and she felt stiff from her fall. She had been at Santa Clara Valley Medical Center for three hours, watched over by a police officer, a small pudgy man with a body odor problem who, despite his uniform and badge, looked like he would have a hard time subduing any assailant. San Jose police had said the attack in the garage appeared to be a random robbery attempt—parking structures were a popular target. Perhaps that was why they didn’t send their top man. Still, any attack with a knife started gears whirring in Maren’s brain these days. She would think about that later. For now, her head only had room for Noel.
She tucked her feet underneath her on the hard vinyl chair and pulled the blanket the hospital staff had given her up to her neck. She couldn’t stop shivering. There was that awful hospital odor. Not a clean smell, although a mixture of pine and chemical disinfectant was dominant. Beneath it Maren felt she was breathing in something primal, the desperation of sickness and death. She thought of her mother’s last days in intensive care after her heart attack, then willed herself back to the present.
The ambulance had come to the Saniplaz lot quickly, paramedics barking at each other in code, taking action to stabilize Noel. She’d ridden in the back, crowded alongside Noel’s stretcher with an attendant who had fiddled with dials and an IV while they traveled at what felt like Mach speed through the San Jose city streets, sirens blaring.
“Noel, I’m here. It’s okay.”
Maren had held Noel’s hand in hers and continued speaking to him throughout the transport, although she’d had no sign he could hear. His fingers had felt icy cold and he never opened his eyes. The feeling inside her had been like an acid wash, the pain beyond anything she’d ever experienced, the “what-ifs” simply too terrible to consider.
At the hospital the paramedics had maintained their pace, wheeling Noel away on a gurney through two double doors. Maren was told to wait at the entry. After fifteen minutes she got in line at the intake desk behind a short, thick-waisted man in a T-shirt and plaid pants, a business type who looked like he’d been golfing, although Friday night didn’t seem the time for it. He leaned against the counter and drawled lazily, giving a long, detailed description of the barriers he encountered when he tried to pick up his wife’s medications at the hospital pharmacy. He seemed neither angry nor frustrated, just intent on a full, calm hearing of his grievance. It appeared to have nothing to do with emergency care and the staff tried to tell him so, but he persisted, never checking over his shoulder to see what kind of line might be forming behind him as the minutes ticked by. When he was finally done to his satisfaction, the man turned and walked out, failing to make eye contact with those he had kept waiting, including Maren.
What, you think if you don’t look at us, we don’t exist? Maren fumed. She wanted to smack him, but she couldn’t remember ever having punched anyone. Except Noel, when they were kids. The memory of her brother made her need for information more urgent. All she could get out of the harried desk staff was that Noel had been taken for a CT scan and evaluation. She returned to her seat, occasionally moving around to stretch or pace. The magazines on the table beside her were out of date, and she had no ability to focus anyway. She checked twice more at the counter; no news of Noel. Nearly an hour passed.
“Ms. Kane?”
The doctor who called Maren’s name was young and tall, with bright red hair pulled back in a clip. She wore the requisite physician’s white coat over mint-green surgical scrubs.
“Over here,” Maren said, standing as she spoke.
The doctor crossed the waiting area and suggested they sit down, but it had taken all Maren’s energy to stand up—she didn’t feel she could reverse the process.
The physician introduced herself. “I’m Doctor Eliza Wheaton. I’m in charge of your brother’s case. I have good news and bad news about your brother.”
Seriously, good news and bad news? Maren thought. Can’t you come up with a more reassuring opener than that?
But she didn’t trust herself to say anything, so she waited.
“The knife nicked a small branch artery, rather than a major line. The blood loss seemed a lot, but it was not enough to be life-threatening. Also, the blow to the head as your brother fell does not seem to have done any significant damage. His brain function is normal.”
Maren didn’t think she would ever hear anyone describe Noel’s brain function as normal.
But yes, that was good.
And the bad news?
“The intake report said he was running and leapt up to block the assailant from striking you?”
“Yes,” Maren confirmed.
“When he landed, your brother’s head was up since he was focused on you. That meant his chest hit first. It’s the reason his head injury was minor. Like when someone is diving and does a belly flop. Because of the trauma when his chest took the impact of the fall, he sustained a small tear in his aortic artery. It’s not from the knife, it’s from the fall. The bad news is that’s a potentially serious injury. The aorta might tear further, and the wound could become life-threatening. We will try to fix it to prevent that, but we need to first be certain no other organs, such as his liver, kidney, or spleen, have been compromised. Then we’ll see if surgery can be done to repair the tear in his aorta.”
Maren felt numb. She hugged herself tightly. She asked the doctor in a childlike tone, “My brother has injured his heart?”
“Yes.” Dr. Wheaton responded gently. “You can see him if you like, though he’s heavily sedated since we must keep his blood pressure low so the aortic tear is not exacerbated. After that, you should go home and rest. Come back tomorrow. We won’t do anything more until he’s stable for at least twenty-four hours.”
The doctor would try to fix it...
It could be life-threatening...
Those statements were unacceptable. Maren filed them accordingly, out of conscious reach.
When she got to his room, Noel was asleep. Deep-purple bruises spread from the right side of his face down his chest, and both his palms were torn and discolored. But the biggest shock for Maren was seeing him without his fedora and trench coat. In his white hospital gown, he looked so vulnerable—unprotected and unarmored. At least the knife had been removed, and his wound was wrapped in gauze.
Twenty minutes later, Maren started awake, realizing she’d fallen asleep in the chair. She decided it would be best to follow Dr. Wheaton’s instructions and get some rest, though there was no way she was going home, two hours away from Noel. She located a nurse and let him know she would be at the nearest hotel. He was an older man, very nice and patient. She found herself telling him she and Noel were alone in the world, without parents or siblings. The nurse took her number and said he would phone her if there were any updates, no matter how minor.
Having gotten that assurance, Maren went back to the room for one last look at Noel and noticed his cell phone and keys on the bedside table. She took them with her for safekeeping.
It wasn’t until she’d checked into the Marriott three miles north of the hospital, changed into the white terrycloth robe provided by the hotel, and had climbed into bed that she realized she hadn’t informed anyone about what had happened to Noel.
Their parents were gone. They had no other siblings. Was there anyone to call?
Lana?
The San Jose cops thought it had been a robbery gone wrong, with a knife as the weapon. But Maren couldn’t believe the attempt on her life in the Saniplaz parking garage had been random.
Marjorie Hopkins.
Tamara Barnes.
And now her.
Terrifying, yes, but Maren would think about that later.
A similar attack on a young, professional woman with some connection to the legislature, this one occurring while Sean was in jail, had to work in Sean’s favor.
She was poised to tap contacts for Lana Decateau’s number when she saw “6 missed calls—Sal” scrolling across the front of the mobile, and realized she was holding Noel’s phone, not hers. She turned it over and saw the crack in the case from when Noel had dropped it, though the phone itself looked okay.
Sal? It must be urgent, six times on a Friday evening.
Maren debated whether she should return the calls at 10:00 p.m., and with such bad news. She checked Noel’s recent phone log and found calls to and from “Sal” nearly every day for as far back as she could see. She wondered who could possibly be that significant in her brother’s life. She gave in to her curiosity and hit Call Return.
A woman answered on the first ring.
“Noel, where are you? I thought you were coming back tonight, it’s so late.”
Maren didn’t know how to begin. “This is Maren, Noel’s sister. I’m sorry to bother you, but I saw the missed calls and—”
“Maren? Where’s Noel?”
“I’m sorry to ask, but who are you? I mean, I know you’re Sal, I called you, but who are you?”
“Oh. I’m Noel’s, ah, his friend. We’re together, dating. But what happened? Why do you have his phone?”
Dating? Maren stopped herself from asking all the questions she had. It wasn’t the right time to catch up on relationship news, even if in Noel’s case that merited a thorough investigation.
“There’s been an accident,” Maren said. “Noel’s hurt. It’s okay. He’s in Santa Clara Valley Medical Center in San Jose. I just left there. They may operate tomorrow, but he’s resting tonight.”
“Operate?” It sounded like Sal would jump through the line if she could. “What? Why?”
“It’s not the knife wound—” That was a mistake, Maren realized, too late.
“KNIFE WOUND? What do you mean? Let me talk to him. Now.”
“I’m sorry, I’m exhausted, I’m not doing this right,” Maren replied. “Someone tried to attack me. Noel saved my life. He jumped between us. The knife wound is small, but he fell hard and has a tear in his heart and they have to fix it. I’m—”
“We’ll be there in . . . let’s see . . . three hours tops. We’ll go straight to the hospital.”
“Okay, I’m at the Marriott, room 284. I—”
Maren was interrupted by a dial tone.
Whatever else Sal is, she’s a doer, Maren thought.
For all the terrible news of this evening, the fact her brother, Noel, had a girlfriend, one who could communicate like a normal human being and who clearly cared deeply for him, was some consolation. But as Maren snuggled down under the covers, calmer than she had been since this whole mess started and determined to get some rest, she stiffened and opened her eyes wide.
We? She said we? Who the hell is she bringing with her?