“It’s normal for people to sleep a lot when they’ve gone through a trauma. Maintaining consciousness is hard work, especially when someone is in extreme pain. We’ve upped her dosage, but honestly, rest is best right now. You should go home and get some yourself.”
I nod as the surgical resident gives me the spiel after checking in. It’s been an hour since Ellie woke up briefly, and she’s fast asleep again.
Her color is a thousand times better than it was, though. Her cheeks have pinked up. It may be wishful thinking, but I swear her chest is rising and falling with greater range, too. I’m not a doctor, but I really think she’s doing just fine now.
I’ll go home when I can take her with me.
A knock at the door makes me jump. The nurses and doctors don’t knock, and everyone else should be stopped by the U.S. Marshals, who have extended protection to Ellie while the FBI investigation takes place.
But the visitor has a badge, too.
Kendra Browning steps inside the room. “How’s the patient doing?”
“Still unconscious.” I don’t tell her that Ellie woke up briefly. It’s irrelevant.
“I just wanted to let you know that our tussle over the shooting’s jurisdiction has ended. The FBI is taking the rest of the investigation, but the homicide investigation officially belongs to MPDC.”
“It wasn’t a homicide,” I point out.
“A man is dead.”
“And a woman is fighting for her life because of one of his employees.”
Kendra nods. “You don’t have to convince me. But it’s not my case. Conflict of interest.”
“Because of Tag?”
She shakes her head. “I met with Melinda a few days before the shooting. I was following a rumor. Photos from Gerome Lively’s plane. Do you know anything about that?”
My bones ache with exhaustion. I can’t believe that a week ago, I thought I was getting too old for the spy game. A week ago, I had no fucking idea what old felt like. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I know something about that.”
“There are a lot of people who want to bury that evidence,” Kendra murmurs. “I’m not one of those people.”
“You and Ellie have that in common.”
“And you?”
I don’t know where I stand on anything anymore. “I just want her to wake up.”
“That’s understandable. When she does, tell her I’m eager to talk to her.”
I nod. “Will do.”
When the door closes, I move my chair closer to the bed and lean forward, pressing my head against Ellie’s hip. After a minute, her hand moves, brushing against my cheek.
I whisper her name.
“Hi,” she whispers back.
Turning my head, I look at her. “You’re awake again.”
“I heard some of that.” Her voice catches, and I sit up so I can pass her the water cup. She sips, then sighs. “Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“Thought it was a good sign I wasn’t in handcuffs.” She tries to smile.
“I wouldn’t let them.”
“Did they try?”
“No.” I look at the door. “There are Marshals out there. You’re safe. You’re being protected.”
“From who?” Her brow furrows. “Oh right. Cut off one head…”
“The full force of the FBI is on this right now. Don’t worry about it.”
She licks her lips. “Dry.”
“More water.”
A nod. “And lip balm?”
I smile. “I don’t have any.”
“My backpack…”
“I’ll get you some.”
“I want my backpack.”
“Okay.” I smooth my hand over her forehead. “Keep resting.”
She tries to lift her hand, but it doesn’t go far. I reach for her fingers and gently lace them through mine. “I was dreaming about you.”
“Good. Do more of that.”
A smile drifts across her face. “Okay.”