Emma looked thoughtful. “Maybe two other wives would be good, since they could keep Sean company while I was practicing, or away playing somewhere.”
His practical girl. And that twinkle in her eyes. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to dismiss a five-year-old boy and make him feel small. Lucky Sean. Ramsey said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Sean grew up to be as cool as his daddy.”
“And his mama.”
“And his mama. Trouble is, your Aunt Sherlock told me she doesn’t want her son to go to jail. Three wives could push him right into the slammer.”
Again, Emma looked thoughtful. “That wouldn’t be good. Sean couldn’t work three jobs to support his wives if he went to jail.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway beside Molly. “Judge Hunt, are you ready for your trip to your very own private corner room? It’s the same room the president would be given if something happened to him in San Francisco. It even has Monet reproductions on one of the walls. There’ll be room for half a dozen guards to buzz around you.” She frowned at him, seeing that he was in pain and guessing he hadn’t used the morphine pump recently. Then she sighed. She understood why. She smiled at Emma. “Your daddy’s so buff and strong he’ll be better in no time, so don’t you worry.”
“My dad’s real tough, and he’s going to have my back all my life; he told me so.”
ICU nurse Janine Holder hadn’t cried in the hospital for a long time because it never helped, but she felt tears come to her eyes. This beautiful young girl was hovering protectively over her father, and what he’d said to her, so simple, so heartfelt—Janine swallowed and smiled. “If you’re ready, Judge Hunt, I’ll call everyone in and get it done. Mrs. Hunt, you and Emma need to come with me.”
Two days was long enough in the surgical ICU, Ramsey thought. Too much beeping and clanging and buzzing all day and night. At least he hadn’t heard any flatline whines, hadn’t heard anyone dying. He’d have some peace and quiet now, even if there would be half a dozen guards. If he wasn’t yet ready to be released into the wild, at least he would have a more comfortable cage.
Ramsey heard Molly say outside his cubicle, “Emma, we’ll go get some sandwiches in the cafeteria, then go to your daddy’s new room and wait for him there. Did you know Uncle Dillon and Aunt Sherlock are outside? We can say hello.”
Ramsey wasn’t stupid—he pumped in some morphine for the move. No matter how careful everyone was, he imagined there would be jostling, and it wouldn’t be fun.
Officer Mancusso came to stand in the doorway. “You’re not to worry, Judge Hunt. Hughes and I will be accompanying you. Nothing will happen to you, sir.”
Ramsey could only marvel at the odd mix of pride and promise in the young officer’s voice. He realized he didn’t know his first name, and asked him.
“It’s Jay, Judge Hunt,” Mancusso said.
It looked like an honor guard, Sherlock thought, when they finally got the bed wheeling down the hall toward the east elevators. Officer Eddie Hughes was on one side of the bed and Officer Jay Mancusso on the other side. Eve and fifteen-year-veteran Deputy Marshal Allen Milton walked at the head of the bed, and a muscular orderly with a big Fu Manchu mustache steered and kept an eye on the IVs dangling from the headboard and the chest tube pinned to the sheets. Ramsey had tried to smile at them as they wheeled him by.
Sherlock saw Ramsey’s face was white with pain. At least Molly and Emma weren’t here to see him. But Ramsey would live, and they would catch his shooter. She wondered how she’d be holding up if Dillon had been the one shot and nearly killed. She gave him a fast kiss.
Savich, Sherlock, and Harry got in the back of the line behind Ramsey’s bed. Eve stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She leaned over for a moment to say something to him and her ponytail swung down to lie against her face. Sherlock smiled. After the interview with Milo Siles, Dillon had told her, “I learn something new every single day. Do you know there appears to be power in the ponytail?” And he’d grinned like a bandit.
When they reached the elevator, they looked up and down the now-empty hospital corridor. They watched the doors open, and five people squeezed into the elevator around the bed. The doors closed behind them.
An SFPD officer waited with them for the other elevator, which seemed to be tied up on the seventh floor, while yet another deputy marshal used the stairs. They stood quietly, watching the arrow of Ramsey’s elevator leave the fourth floor and hover at the fifth floor.