“Are they finished?” McNab said quickly. “Is she—”
“They’re still working on her. It’s going well. She’s got a solid surgical team, Ian, and she’s holding her own.” She reached o
ut, took his hands. “It’s going to take a while longer. There was extensive damage, and the fact is she’s undergoing more than one surgery. Her vitals are good, and everything that can be done is being done.”
“How much longer?” Eve demanded.
“Two, three hours more. At least. She’s critical, but she’s holding. Now I’m going to suggest you go down and give blood. It’s something positive you can do. I’ll go back in, observe. The head of the surgical team will give you more details when it’s done, but I’ll keep you updated as much as possible.”
“Could I go in with you? If I scrubbed—”
“No.” Louise leaned in, kissed his cheek. “Go down, give blood. Do the positive, think strong thoughts. Those things matter, I promise.”
“Okay, I’ll go down now.”
“We’ll both go down,” Feeney said, then jerked his chin toward the waiting room. “We’ll go down in shifts. Time we’re finished, you’ll have more cop blood in this place than you know what to do with.”
A little woozy from the loss of a pint of blood—Eve would rather have lost it through injury than by syringe—she sat back in the waiting area. Her hands stayed in Roarke’s while her mind drifted.
She thought of the first time she’d seen Peabody, looking efficient in her uniform. There’d been a body between them. There was always another body.
She remembered when she’d pulled Peabody off patrol and into Homicide as her aide. And how Peabody had nearly “Sir, yes, sir’d” her to death in the first hour.
Those days were over.
Hadn’t taken the smart mouth long to surface—in, over, and around the “sirs.”
Stood up for herself is what she did. Respected the rank, but stood up for herself. Learned fast. Quick brain, good eyes. Good cop.
God, how much longer?
Fell for a detective who turned out to be a wrong cop. Shook her confidence, hurt her feelings. Then McNab had pranced in. Charles had glided. But in spite of the looks of that strange triangle, it has always been McNab.
A couple of hard bumps and they’d bounced away from each other. Bad feelings, bitter words. Spitting at each other if they were in the same space more than ten seconds. Bounced back together eventually. Maybe that’s what people did, bounced back where they were supposed to be, bumps or not.
“Eve.” At Roarke’s voice, she stirred, blinked her eyes open. And followed his look toward the doorway and Louise.
She got up quickly, joined the group already gathering around Louise.
“She’s out of surgery. They’ll be bringing her into Recovery, and the surgeons will come through shortly to talk to you.”
“She came through it.” McNab’s voice was hoarse with fatigue and emotion. “She came through.”
“Yes. She’s critical, and they’ll almost certainly put her in ICU for the time being. She’s in a coma.”
“Oh, God.”
“It’s not unusual, Ian. It’s a way for her body to rest, to recover. The early scans look good, but she’ll need more. They’ll need to keep a close eye on her for the next several hours.”
“She’ll come out of it.”
“There’s every reason to believe so, yes. There are some concerns—the kidney, for instance. But she came through the surgery well. Strong.”
“I can see her, right? They’re going to let me see her.”
“Absolutely. In just a little while.”
“Okay.” That seemed to settle him. The shakes smoothed out of his voice. “And I can just sit with her, until she wakes up. She shouldn’t wake up alone.”