Only one enclosure was occupied. The four visitors gathered outside it in the single-file order in which they’d come down the hall. From where Gurney stood, all he could see of the patient in the bed was a massive bandage covering his head, an oxygen mask covering most of his face, and a web of wires and tubes connecting him to the bedside machines. He looked vulnerable and anonymous.
A tall nurse approached Heather. “You know the routine here, but I’ll repeat it for your friends. Please do not touch anything beyond those glass doors. Especially do not touch the patient or the devices connected to him. The sensors are sensitive. The alarms go off easily. Are we all okay with this?”
Heather answered for everyone. “Of course. Thank you.”
Leaning toward her, the nurse spoke softly. “I’ve seen folks in worse shape than your husband come through just fine.”
Heather opened the sliding glass door and went to her husband’s side. Kim followed part of the way, stopping inside the doorway. Madeleine remained outside. Gurney stood behind her.
The intensity of Heather’s focus on Rick began to make Gurney feel out of place. It soon appeared to have the same effect on Kim, who backed out of the enclosure. She whispered to Madeleine, “Maybe we should let her be alone with him?”
Madeleine nodded her agreement. Just then they saw Heather bending over the bed, the tip of her forefinger touching the back of Rick’s hand.
“I’m here with you,” she said gently. “I’m right here beside you.”
As Gurney was leaving the ICU, he noted that the cop and the nurse’s aide were still very much involved with each other. He stopped by the corner of the nursing station.
“Excuse me, Officer? Over here, please.”
The cop stared at him.
“Now. Please.”
The nurse’s aide raised an eyebrow and stepped away, saying something about making her rounds.
The cop’s stare got chillier as he approached Gurney. “What’s up?”
“I assume you’re here to protect Rick Loomis. Do you have any idea what you’re protecting him from?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You think you’re here to prevent unauthorized media intrusions, make sure no reporters get in, or try to take pictures, or try to talk to Loomis. That about right?”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that the media idiots are the least of your problems. There’s something about the shooting you need to know. The public version is that Loomis was shot by black radicals because he’s a cop. But the fact is he may have been shot for another reason. By someone who wanted him dead—not just any cop, but
“Where the hell are you getting this from?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you understand what’s at stake here.”
The cop pursed his lips and nodded with obvious skepticism. “What was your name again?”
Gurney repeated his name. “Pass along what I told you to whomever relieves you. They need to understand what they’re here for.”
The expression on the cop’s face gave Gurney the feeling that his comments might or might not get passed along to the next shift, but they’d surely get to Judd Turlock.
Gurney left the ICU and headed for the visitors’ lounge. When he got there he found Madeleine waiting for him in the corridor. Kim was inside sitting on one of the couches. Madeleine led him away from the open doorway and spoke in a low voice.
“Is there anything else you need to do here?”
He shrugged. “I’ve done all I can for the moment. Which isn’t much. How about you?”
“Heather wants to stay here overnight. Kim wants to stay with her. I think that’s what I should do too.”
“Stay here in the ICU?”
“There’s a facility here on the grounds. The Mercy Visitors Inn, for family and friends of patients. It just feels right to be with them.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
“I’d like that. But I think Heather and Kim would rather you were off somewhere
“Isn’t tomorrow one of your days at the clinic?”
“I’ll call Gerry tonight. If she can’t cover for me herself, she’ll get someone.” She touched his cheek. “Drive safely. I’ll call you if anything changes.”
He made no move to leave.
She cocked her head and gave him a long sideways look. “There’s something you’re not saying. What is it?”
“I’d rather you weren’t staying here.”
“Why?”
“I think there’s a possibility of a second attempt on Loomis’s life.”
“Here?”
“It’s possible.”
“Is it likely?”
“I don’t know. The possibility scares me. It’s not a situation I want you to be in.”
She uttered a little one-syllable laugh and shook her head. “God knows I’ve been in worse situations. More than a few times. When we were running the abused women’s shelter at the clinic, we were getting horrendous threats all the time. And then there was that other little matter of the firebombing, when someone thought we were resettling refugees. Remember that?”
“Still . . .”
