Chapter thirty

REBECCA SET A cup of weak vending room coffee in front of Sloan, then walked around the small table and sat down across from her. They were alone in a consulting room down the hall from the trauma unit waiting area. "How you doing?"

The other woman shuddered as if with a sudden chill, then met Rebecca's gaze with eyes that were surprisingly clear. "I'm okay. If I could just see her..."

"Catherine's working on that right now. She'll come and get us if there's any word."

"No one knew I was going to the airport," Sloan began as if anticipating Rebecca's questions. "Well, Jason knew of course. But he was the only one."

Rebecca said nothing, preferring to let Sloan tell it in her own way. The security consultant wasn't a suspect to be interrogated, but a witness, and a traumatized one at that. Her recollection of the event would be distorted by grief and fear and the mind's natural desire to block out the things too terrible to contemplate, but fortunately, she was also a trained investigator. She would know what they needed to do, and the things that Rebecca needed to know.

"Obviously,” Sloan continued in a weary voice, “someone set it up so I'd have to get out of the car to move the cart, and they were waiting for me. I can't tell you exactly what happened next, because I didn't see anything. It was over in a few seconds and for most of that time the Porsche was moving from the impact. I was getting tossed around pretty well." As she spoke, she unconsciously twisted the band on her ring finger, something Rebecca had never seen her do before. Rivulets of sweat ran down her face, despite the fact that the room was cool.

"What about after you got out of the car?" Rebecca asked quietly. "Did you see anything then?"

Again, Sloan shivered. Her voice was harsh as she said, "All I was thinking about was Michael. By the time I got out of the car and into the street, all I could see was Michael...she was lying on the pavement..." Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes. "Sorry," she whispered.

Rebecca waited. She knew very well that Sloan was reliving those few terrifying seconds, seeing and feeling it all over again. After a minute, as kindly as she could, the detective probed, "Did you see the taillights of the vehicle? Did you see anyone on the street--someone who might have been watching the building?"

"No," Sloan replied hoarsely. "Nothing."

For now, that would have to be enough. Tomorrow, Rebecca would ask her again. Right now, her mind was numbed by shock and fear. When the horror had receded just a bit, she might remember more.

"It was supposed to have been me," Sloan said dully.

"That's my read on it, too," Rebecca said, knowing that only the truth would help ease Sloan's guilt. "The timing is too damned coincidental for this to be anything else. Who knows about the operation tomorrow night besides you and Jason?"

Sloan's face hardened, and anger began to drive out the mind-numbing dread. "No one. Michael...Michael left town before the whole thing came down, and I didn't tell her when I spoke to her on the phone. Jason may have told Sarah; we can ask him. But Sarah's ex-State. She'd never say anything to anyone."

"I'll double check with him just to be sure," Rebecca commented, but she was inclined to agree that the leak hadn't come from the three of them.

Suddenly, Sloan stiffened. "Clark. Clark called this morning--uh, Saturday--yesterday morning--and I told him we had something. That we expected an operation to go off before the end of the weekend."

Rebecca was silent, considering Sloan's information. Clearly, their plans had been revealed to someone who felt that Sloan, as the person most likely to uncover someone via the computer traces, was the biggest threat. The choices for the source of the leak were limited. Besides Sloan and Jason, Mitchell and Catherine knew of the upcoming meet. Neither of them had the right kind of contacts, even if they had slipped and mentioned the plans, which she doubted. She herself had told Captain Henry when she briefed him about the warrant. Recalling Trish Mark's observation that after Captain Henry and the Chief of Detectives had met with her boss, the investigation into Jeff Cruz and Jimmy Hogan's assassinations had been dropped, Rebecca considered that it might have been him. It was hard for her to believe that John Henry was on the payroll of the organized crime syndicate, but it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Then there was Avery Clark, who had come out of nowhere and put together an elite but highly unusual team. The team resembled the black ops units that worked undercover, often employing less than sanctioned avenues of investigation. Like Sloan had been doing. And if something went wrong, the government would be largely unaccountable. Clark remained a cipher, as did his true motives, and that made him a very good suspect.

"I'll get to the bottom of this, Sloan. You have my word," Rebecca said stonily. "For now, we have to assume that no one is above suspicion."

Ali Torveau slid the CAT scan onto the view box and pointed. "Linear nondisplaced skull fracture, right here in the occipital area. Big scalp laceration over it. Brain looks okay, although I'm sure there's a significant contusion."

Catherine studied the scan, nodding. "What about systemic injuries?"

"In addition to the head injury? Bilateral pulmonary effusions, fractured left renal pelvis, and a hemarthrosis of the left knee. Basically, she got bounced around pretty good, but most of the major organ systems were spared long-term damage."

"What about the kidney injury? Is it going to require surgery?"

"Probably not," the trauma surgeon said. "We'll repeat the CAT scan in six hours and follow her hemoglobins, but the perirenal space is so tight, hemorrhage usually stops on its own. Fortunately, her pulmonary status is stable right now and I took out the endotracheal tube. There's always a possibility that she could develop acute respiratory distress syndrome, but we'll cross that road when we come to it."

"What about the intracranial injury?" Catherine inquired. "Any idea what to expect in terms of her regaining consciousness?"

Again, Torveau shrugged. "She'll wake up when her neurons recover from being shaken all to hell. I can ask neurology to come and see her, but you know damn well they're going to say they can't tell us anything."

Catherine smiled. She was well aware that surgeons had little regard for medical specialists who generally were unable to give a hard and fast prognosis. "If you're confident that there's no surgical problem, I'm sure her family will be, too. Can I see her before I talk to them?"

"Sure," Torveau said, "She's in trauma bay one. Bring them in whenever you want. I've got to go--there's a spleen that wants to be liberated waiting for me upstairs in the OR. They can catch me later if they have questions."

"Go ahead, and thanks for letting me take up your time."

"No problem." And then she pushed through the double doors and was gone.

Catherine walked through the brightly lit treatment area to one of the cubicles where stabilized patients awaited transfer to a regular hospital room. Nodding to a nurse who was busy charting the events of the resuscitation, Catherine approached the bed where Michael lay. On the far side of the small room, a rack of monitors gave continuous readouts of her status while IV poles hung with resuscitation fluids stood silent sentinel.

"Michael," Catherine said softly, bending down close to her. It was impossible to tell what an unconscious person heard, or stored in their memory to be recalled weeks, months, or even years later. She always assumed they were listening, and she always spoke to them as if they would remember. "My name is Catherine Rawlings. I'm a friend of Sloan's."

To her surprise, Michael's eyelids fluttered and her left hand twitched. Reaching for her hand, Catherine cradled the slender fingers in hers. "Michael?"

Michael opened her eyes, her pupils wide and unfocused. "Sloan?"

"She's just fine. I'll bring her right in."

Catherine thought she saw a flicker of a smile before the other woman drifted away again. "And she'll be much, much better now," she whispered, gently releasing Michael's hand.

Rebecca and Sloan walked out of the consultation room and the first person they saw was Avery Clark. Rebecca wasn't even aware of Sloan moving, but in the next instant the security expert had the federal agent up against the wall with her hands fisted in the folds of his jacket.

"It's about time you told us what the fuck is going on," Sloan snarled, inches from his face. "Justice is famous for keeping secrets, and one of your secrets almost got my lover killed." She punctuated each word with a shove that bounced him against the wall.

For an instant, Clark looked stunned, and then Rebecca saw his hand move under his jacket toward his weapon. In all likelihood, it was an automatic response to Sloan's unexpected attack, but Rebecca wasn't about to let weapons come out. "Sloan," she barked, "let him go."

Sloan appeared not to hear and pushed Clark's body hard against the wall again. Rebecca moved to separate them, grasping Sloan's left shoulder with her right hand and wedging herself between them. "Back off, Sloan."

This time, Sloan might have heard, because she appeared to loosen her grip on Clark's jacket. Apparently, that had been the opening he was waiting for, because he brought both arms forcefully up between Sloan's, breaking her grip and pushing her back at the same time. The force of his blow deflected off Sloan's arms as she let go, and his swinging fists caught Rebecca in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer. Rebecca rocked back on her heels, pain exploding in her chest.

By that time, they had drawn a crowd. Jason was between Clark and Sloan and the two men were shouting. Sarah was at Sloan's side, gently but firmly pushing her away. Rebecca sagged against the wall, one hand pressed to her chest, struggling to get her breath.

"For God's sake," Catherine exclaimed, having seen the last of the altercation as she approached down the hall. "Have you all lost your minds? Sarah, take Sloan back to the waiting room. I'll be there in a minute." She kept walking until she reached Rebecca, her heart in her throat. Pain was carved into every line of the detective's body, and for one terrifying second, Catherine saw her as she had been the night in Sandy's apartment-- gasping for breath, one lung down, on the brink of full arrest. Oh no, not again.

Rebecca forced herself to focus and took a slow, shallow breath. "I'm okay," she managed, reading the panic in Catherine's face. Taking another shaky breath, she repeated, "I'm okay. He just...surprised…me, that's all."

"You need to sit down," Catherine said in a voice which she hoped sounded calmer than she felt.

"Okay, right. Just... give me a minute," Rebecca said, uncertain that she could actually make it across the room. She looked around, putting together the events of the last few furious minutes. "Where's Sloan?"

"Sarah has her. Rebecca, please," Catherine said, slipping her arm around Rebecca's waist.

"What about Clark?" Rebecca said through gritted teeth. God, her chest hurt.

"With Jason, I think." Catherine gave up trying to keep her quiet and simply guided her slowly across the room to the row of orange plastic molded seats. "Sit. I mean it."

Rebecca sank down willingly and leaned her head back against the institutional tan wall. "What a fuck up."

"I'll be right back," Catherine murmured, returning a second later with a stethoscope borrowed from one of the trauma nurses. Unbuttoning Rebecca's shirt, she slipped the bell under the material and murmured, "Breathe."

Rebecca took a breath, and then another. It hurt, but she was getting air. "I'm...oka..."

"Shh," Catherine admonished, moving the stethoscope over both sides of Rebecca's chest. Finally satisfied, she sat back and slipped the instrument from around her neck. "You sound okay. We should probably get a chest x-ray just to be sure."

For a moment, Rebecca looked as if she might protest, then she nodded. "Can it wait until I get everybody settled down here?"

Catherine didn't want to negotiate where Rebecca's well-being was concerned, but she recognized the attempt at compromise. Inwardly, she was still trembling, but Rebecca was trying to meet her half way, and she needed to try, also. "All right, that's a deal. But not more than an hour."

"Good enough," Rebecca said, getting just a bit shakily to her feet.

"Promise?"

Rebecca brushed the wisps of hair back from Catherine's temple gently. There had been too much fear for one evening. For one lifetime. And she couldn't swear it wouldn't happen again. But this she could do. "Yes. I promise."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16