anyway, so what the heck. Go on in.”
She was sitting up, so Paul didn’t take the doctor’s dark warnings of death very seriously. The hit man? Maybe.
Paul had to go through it again, with Keren adding details.
“You got the make and model of his car at night, on a dimly lit street, after you’d been run down?” Paul asked incredulously.
Keren rolled her eyes. “Some of us do this for a living, Rev.”
O’Shea said, “I’ll put an ATL on a dark-green Malibu with a broken taillight and bullet holes.”
“An Attempt to Locate for possible connection to a homicide.” Keren nodded. “It’s got to be the same car we saw those men driving outside the mission.”
“But when he was questioned, Murray had already reported it stolen.” Paul shook his head. “The cops remember him because he was so upset. He’d just bought the car. The first car he’d owned in his life. That’s why he was giving everybody a ride. It was stolen before he’d owned it two days. I can’t believe it’s him.”
He saw Keren and O’Shea exchange a glance of pity and didn’t even have the gumption to snarl at them.
“A stolen car is really convenient,” Keren said. “If he’s got a place to hide it, he can use it once in a while and it’ll all be blamed on someone else as long as he’s not caught.”
Paul ducked away while they grilled Keren. No one else was there for LaToya but him. The paramedics had already “slipped” and told a reporter she was dead. The police were in full agreement that it was best she be declared dead for now. It made Paul sick when he overheard a spokesman for the hospital say the words. It was far too close to the truth.
There was a nurse in the operating room who spoke to him every time she came out. “They’re bringing in a plastic surgeon to try to fix the cuts in her arms with the least scarring possible. We’ve taken pictures from every angle, as the police requested. We’ve already handed the white dress over to the detective.”
The next time the nurse came out, she said, “She’s sedated, but the EEG shows she’s in a deep coma. The final stab wound was the only potentially fatal wound, but the cumulative effect of all that trauma and blood loss is extensive. It’s the doctor’s feeling that she’s probably been in a coma for the last twenty-four hours.”
Paul ran his hands through his dark hair and felt it standing on end. “I saw her move just an hour ago. I saw the man who did the cutting on her strike the last blow. She rolled away from him. She saved herself.”
The nurse shook her head. “That’s not possible. The doctor is estimating how long she’s been out, so it could be less than twenty-four hours, but it’s definitely longer than one. There’s no way she could have made any defensive movements so recently.”
“But I saw her,” Paul insisted.
“Maybe she rolled because the hillside was steep and the man leaned against her wrong. Whatever caused her to move saved her life.”
Paul quit protesting. He didn’t need to find out more. Whether LaToya had done the impossible and awakened or Pravus had shifted his weight and knocked her aside or God had simply sent her rolling away from that chisel, the end result was the same.
Paul had witnessed a miracle.
His heart filled with the blessing of it. LaToya would live. God had directly intervened to save her. It wasn’t yet her time. In that dimly lit, lonely waiting room, he shook off the cop and found the pastor and praised God to the highest reaches of heaven.
It was only after he’d spent time in praise and regained a modicum of his peace that he remembered the moment he’d demanded Keren hand over her gun.
If he could have wrestled it away from her, he’d have gone after Pravus and…
Paul began again, his earlier closeness to God lost. He prayed for forgiveness, and as he prayed, he knew that it wasn’t God who was going to be the problem. God was there pouring love and forgiveness down on him in abundance. It was himself. This side of himself—the violent, cynical side that had been such a neat fit for the way he’d acted when he was a cop. Now, with Pravus to fight and the police at hand constantly, he was being pulled back into that life.
Paul wasn’t fighting for his soul. His belief in his own salvation was rock solid. It was his own nature that he fought. In the end, he didn’t find the satisfaction he hoped for. Even as he prayed, he felt the hunger to close his hand over that gun and hunt down Pravus personally. Paul felt like he’d lost five years of spiritual growth in a single week.
Keren was part of the problem. She’d pulled that gun with lightning speed. She went running headlong toward danger. She did what a cop was supposed to do. Paul was afraid that if he became involved with Keren—which he wanted to do very badly—the life she led, or more exactly, the lure of it, would swallow him whole.
The nurse appeared again with another update and the news that it would be hours before LaToya was out of surgery. The chisel had pierced a lung and severed muscles. And she had deep cuts that needed sutures. Paul remembered the police questioning Keren and went back to the room where she was corralled.
He went behind her curtains, expecting to find her in a hospital gown. She was almost dressed, just tucking in her shirt.
“Hey!” She glared at him. “Knock next time.”
“It’s a curtain. How do I knock on a curtain? What are you doing with your clothes on?”
“Not a question a reverend should be asking,” she replied smartly. She sat in a chair and reached for her socks.
Paul said, “Get back in that bed! I heard the doctor say he wanted to observe you overnight because you have a concussion.”
Keren began pulling on her socks. “Says the man who checked himself out of the hospital without his doctor’s approval.”
She flinched when she leaned over to grab her shoe. He pushed her hands aside and knelt in front of her and lifted her foot to rest on his knee. “They needed the room because of the explosion. That was an emergency. They’ve got plenty of room for you.”
Keren didn’t wrestle him for her shoe. She straightened gingerly in the hard chair and Paul heard her squelch a sigh of relief. That tiny show of weakness must have made her mad. “Didn’t you take that cervical collar off a week before the doctor said you could? And quit wearing your sling the minute his back was turned?”
Paul lifted her other foot and slid the black Nike on gently, thinking of all her bumps and bruises. “I was fine. Doctors have to be overcautious, because they’ll get sued otherwise.”
“Amen.” Keren stood. “I’m out of here. I promise not to sue.”
Paul steadied her when she wobbled. “You’re not supposed to sleep for twelve hours because of the concussion.” Paul knew he was right, but he didn’t kid himself he’d ever convince Keren.
“No problem. I’m going back to work, so I’ll be up.”
O’Shea called from outside the room, “Her head’s a hard one, Pastor P. She’ll probably be all right.”
Higgins was out there, too, and he laughed.
Paul pulled the curtain aside and let Keren step out ahead of him. “I can’t leave. I’ve got to stay and see how LaToya does.”
“I’ll stay with you.” Keren seemed to forget her plans to begin tracking down Pravus.
“If you’re staying in the hospital anyway,” Paul growled at her,
“why don’t you just lay back down there?”
Keren narrowed her light-colored eyes at him. The blue had turned to a gunmetal gray that looked like she wanted war. “How about this for a compromise? I’ll do exactly as I want, and you shut up.”
“That’s the deal she always gives me.” O’Shea laughed and slapped Paul on the shoulder. “Take it, kid. It’s all
