And Kratz hurt more than the whole lot. I never thought he’dgo after Nef. Me, yes. Sandy, yes. But Nef had been in diapers when I startedhunting Kratz. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but she’d still been incollege when I caught up with him. She never worked on his case before, and hadto be called a minor player now. How the hell did he even know where she lived?
It added to that spider web, the big mystery of his sources.Maybe he attacked her to hurt me? But that meant he knew about us, us as a couple. That news was sohighly classified, I hadn’t knownabout it until a couple of days ago.
That’s a sample of how I spent some hours in a small waitingroom on the surgical floor of the hospital. And then the surgeon opened thedoor. I couldn’t tell if he looked grim, or just worn out. My chest felt tight.
He nodded at me with a tired smile. “Relax. That went betterthan I expected. Much better. Although quite frankly, I don’t understand thoseinjuries. Anyway, your sergeant is one tough cookie, and you were right aboutthe anesthetic. They’re moving her to the recovery room now. Once she’s settledin, you can sit with her while she wakes up. I’ll send a nurse to take youthere.”
I could breathe again. I followed my earlier prayers with somesilent thanks. Not that I think God or the universe cares, but I do.
And now for the payoff, whether I’d risked her life fornothing. “And her foot?”
He shrugged, not a comforting gesture from a doctor. You likethem to know. Leave the vague stuffto us wizard types.
“We’ll see. Bodies do strange things, and that ‘pure grit’ youmentioned means more to recovery than a lot of surgeons like to admit. She’llneed at least one more surgery, once things calm down and start to set, startto heal. Maybe two. Barring infection or other complications, I’d say she’llprobably walk without a cane or crutches. And she’ll be living with enoughmetal in her leg and foot to set off detectors at ten paces. Whether she canrun again, much less run competitively, God only knows.”
“Her right hand?”
He shook his head. “She’s going to be a lefty from now on. Shestill has her thumb and forefinger, half the middle finger, but some of thetendons for those are damaged. Looks like someone whacked her hand with an axeor something like that — sheared right off clean.”
Flying metal from the car, probably.
“Doctor, thanks. Thanks for your skill, thanks for caring.Thanks for giving her the chance torun again.”
He nodded and shook my hand and left. I stared at the door asit closed behind him. Thanks for savingmy ass, I added, but just in my head.
Nef was going to live. After all the crap I’d given everyone, that was the important part to me. Onceshe’d recovered enough to take it, I was going to give that woman pure hell forputting me under the gun on herdecision. She’d never asked me, never even toldme . . .
Anyway, I told the colonel how things stood and he vanishedback to his official life and duties, with a nicely-phrased “request” to keepthem informed. I could tell an order when I saw one. I was going to have togive them back their badge and police ID if they kept it up. But that was a “tomorrow”thing.
The “now” thing was Nef. Another Angel of Mercy came in andwheeled me down the hall and into medical limbo, the recovery room full ofhospital stink and privacy curtains and hovering nurses and beeping electronicmonitors. Nef lay on a bed, left leg in an external frame from the knee downand hanging in a sling from a complex of pulleys and stuff, right arm alsohanging. I guess the doctor-types wanted to keep the swelling down orsomething. Both chunks of her were invisible inside white pillows of gauzebandage in stark contrast against her dark skin. More medical scene, a bagoverhead dripped stuff into her left arm. Making up for the blood loss, mostlikely. I told you, I’m not that kind of doctor.
But I could see her face. I could see the covers rising andfalling as she breathed. I could see her eyes twitching under her eyelids. Shewas alive.
XVII
They had Cash wired up to enough electronics to shameNASA. I assumed that was why they didn’t have a nurse hovering over her. Ifanything went wrong, those quiet beeps and blips would turn into sirens orklaxons or something. So I had her to myself. I had a call button within reach,I could see straight to the nurses’ station through the open end of ourcurtained alcove in the recovery suite, but I still wondered. If her surgeryhad been all that life-threatening,this seemed awfully casual.
But then, they had two nurses on duty that I’d seen, and threeor four other post-op patients. Maybe the others hung further over the edge.And they did call this the recoveryroom, not intensive care. I hoped they knew what they were doing.
Look at it that way,John. Accentuate the positive. If she’s not the worst off in this vale of painand sorrow, maybe she’ll live.
I sat in my wheelchair, leg throbbing, and studied her face asif I was seeing it for the first time. After all, her face and her left armwere about all I could see of actualNef Cash.
A strong face. Lean. Broad nose and sharp cheekbones and notquite enough forehead by the standards I grew up with. Much more character than“beautiful” would allow. Pale skin from what she’d been through, more like café au lait, those half-caste babiesshe was thinking about, than her usual oiled walnut. Nothing like Maggie, forsure nothing like Sandy. But I could get used to seeing that face in themorning. Nearly losing her had forced
