Playing Dead

“Did you see the shooter?”

Steve ran through those seconds. “He wore a mask. Ski mask in the middle of May. Late-model Ford Tempo. Black. 5THH. I didn’t catch the numbers. There was an 8, but I don’t know in which spot.”

“That’s good. We’ll find the car. Lie down.”

Matt forced Steve to the pavement and applied pressure on his shoulder wound. Steve was fading. The last thing he heard was the D.A. calling for an ambulance and backup.

The last thing he thought was I fucked up big time. I got a witness killed.

THIRTY-FOUR

Tom looked at Nelia. “Is she coming?”

“She said she would be here.”

He needed to see Claire. He might die tonight, and he wanted to see his little girl one more time.

“Nelia?”

“I’m right here.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too, Tom. You’re going to be fine.”

“I don’t know.”

He’d been in more pain than he’d told her. He hadn’t wanted her to worry, but this morning he couldn’t walk. His right leg was nearly paralyzed. He could feel everything, but he couldn’t move it. She’d been indignant that the FBI had interviewed him while he was being poked and prodded and subjected to X- rays and a multitude of tests. But Tom didn’t mind. They were listening to him. Really listening, and that meant everything. Someone cared about the truth.

The doctor said the bullet had been lodged in muscle near the spine. It had slowly moved over the past few months until it impinged on the nerves to his right leg. If he didn’t have surgery immediately, he’d be partially paralyzed, and in the coming weeks he’d be dead since, as the bullet shifted, it had moved precariously close to his liver.

“Tom.”

He turned to Nelia. She stared down at him with love and compassion and worry.

“They believed you,” she said.

A weight lifted off his chest. “You think so?” he whispered.

She nodded, ran a hand over his forehead as if he were a child. “They know you’re innocent. Be strong in there. I need you.”

He clasped her hand. “I love you. If-if it doesn’t work, tell Claire I’ve never blamed her for any of this, that I love her.”

Nelia’s voice cracked. “I will.”

“Mr. O’Brien?” The doctor came in. “We’re ready.”

“Five more minutes?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“I’ll be here when you’re done,” Nelia said.

The nurse injected something into his IV, shifted the bed he was on, and started rolling it out of the room, down the hall. .

“Wait!”

That sounded like Agent Elliott, whom he’d spoken to for more than an hour earlier.

The gurney stopped. A moment later, Tom heard, “Daddy.”

Claire.

Tom was fading as the drugs began to do their work.

“Daddy, oh God.”

“Claire. I’m. Okay.” He reached up, though the lights in the hall were beginning to fade.

Someone grabbed his hand. He felt moisture. Tears.

“Claire Beth, don’t cry.”

“I love you, Daddy. I’m sorry. I love you.”

He tried to speak but couldn’t. The light faded.

Claire watched the medical staff wheel her father down the hall and into surgery. “What happened? Why is this an emergency? Is he going to be okay?”

Nelia spoke. “The bullet shifted. He woke up and couldn’t walk this morning. It was lodged in the muscle near the spinal cord and has disrupted the nerves. I don’t know the medical jargon, but the more it shifts the more dangerous it becomes. There’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll be partially paralyzed, even after the bullet is removed.” Nelia looked both unsure of the situation and worried.

“You care about him?” Claire asked, tears in her eyes.

“I love him.”

Claire reached out and hugged Nelia. The woman wrapped her arms tight around her. “He’s going to be okay,” Claire said, as much for herself as for Nelia.

“Hello?” From behind Claire, Agent Elliott, Claire’s babysitter, spoke into her cell phone. Claire pulled apart from Nelia, both of them staring at the closed surgery doors.

Nelia asked Claire, “What happened to you?” She gestured to the hospital gowns Claire wore-one backward so she didn’t expose her ass for all to see.

“Long story. But I’m okay. Just tired.” The doctor had given her a shot to help counteract the effects of Rohypnol, even though the tests hadn’t come back yet. All Claire wanted to do was go home and sleep the rest of the night in her own bed, but she now had this FBI agent babysitting her.

“Where?” Agent Elliott sounded angry. Claire turned and watched her. Meg’s jaw was tight and she stared at the wall. “Mercy? Who’s with him?. . Okay. Good. And Lowe?” She closed her eyes and rested her fist against the wall. “Right. I’ll call Grant. I want Lowe’s business and residence gone over with a fine-tooth comb.” Agent Elliott straightened, all business again. “Talk to everyone who even stepped through that bar. And-really? Get him on a plane ASAP. Protective custody or whatever the U.S. Attorney’s office thinks we can do. Arrest him if we can. He might be the only one who knows what’s going on.”

“What happened?” Claire asked when Meg Elliott shut her phone.

Expression hard, she said, “Frank Lowe was killed twenty minutes ago. One of my agents was shot and is in critical condition at Mercy.”

Claire involuntarily sucked in her breath. “Mitch?” she whispered.

“Steve Donovan. He’s going into surgery. But the professor you scared away yesterday? We just intercepted him outside La Guardia Airport in New York. We’re transporting him back. He’ll be here in the morning. And that information stays here, got it? I don’t want it leaking out that we have a witness in custody.”

“Witness to what?”

Meg said, “Mitch thinks that Collier is the last person-now that Lowe’s dead-who knows exactly what happened fifteen years ago. I want him alive.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Claire hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until urgent voices in the hall woke her. She opened her heavy eyes when the door whooshed open.

A federal agent stepped in. She didn’t recognize him, but he had his badge and ID clipped to his belt.

“Ms. O’Brien, I’m Special Agent Cliff Warren. I’ll be stationed outside your door clearing guests until you’re discharged.”

“That’s not necessary-”