mask, and gloves. A smock over her outer clothes. Booties over her shoes. There could be no part of her that was left exposed. No direct contact with him for the fifteen minutes they’d reluctantly given her. Her flesh could not touch his flesh.
Married three decades, and their flesh could not touch.
She looked down at his unconscious form, a large, fit man rendered so fragile in so incredibly short a time, tubes running into his nose from a mechanical ventilator, the pressurized air flowing into his lungs to keep them open, to force oxygen into them, prevent them from drowning in this body’s own fluids as he lay there, unable to breathe for himself.
She looked down at him now, looked down at him and wanted more than anything to remove the gloves from her hands, tear them off and soothe his brow, and knew she couldn‘t, couldn’t peel away the layers of plastic and rubber and synthetic fabric separating them.
But their hearts…
She inhaled through her mask and stepped closer to the bed.
Their hearts, she thought, would not be unjoined.
“Gord,” she said. “It’s me… Ashley…”
She heard the tremor in her voice and paused to control it.
“I know I look like a wrapped piece of fish, but trust me, I dressed up for you,” she said. “I’m wearing that blouse you always compliment, the blue silk one, underneath this miserable smock.”
His eyes remained closed. He did not move. The ventilator pumped breath into him.
“Hannah’s flying in from Connecticut today. I think she’s tired of Julia being the daughter who gets all your attention. Brian, he’s going to stay home from work to take care of the kids while she’s here. You should have trusted me all those years ago when I said he’d make good husband material….”
She brushed her gloved fingertips lightly over his cheek, a sterile contact that was the closest she could come to feeling him.
The ventilator pumped.
“The doctors, they’re really hustling to make you well, and trying to be nice to me in their doctorly way,” she said. “This morning I was introduced to a specialist… Eric Oh. He’s looking into your case, running tests, and thinks he might have an idea what’s wrong with you. He was asking me whether you might have come into contact with
Another pause.
“Well, I managed to calm myself without saying anything I’d live to regret, and decided it’s possible some field mice could have nested in our basement… or even been in Julia’s yard when you were working on the dog corral. So now they’re sending teams out to look around both our properties for droppings, I think they said.” She shrugged. “Mouse shit, honey, in my kitchen. Can you believe it? Maybe I
He did not move.
Not a flicker under his eyelids.
She listened to the ventilator pump.
“Oh, some good news,” she said.
She felt a sob well suddenly into her throat and clenched her teeth against it. Pushing it back down inside her. Banishing it.
“Anyway, back at the ranch, Megan and Pete and the crew are doing some sleuthing of their own. Trying to see if they can find somebody who might have passed you the bug. You know how they are, wanting to make everything right. I swear, they’d go to war with the universe for you. And I know Pete would turn red in the face if he ever heard me say this… Vince, too… oh God,
She became aware of movement behind her, turned to look over her shoulder.
A nurse. Signaling her from just inside the door.
Ashley nodded, held up a finger.
The nurse returned the nod and withdrew.
Ashley leaned forward over the bed.
“I’m getting the hook,” she said in a quiet voice. “They only give me a few minutes at a time. The doctors, that is. You know how they are. So before I forget to give you the
Ashley wiped her eyes with the back of her arm, breathed, heard the ventilator breathe for her husband.
Then she became aware of the nurse at the door again.
In silence, she touched a rubber glove to her heart, gently touched it to his heart, and straightened.
And slowly pulled herself away from him and turned to leave the room.
NINETEEN
Phil Hernandez, the chief countersnoop, was snagged to lead Nimec and Ricci into Palardy’s office minutes after Ricci returned from Sunnydale. Ashley Gordian had called with word of her husband’s rapid downturn and isolation, and the two Sword ops couldn’t afford to lose any time.
“You know anybody who fraternized with Palardy?” Nimec asked Hernandez. “Buddies from work, outside contacts, girlfriends…?”
Hernandez shook his head. He was a tautly built man in his late forties with graying hair, skin the color of sun-baked ocher, and intelligent brown eyes.
“Don kept to himself,” he said. “Didn’t even mention he used to be married till I noticed that snapshot over there and asked him about it.” He tipped his head toward a small picture frame on Palardy’s desk. The photo showed a plump woman with a nice face and lively smile crouched on a beach blanket with two small children. A boy and girl who might have been twins and were certainly very close in age. “Don told me he was divorced a few years ago. Wife took custody of the kids. I think she lives somewhere back East.” Another shake of his head, this time accompanied by a sigh. “Jesus, I suppose I’d better see if I can get her address from personnel, somebody’s got to notify his family.”
Ricci nodded. “If an asshole named VanDerwort gives you any flak—”
“VanDer
“You let us handle him,” Ricci said.
Ricci glanced around the room. It was a tiny, windowless cubicle as unremarkable as Palardy’s condominium had been. A computer workstation stood against one wall. On a credenza opposite it were a pair of headphones and some other sweep equipment, mostly minor accessories. Heavy-duty apparatus like the Big Sniffer were kept under electronic lock and key in a secure storage locker elsewhere on the floor.
Nimec was looking at Hernandez. “Did Palardy’s behavior seem at all unusual lately?”
“Far as his health?”
“That, or anything else. In your opinion.”
Hernandez thought a moment, then shrugged.
