surgical bandages. He was breathing lightly and steadily, a relief, but his eyelids looked bruised, perhaps from when he’d fallen. Savich hated it.
The SFPD guard outside the cubicle had given them the stink eye before Lieutenant Trolley introduced them to Officer Jay Mancusso of the SFPD. Since only two visitors could go into the small cubicle at a time, Savich went in first to stand beside Molly. She didn’t look away from Ramsey, merely took Savich’s hand in hers and squeezed hard. “Thank you for coming so quickly. The Valium Cheney suggested the doctor give me—it’s magic stuff. It’s helped unparalyze my brain. I’m sorry I lost it when I called you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Savich said. “Ramsey’s breathing is solid and easy, Molly; that’s a good sign.”
Ramsey had told him once that Molly’s hair was as vibrant a red as a sunset off the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, and Ramsey was right. You’d think Ramsey was describing Sherlock’s hair, but it wasn’t the same color at all.
She turned into him, and he closed his arms around her. She felt fragile. It was odd, he thought, but Molly’s hair didn’t feel the same as Sherlock’s hair, and didn’t smell like her hair, either—it was jasmine he was smelling, jasmine mixed with lemon, not the faint rose scent of Sherlock’s. “He’ll make it, Molly,” he said against her hair. “He’ll make it. He’s strong and determined, and he wants to stay here with us.”
She pulled back in his arms and smiled up at him. “I think he will, too. But I’m so scared, Dillon. What if —”
“No what-ifs. Has he been awake at all?”
“In and out, mumbling words I can’t understand for the most part, then saying Emma’s name over and over. I think he’s remembering back to the time he found her unconscious in the forest near his cabin.”
“Has Cheney come in yet?”
“Yes, we spoke briefly. I told him what I could, which wasn’t much of anything at all, and he said he’d see me later today after Ramsey was awake and the doctors were satisfied he was going to be okay. I think he wanted to give me more time to consider who and why, but I can’t think of a single person who would want to kill him. Cheney told me about the Cahills and how Ramsey had postponed the trial and how that federal prosecutor was missing. Ramsey hadn’t said a word to me, but in all honesty, there wasn’t time.” She walked away from him, then turned, her hands fisted at her sides. “No, there was time, but damn him, he’s always trying to protect me. He knew something hinky was going on, and he kept it to himself. I will have to seriously consider hurting him for that.”
She picked up Ramsey’s limp hand. “He’s so strong,” she said, more to herself than to him, “so tough, always a rock, you know?” A beautiful man, she’d always thought, with his dark hair and brilliant dark eyes, and his laugh, his seductive laugh. “Can you believe we’ve been married for five years? Goodness, Emma’s eleven and the boys are three. The boys are scared, Dillon, they don’t understand.” Her voice hitched, then smoothed out again. “Emma’s taking care of them. She’s more their second mother than their older sister. The babysitter, Mrs. Hicks, is with them, too.” She raised wet eyes to Savich’s face. “They won’t let the boys come see him, Dillon, and that only makes them more scared.”
Ramsey moaned deep in his throat.
She leaned over him, lightly kissed his cheek. “Ramsey? You have a visitor. Come, wake up now.”
His eyes opened slowly, blind and empty of knowledge, but they cleared slowly and focused. Savich leaned close. “I’d rather we were fishing in Lake Tahoe and I was catching that four-pound trout and you weren’t.”
An attempt at a smile, but he didn’t quite make it. “I don’t remember it just like that.”
“Okay, I’ll give you the trout since you were the one who fried the sucker. It’s nice to have you here with us, either way.”
Ramsey whispered, “Molly?”
“I’m here,” she said, squeezing his hand.
Ramsey looked back at Dillon, and now his voice was stronger, some of the familiar steel sounding through. “I remember now, someone shot me.”
Molly said, “You were turning when I called out to you and someone shot you in the back.”
“I went down like a rock, lights out,” he said. He looked thoughtful. “I was shot once before in the leg—and, you know, wherever you’re shot, it doesn’t feel too good.” He closed his eyes against a vicious lick of pain. “My chest feels like it’s been flattened by an eighteen-wheeler.”
Savich put the morphine plunger in his hand. “Squeeze this, it’s your PLA, and it’ll cut the pain.”
Ramsey had never seen one before. He closed his eyes in gratitude and pressed the button. They both waited silently until he said, “That’s better already. I can control this if I don’t move too much.”
Savich said, “I’m glad you turned when you did. Do you know what direction the shot came from?”
Ramsey looked blank. “The direction? I suppose it had to be from the ocean. Someone in a boat? It’s hard to imagine someone firing at me from a boat, what with all the motion from the waves. That would take a professional, and still I can’t imagine it’d be a sure thing.”
Savich said, “Did you see a boat?”
Ramsey looked perfectly blank, not totally with them, and then pain hit him again, and he went stone silent.
Savich said, “You feel a little muddled, Ramsey, don’t worry about it. The important thing is you’re alive, and you’re going to get better every day.”
“The Cahills?”
“It’s possible. We’re checking.”
“I don’t know why, Savich. Do you?”
“We don’t know yet, either.”
“Have they found the prosecutor, Mickey O’Rourke?”
“Not yet.”
Molly lightly shoved Savich away when Ramsey’s eyes closed. She whispered next to his cheek, “I want you to think about healing yourself, Ramsey. Think about tossing me and Emma around on the mat—you need to get better to do that. And you need a shave.”
He managed a rictus of a grin.
ICU nurse Janine Holder said from the doorway, “I like the dark whiskers. They make him look tough and dangerous. Dr. Kardak is here to see you, Judge Hunt.”
Savich introduced himself, stepped back to let Dr. Kardak examine Ramsey. He was an older man, tall and thin as a whip handle, and he looked tired, like he’d gone ten rounds with death and just barely won.
When Dr. Kardak noticed Ramsey’s eyes on him, he said, “Ah, Judge Hunt, you’re awake and with us, excellent. My trauma team and I operated on you last night, and I’ve come to check how you’re doing.” Without waiting for an answer, he started to examine the IV lines and the fluid in contraptions Ramsey was tied to. All the while, he kept up a running monologue about what they had found at surgery, the broken ribs, the torn lung, the blood in the chest cavity, as if it were all business as usual and nothing to be worried about. When he at last listened to Ramsey’s chest and examined his dressings, he said, “You sound good, Judge Hunt. I’m hopeful your lung will stay fully expanded and that we can pull out the chest tube this weekend. You need it for now, but I know it can hurt like the dickens.”
When Dr. Kardak straightened, Savich asked him, “How close a thing was it, doctor?”
Dr. Kardak said, “Tough to say, but he got to us—a level-one trauma center—in what we call the golden hour.” He touched long, thin fingers to Ramsey’s pulse. “Your major risk was blood loss, Judge Hunt, and that’s behind you. You’re going to live. That’s not to say you’re going to be happy for a while, but it beats the alternative.”
“Amen,” Ramsey said. “Thank you.”
“Make full use of the morphine. We can give you something else if it doesn’t hold you.”
Ramsey pressed the button again. “Now that I know about this magic button, I’m thinking I’ll empty it pretty fast.”
Dr. Kardak said, “Not a problem. Three of us worked on you in the OR, Judge Hunt. Dr. Janes kept reminding us you were Judge Dredd and we’d be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town if you went down on our watch.” He gave Ramsey a fat smile, then turned to Molly and took her hands in his. “Your husband is strong and healthy, and, trust me, the team here is excellent. Try not to worry. Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. I heard your daughter play Bach’s
