She could still see how Boyd had looked when they had wheeled him out to the ambulance. For one horrible moment, she'd been afraid he was dead. So white, so still.
But he was alive. Althea had told her. He'd lost a lot of blood, but he was alive.
Now he was in surgery, fighting to stay that way. And she could only wait.
Althea watched her pace. For herself, she preferred to sit, to gather her resources and hold steady. She had her own visions to contend with. The jolt when Cilia's voice had broken into the music. The race from the precinct to the radio station. The sight of her partner kneeling on the floor, struggling to hold his weapon. He had fired only an instant before her.
She'd been too late. She would have to live with that.
Now her partner, her friend, her family, was lying on an operating table. And she was helpless.
Rising, Deborah walked across the room to put an arm around her sister. Cilia stopped pacing long enough to stare out the window.
"Why don't you lie down?" Deborah suggested.
"No, I can't."
"You don't have to sleep. You could just stretch out on the couch over there."
Cilia shook her head. "So many things are going through my mind, you know? The way he'd just sit there and grin after he'd gotten me mad. How he'd settle down in the corner of the booth with a book. The calm way he'd boss me around. I spent most of my time trying to push him away, but I didn't push hard enough. And now he's—"
"You can't blame yourself for this."
"I don't know who to blame." She looked up at the clock. How could the minutes go by so slowly? "I can't really think about that now. The cause isn't nearly as important as the effect."
"He wouldn't want you to take this on, Cilia."
She nearly smiled. "I haven't made a habit of doing what he wanted. He saved my life, Deb. How can I stand it if the price of that is his?"
There seemed to be no comfort she could offer. "If you won't lie down, how about some coffee?"
"Sure. Thanks."
She crossed to a pot of stale coffee resting on a hot plate. When Althea joined her, Deborah poured a second cup.
"How's she holding up?" Althea asked.
"By a thread." Deborah rubbed her gritty eyes before she turned to Althea. "She's blaming herself." Studying Althea, she offered the coffee. "Do you blame her, too?"
Althea hesitated, bringing the coffee to her lips first. She'd long since stopped tasting it. She looked over to the woman still standing by the window. Cilia wore baggy jeans and Mark Harrison's tailored jacket. She wanted to blame Cilia, she realized. She wanted to blame her for involving Boyd past the point of wisdom. She wanted to blame her for being the catalyst that had set an already disturbed mind on the bloody path of revenge.
But she couldn't. Neither as a cop nor as a woman.
"No," she said with a sigh. "I don't blame her. She's only one of the victims here."
"Maybe you could tell her that." Deborah passed the second cup to Althea. "Maybe that's what she needs to hear."
It wasn't easy to approach Cilia. They hadn't spoken since they had come to the waiting room. In some strange way, Althea realized, they were rivals. They both loved the same man. In different ways, perhaps, and certainly on different levels, but the emotions were deep on both sides. It occurred to her that if there had been no emotion on Cilia's part, there would have been no resentment on hers. If she had remained an assignment, and only an assignment, Althea would never have felt the need to cast blame.
It seemed Boyd had not been the only one to lose his objectivity.
She stopped beside Cilia, stared at the same view of the dark studded with city lights. "Coffee?"
"Thanks." Cilia accepted the cup but didn't drink. "They're taking a long time."
"It shouldn't be much longer."
Cilia drew in a breath and her courage. "You saw the wound. Do you think he'll make it?"
I don't know. She almost said it. They both knew she'd thought it. "I'm counting on it."
"You told me once he was a good man. You were right. For a long time I was afraid to see that, but you were right." She turned to face Althea directly. "I don't expect you to believe me, but I would have done anything to keep him from being hurt."
"I do believe you. And you did what you could." Before Cilia could turn away again, Althea put a hand on her arm. "Opening your mike may have saved his life. I want you to think about that. With a wound as serious as Boyd's, every second counted. With the broadcast, you gave us a fix on the situation, so there was an ambulance on the scene almost as quickly as we were. If Boyd makes it, it's partially due to your presence of mind. I want you to think about that."
"Billy only went after him because of me. I have to think about that, as well."
"You're trying to logic out an irrational situation. It won't work." The sympathy vanished from her voice. "If you want to start passing out blame, how about John McGillis? It was his fantasy that lit the fuse. How about the system that allowed someone like Billy Lomus to bounce from foster home to foster home so that he never knew what it was like to feel loved or wanted by anyone but a young, troubled boy? You could blame Mark for not checking Billy's references closely enough. Or Boyd and me for not making the connection quicker. There's plenty of blame to pass around, Cilia. We're all just going to have to live with our share."
"It doesn't really matter, does it? No matter who's at fault, it's still Boyd's life on the line."
"Detective Grayson?"
Althea snapped to attention. The doctor who entered was still in surgical greens damped down the front with sweat. She tried to judge his eyes first. They were a clear and quiet gray and told her nothing.
"I'm Grayson."
His brow lifted slightly. It wasn't often you met a police detective who looked as though she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "Dr. Winthrop, chief of surgery."
"You operated on Boyd, Boyd Fletcher?"
"That's right. He's your partner?"
"Yes." Without conscious thought on either side, Althea and Cilia clasped hands. "Can you tell us how he is?"
"I can tell you he's a lucky man," Winthrop said. "If the knife had gone a few inches either way, he wouldn't have had a chance. As it is, he's still critical, but the prognosis is good."
"He's alive." Cilia finally managed to force the words out. "Yes." Winthrop turned to her. "I'm sorry, are you a relative?"
"No, I… No."
"Miss O'Roarke is the first person Boyd will want to see when he wakes up." Althea gave Cilia's hand a quick squeeze. "His family's been notified, but they were in Europe and won't be here for several hours yet."
"I see. He'll be done in Recovery shortly. Then we'll transfer him to ICU. O'Roarke," he said suddenly. "Of course. My son's a big fan." He lifted her bandaged hand gently. "I've already heard the story. If you were my patient, you'd be sedated and in bed."
"I'm fine."
Frowning, he studied her pupils. "To put it in unprofessional terms, not by a long shot." His gaze skimmed down the long scratch on her throat. "You've had a bad shock, Miss O'Roarke. Is there someone who can drive you home?"
"I'm not going home until I see Boyd."
"Five minutes, once he's settled in ICU. Only five. I can guarantee he won't be awake for at least eight hours."
"Thank you." If he thought she would settle for five minutes, he was very much mistaken.
"Someone will come by to let you know when you can go down." He walked out rubbing the small of his back and thinking about a hot meal.
"I need to call the captain." It infuriated Althea that she was close to tears. "I'd appreciate it if you'd come back for me after you've seen him. I'd like a moment with him myself."
"Yes, of course. Thea." Letting her emotions rule, Cilia wrapped her arms around Althea. The tears didn't seem to matter. Nor did pride. They clung together and held on to hope. They didn't speak.
They didn't have to. When they separated, Althea walked away to call h
er captain. Cilia turned blindly to the window.
"He's going to be okay," Deborah murmured beside her.
"I know." She closed her eyes. She did know. The dull edge of fear was gone. "I just need to see him, Deb. I need to see him for myself."
"Have you told him you love him?"
She shook her head.
"Now might be a good time."
"I was afraid I wouldn't get the chance, and now… I don't know."
"Only a fool would turn her back on something so special."
"Or a coward." Cilia pressed her fingers to her lips. "Tonight, all night, I've been half out of my mind thinking he might die. Line of duty." She turned to face her sister. "In the line of duty, Deborah. If I let myself go, if I don't turn my back, how many other times might I stand here wondering if he'll live or die?"
"Cilia—"
"Or open the door one day and have his captain standing there, waiting to tell me that he was already gone, the way Mom's captain came to the door that day."
"You can't live your life waiting for the worst, Cilia. You have to live it hoping for the best."
"I'm not sure I can." Weary, she dragged her hands through her hair. "I'm not sure of anything right now except that he's alive."
"Miss O'Roarke?" Both Cilia and Deborah turned toward the nurse. "Dr. Winthrop said to bring you to ICU."
"Thank you."
Her heart hammered in her ears as she followed the nurse toward the corridor. Her mouth was dry, and her palms were damp. She tried to ignore the machines and monitors as they passed through the double doors into Intensive Care. She wanted to concentrate on Boyd.
He was still so white. His face was as colorless as the sheet that covered him. The machines blipped and hummed. A good sound, she tried to tell herself. It meant he was alive. Only resting.
Tentatively she reached out to brush at his hair. It was so warm and soft. As was his skin when she traced the back of her knuckles over his cheek.
"It's all over now," she said quietly. "All you have to do is rest and get better." Desperate for the contact, she took his limp hand in hers, then pressed it to her lips. "I'm going to stay as close as they'll let me. I promise." It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. She brushed her lips over his hair, his cheek, his mouth. "I'll be here when you wake up."
She kept her word. Despite Deborah's arguments, she spent the rest of the night on the couch in the waiting room. Every hour they allowed her five minutes with him. Every hour she woke and took what she was given.
He didn't stir.
Dawn broke, shedding pale, rosy light through the window. The shifts changed. Cilia sipped coffee and watched the night staff leave for home. New sounds began. The clatter of the rolling tray as breakfast was served. Bright morning voices replaced the hushed tones of night. Checking her watch, she set the coffee aside and walked out to sit on a bench near the doors of ICU. It was almost time for her hourly visit.
While she waited to be cleared, a group of three hurried down the hall. The man was tall, with a shock of gray hair and a lean, almost cadaverous face. Beside him was a trim woman, her blond hair ruffled, her suit wrinkled. They were clutching hands. Walking with them was another woman. The daughter, Cilia thought with dazed weariness. She had her father's build and her mother's face.
There was panic in her eyes. Even through the fatigue Cilia saw it and recognized it. Beautiful eyes. Dark green, just like… Boyd's.
"Boyd Fletcher," the younger woman said to the nurse. "We're his family. They told us we could see him."
The nurse checked her list. "I'll take you. Only two at a time, please."
"You go." Boyd's sister turned to her parents. "I'll wait right here."
Cilia wanted to speak, but as the woman sat on the opposite end of the bench she could only sit, clutching her hands together.
What could she say to them? To any of them? Even as she searched for words, Boyd's sister leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes.
Ten minutes later, the Fletchers came out again. There were lines of strain around the woman's eyes, but they were dry. Her hand was still gripping her husband's.
"Natalie." She touched her daughter's shoulder. "He's awake. Groggy, but awake. He recognized us." She beamed a smile at her husband. "He wanted to know what the hell we were doing here when we were supposed to be in Paris." Her eyes filled then, and she groped impatiently for a handkerchief. "The doctor's looking at him now, but you can see him in a few minutes."
Natalie slipped an arm around her mother's waist, then her father's. "So what were we worried about?"
"I still want to know exactly what happened." Boyd's father shot a grim look at the double doors. "Boyd's captain has some explaining to do."
"We'll get the whole story," his wife said soothingly. "Let's just take a few minutes to be grateful it wasn't worse." She dropped the handkerchief back in her purse. "When he was coming around, he asked for someone named Cilia. That's not his partner's name. I don't believe we know a Cilia."
Though her legs had turned to jelly, Cilia rose. "I'm Cilia." Three pairs of eyes fixed on her. "I'm sorry," she managed. "Boyd was… he was hurt because… he was protecting me. I'm sorry," she said again.
"Excuse me." The nurse stood by the double doors again. "Detective Fletcher insists on seeing you, Miss O'Roarke. He's becoming agitated."
"I'll go with you." Taking charge, Natalie steered Cilia through the doors.
Boyd's eyes were closed again, but he wasn't asleep. He was concentrating on reviving the strength he'd lost in arguing with the doctor. But he knew the moment she entered the room, even before she laid a tentative hand on his. He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Hi, Slick." She made herself smile. "How's it going?"
"You're okay." He hadn't been sure. The last clear memory was of Billy holding the knife and Cilia struggling.
"I'm fine." Deliberately she put her bandaged hand behind her back. Natalie noted the gesture with a frown. "You're the one hooked up to machines." Though her voice was brisk, the hand that brushed over his cheek was infinitely tender. "I've seen you looking better, Fletcher."
He linked his fingers with hers. "I've felt better."
"You saved my life." She struggled to keep it light, keep it easy. "I guess I owe you."
"Damn right." He wanted to touch her, but his arms felt like lead. "When are you going to pay up?"
"We'll talk about it. Your sister's here." She glanced across the bed at Natalie.
Natalie leaned down and pressed a kiss to his brow. "You jerk."
"It's nice to see you, too."
"You just couldn't be a pushy, uncomplicated business shark, could you?"
"No." He smiled and nearly floated off again. "But you make a great one. Try to keep them from worrying."
She sighed a little as she thought of their parents. "You don't ask for much."
"I'm doing okay. Just keep telling them that. You met Cilia."
Natalie's gaze skimmed up, measuring. "Yes, we met. Just now."
"Make her get the hell out of here." Natalie saw the shocked hurt in Cilia's eyes, saw her fingers tighten convulsively on the bedguard.
"She doesn't have to make me go." With her last scrap of pride, she lifted her chin. "If you don't want me around, I'll—"
"Don't be stupid," Boyd said in that mild, slightly irritated voice that made her want to weep. He looked back at his sister. "She's dead on her feet. Last night was rough. She's too stubborn to admit it, but she needs to go home and get some sleep."
"Ungrateful slob," Cilia managed. "Do you think you can order me around even when you're flat on your back?"
"Yeah. Give me a kiss."
"If I didn't feel sorry for you, I'd make you beg." She leaned close to touch her lips to his. At the moment of contact she realized with a new panic that she was going to break down. "Since you want me to clear out, I will. I've got a show to prep for."
"Hey, O'Roarke."
She got enough of a grip on co
ntrol to look over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"Come back soon."
"Well, well…" Natalie murmured as Cilia hurried away.
"Well, well…" her brother echoed. He simply could not keep his eyes open another moment. "She's terrific, isn't she?"
"I suppose she must be."
"As soon as I can stay awake for more than an hour at a time, I'm going to marry her."
"I see. Maybe you should wait until you can actually stand up for an hour at a time."
"I'll think about it. Nat." He found her hand again. "It is good to see you."
"You bet," she said as he fell asleep.
Cilia was almost running when she hit the double doors. She didn't pause, not even when Boyd's parents both rose from the bench. As her breath hitched and her eyes filled, she hurried down the hall and stumbled into the ladies' room.
Natalie found her there ten minutes later, curled up in a corner, sobbing wretchedly. Saying nothing, Natalie pulled out a handful of paper towels. She dampened a few, then walked over to crouch in front of Cilia.
"Here you go."
"I hate to do this," Cilia said between sobbing breaths.
"Me too." Natalie wiped her own eyes, and then, without a thought to her seven-hundred-dollar suit, sat on the floor. "The doctor said they'd probably move him to a regular room by tomorrow. They're hoping to downgrade his condition from critical to serious by this afternoon."
"That's good." Cilia covered her face with the cool, wet towel. "Don't tell him I cried."
"All right."
There was silence between them as each worked on control.
"I guess you'd like to know everything that happened," Cilia said at length.
"Yes, but it can wait. I think Boyd had a point when he told you to go home and get some sleep."
With very little effort she could have stretched out on the cool tile floor and winked out like a light. "Maybe."
"I'll give you a lift."
"No, thanks. I'll call a cab."
"I'll give you a lift," Natalie repeated, and rose.
Lowering the towel, Cilia studied her. "You're a lot like him, aren't you?"
Books by Nora Roberts Page 365