Will guessed the first gunshot had been fired less than five minutes ago. By his calculations, that was pretty good response time.

He asked, “Did you get a look at them?”

She shook her head. “I suppose we should be looking for someone with drive-by experience.”

She was right about the shots. Nailing someone in the head, twice, from a moving vehicle, even at a short distance, was not something you got lucky at. It took practice, and obviously Castillo’s killer hadn’t worried about missing.

Will asked, “Why didn’t they shoot you?”

“Are you complaining or asking a question?” Amanda rubbed something off her arm. She looked down at Castillo. “I guess we’re down to two now. At least our odds are getting better.”

She was talking about the fingerprints found at Evelyn’s house. “It’s three.”

She shook her head, still looking down at the corpse.

He counted it out on his fingers. “Evelyn killed Hironobu Kwon. Faith took care of Ricardo Ortiz and Benny Choo. Marcellus Estevez died at Grady, and Juan Castillo here makes five.” She didn’t say anything. He worried about his math. “Eight sets of prints at Evelyn’s house minus five dead guys equals three.”

She watched the squad cars speeding down the road. “Two,” she told him. “One tried to kill Sara Linton an hour ago.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DALE DUGAN RUSHED INTO THE DOCTORS’ LOUNGE. “I CAME as soon as they let me.”

Sara closed her eyes as she shut her locker. She had spent nearly two hours going over her statement with the Atlanta police. Then the hospital administration had swarmed around her for another hour, ostensibly to help, but Sara had quickly realized that they were more concerned that they would be sued. Once she’d signed a paper absolving them of all responsibility, they left as quickly as they had arrived.

Dale asked, “Can I get you anything?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“Can I drive you home?”

“Dale, I—” The door slammed open. Will stood there, a panicked look on his face.

For a few suspended seconds, nothing mattered anymore. Sara was blind to everything else in the room. Her peripheral vision was gone. Everything tunneled to Will. She didn’t see Dale leave. She didn’t hear the constant throng of ambulance sirens and ringing phones and screaming patients.

She just saw Will.

He let the door close, but didn’t move toward her. There was sweat on his brow. His breath was labored. She didn’t know what to say to him, what to do. She just stood there staring at him as if this was another ordinary day.

He asked, “Is that a new outfit?”

She laughed, the sound getting caught in her throat. She’d changed into scrubs. Her clothes were in police evidence.

The corner of his mouth went up in a forced smile. “It brings out the green in your eyes.”

Sara bit her lip to keep tears from falling. She had wanted to call him as soon as it happened. Her cell phone had been in her hands, his number up on the screen, but she had tucked the phone into her purse because Sara knew if she saw Will before she was ready, she would shatter like a delicate piece of china.

Amanda Wagner knocked as she entered the room. “I hate to interrupt, Dr. Linton, but could we have a word with you?”

Anger flashed across Will’s face. “She doesn’t—”

“It’s all right,” Sara interrupted. “There’s not much that I can tell you.”

Amanda smiled as if this was some sort of social gathering. “Anything at all would be appreciated.”

Sara had talked about it so much over the last few hours that she recited the events as if by rote. She gave them the abbreviated version of her statement, not going into a detailed description of the female junkie, which, on paper, had sounded like every junkie Sara had ever seen. Nor did she describe the trash around the Dumpster or the EMTs, or list the procedures she followed. She cut to what mattered: the young man who’d peered at her from behind the curtain. He had punched her in the chest. He had shot her patient twice in the head. He was thin, Caucasian, mid-to-late twenties and wearing a black warm-up jacket and baseball cap. In the short time that elapsed between her first sight of him and his death, he had not uttered one word. The only sound she’d heard was a grunt, and then the air whistling from his neck as his breath seeped out.

She finished, “His hand was gripped around my hand. I couldn’t stop it. He’s dead. They’re both dead.”

Will seemed to have trouble speaking. “He hurt you.”

Sara could only nod, but her mind conjured the image she had seen in the bathroom mirror: an oblong, ugly bruise over her right breast where the man had punched her.

Will cleared his throat. “All right. Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Linton. I know you probably want to get home.” He turned to leave, but Amanda made no move to follow.

“Dr. Linton, I noticed a soda machine in the waiting room. Would you like something to drink?”

Sara was taken off guard. “I’m—”

“Will, could you get a Diet Sprite for me and—I’m sorry, Dr. Linton. What did you want?”

Will’s jaw tightened like a ratchet. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that Amanda was trying to get her alone, just like Sara knew that Amanda wouldn’t give up until she got what she wanted. She tried to make this easier for Will, saying, “A Coke would be nice.”

He didn’t give in that easy. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He wasn’t happy, but he left the room.

Amanda checked the hallway, making sure Will was gone. She turned back to Sara. “I’m rooting for you, you know.”

Sara didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

“Will,” she explained. “He’s got one too many bitches in his life, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Sara was in no mood to joke. “What do you want, Amanda?”

She got to the point. “The bodies are still downstairs in the morgue. I need you to examine them and give me your professional opinion.” She added, “A coroner’s opinion.”

Sara felt a cold chill at the thought of seeing the man again. Every time she blinked, she could see his expressionless face hovering over her. She couldn’t grip her hand without feeling his fingers wrapped around her own. “I can’t cut them open.”

“No, but you can answer some questions for me.”

“Such as?”

“Drug use, gang affiliations, and whether or not one of them has a stomach full of heroin.”

“Like Ricardo.”

“Yes, like Ricardo.”

Sara didn’t give herself time to think about the request. “All right. I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Will was back. He must’ve run the entire way. He was out of breath again. He held two sodas in one hand.

“There you are,” Amanda said, as if she was surprised to see him. “We were about to go down to the morgue.”

Will looked at Sara. “No.”

“I want to do this,” Sara insisted, though she was not sure why. For the last three hours, all she could think about was going home. Now that Will was here, the thought of returning to her empty apartment was unimaginable.