She didn’t flinch from his sharpened scrutiny, but it surprised her to see a twitch at the corner of his wide mouth that was as close to a smile as she’d ever seen from him. “After that speech, you’re beginning to.”

Drex chose then to return. He opened the passenger door and slid in. “It’s really starting to come down. Did I miss anything?”

Talia glanced at Mike, then shook her head no.

Mike asked Drex if Locke had called him back yet. “No, but he probably—”

All three of them nearly jumped out of their skins when someone rushed up to the passenger side of the car and knocked hard on the window. Menundez was looking in on them, his face a rain-streaked grimace.

Drex opened the door. “How’d you know where we were?”

“Locke sent me to get you.”

Drex already had one leg out of the car. “What did you find?”

“Lewis.”

Drex froze. “What? Gif?”

Menundez shot a look toward Talia, another toward Mike, before coming back to Drex. “The ambulance just left with him.”

Chapter 31

Speaking in stops and starts, Menundez told them that Gif had been discovered lying on the pavement. “He was in excruciating pain. Couldn’t talk. Barely able to breath. Somebody called 911. By the time emergency services arrived, he was unconscious.”

Drex grabbed the detective by the collar and all but hauled him into the car.

“Was he still alive?”

“I don’t know. I swear, I don’t.”

“What happened to him?”

“Nobody knows. He was in the middle of a crowd. Just dropped. People around him thought maybe a heart attack or stroke. Locke stayed to question them. Sent me to tell you.”

“Thanks.”

Talia already had the motor running. As soon as Drex released his hold on Menundez, she peeled out of the parking space, leaving the detective where he stood.

She navigated the streets of downtown in the direction of University Hospital ER, where Menundez had told them Gif was being taken. She made only one wrong turn, going the wrong way down a one-way street. She dodged oncoming motorists who flashed their brights and honked, but she didn’t ease up on the accelerator.

In the passenger seat, Drex was beside himself, taking all the blame for letting Gif go alone. She dropped him at the entrance to the ER. He bolted from the car and ran inside while she and Mike went in search of parking.

By the time they caught up with Drex, he was threatening the personnel at the admissions desk with demolition of the hospital if they didn’t inform him of his friend’s condition.

“At least tell me how seriously he was injured,” he shouted at the woman, who must have been the one in charge. “Was he shot? Stabbed? Bleeding? What?”

Unfazed, she said, “There’s nothing I can tell you, sir. You’re welcome to take a seat in the waiting—”

“I’m not taking a seat!”

Talia and Mike flanked him, each hooking an arm through his and pulling him away. They wrestled him toward the waiting area where Mike pushed him into a chair and told him to get a grip.

“You’re not the only one upset, you know. Losing it isn’t helping.”

Drex told him to back the eff off, then planted his elbows on his knees and buried his face his hands.

“Keep an eye on him,” Mike said to Talia. “My badge will make that harpy more accommodating.”

“Hold on.” She caught him by the sleeve. “Flashing your badge might draw unwelcome attention to us.”

She’d become aware of other people in the waiting area, who had diverted their attention from cell phones, magazines, and pamphlets about miracle drugs, and were now observing them with avid interest, as though the personal drama that had brought them to the ER tonight paled in comparison to Drex’s.

Mike’s glower made most go back to what they’d been doing.

Talia crouched in front of Drex and placed her hand on his knee. “Drex, do you still have my cell phone and the battery with you?”

He raised his head and looked at her as though she were speaking in tongues. When the words registered, he nodded. “Why?”

“Put the battery in.” When he started shaking his head, she pressed his knee. “One call, then you can take it out again. Trust me. I’ve got this.”

Either he did place his trust in her or he was too worried over Gif to argue, but he began doing as she asked. She left him under Mike’s watch and returned to the admissions desk.

The woman took her sweet time sorting through a stack of forms, then, without even looking up from her task, said, “Yes?”

“Is Dr. Phillips in the hospital tonight? Andrew Phillips.”

She looked up then. “He’s chief of surgery.”

“I know. Would it be possible for you to get a message to either him or his assistant?”

She sputtered as though Talia had told a good one. “I don’t think so.”

“I see. Well, thank you.” She gave her a pleasant smile. “I’ll call Margaret.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mrs. Andrew Phillips.” Talia held her gaze. “Or, so I don’t have to disturb her, if you think it’s possible to reach someone on Dr. Phillips’s staff, please ask them to call me. My name is Talia Shafer.”

The woman shifted her stance as though her shoes had suddenly become too tight. “Like the children’s foundation?”

“Exactly like that. Margaret serves on our board.”

The woman thought it over, then, “What’s your phone number?”

Talia recited it; the woman wrote it down. “Please convey that I’m in the ER waiting room, and that I’m very anxious to know the condition of a patient named Gif Lewis.”

The woman gave her a sulky nod.

Talia returned to Drex. She sat in the chair beside his, took her phone from his listless hand, and checked to see that he’d restored the battery and turned it on. “We should know something soon.”

“Your approach must’ve been more diplomatic than mine.”

“I didn’t use diplomacy. I pulled strings.”

She could tell that he wasn’t really engaged in what they were saying to each other. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes bleak, haunted. She placed her hand in his, sliding her palm against his, then linking their fingers. They didn’t talk.

Across from them in a facing row of chairs, Mike was overflowing the seat of his, but he looked stalwart. Talia found herself judging him less harshly. He was a disagreeable grump, but a levelheaded and reliable friend. His outward display of worry was more contained than Drex’s, but she could tell that it was just as deeply felt.

At one point, Drex looked over at him and said hoarsely, “Jesus, Mike.”

“I know.”

“I’m wishing for a heart attack.”

Mike confessed that he was, too. “They’re survivable.”

After that, they lapsed into a somber silence, stirring only when a stout man, dressed in scrubs and sporting a white beard, pushed through a door and strode into the waiting area with the bearing of a commanding general. Or a chief surgeon at a major teaching hospital.