Ethan said, “She’s been improving steadily. Every single day, she’s better and better. Only a couple of minor setbacks, a fever that scared the spit out of us, but it passed quickly. Dr. Maddox came out of her room this morning and he was beaming and did a little skip.” Without thought, Ethan leaned over and touched his forehead to Joanna’s. “We are very, very lucky,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

Joanna gave them a brilliant smile. “Five very long days, but they’re in the past now. You should hear Nurse Elaine talk about her miracle.”

Ethan said, “We’ve seen some of the hoopla on TV about Victor Nesser. What’s happening?”

Sherlock said, “The media frenzy over Victor and Lissy is still playing itself out, mostly in the tabloids now, and a couple of the talking-head cable networks. More speculation than fact now, shrinks and legal analysts using it to get airtime. There’s been nothing new in the past day and a half to rev them up again, thank God.”

Joanna said, “We saw an interview with that bank security guard, Buzz Riley, on one of the major stations. He was something, a very funny man.”

Savich nodded. “Buzz called us after the show aired. He was pumped up, said he’d always wanted to be on TV, wondered if he’d get some calls from Hollywood.”

Joanna laughed. It sounded a bit rusty, but it was still a laugh, no shadows beneath it. “Do you know I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he made it into the next Die Hard movie, maybe as Willis’s newest sidekick?”

Ethan said, “He sure sang your praises, Savich, about what you did at the Georgetown bank.”

Savich said, “Buzz is very glad to be back home. He says water and sun are okay with him, but since no one could ever tell if he had a tan or not, why bother?” Savich shook his head, smiling.

Ethan rose, held up his hand. “All right, guys, don’t talk about the good stuff until I get back. I’m going to get us some drinks.”

Sherlock saw Joanna watch Ethan make his way to the buffet line along the back wall of the cafeteria. He turned and smiled brightly at them, gave Joanna a little wave.

It was hard for Joanna, Savich saw, to turn away from Ethan, but she finally managed it. She said, “Dillon, tell me first how your leg’s doing.”

He did exactly what he always did when he was hurt—he simply shrugged, said he was fine.

Joanna said, “All right, then, I can see you’re not the one to ask. So you tell me, Sherlock, how’s his leg?”

Sherlock said matter-of-factly, “The stitches come out in a couple of days. There wasn’t too much muscle damage, so Dillon limps less every day, needs fewer pain pills. The doctor said he could begin some gentle workouts the end of next week.”

“How’s Sean doing?”

“He saw his father moving around on crutches. Since Dillon made light of it, Sean wasn’t worried or scared about it. He decided it was cool. When Dillon graduated to a cane, Sean got himself a long stick and tried to walk like his father. He got his first taste of reporters a couple of days ago. They ambushed the three of us at Danby Park where we play Frisbee. Picture this, Dillon’s sitting under a tree watching me throw a Frisbee to Sean, then Sean throws the Frisbee to Astro, grinning at the reporters over his shoulder, and all those people with their microphones and cameras surround him, looking for a big dose of cute.” She smiled. “I fear Sean’s a ham. Like Buzz, he loved it. Like Buzz, he’s a natural.”

“I wanted to grab him up and limp away,” Savich said, “but to be honest about it, the crews were great with him. You don’t often see a rabid pack of newshounds charmed like that, but Sean did it. He made it on most every news station that evening, even on one of the major network stations.”

“Most of the ICU saw him,” Joanna said. “He was fantastic. I can’t wait for him to get together with Autumn.”

While Sherlock told them another Sean story, Savich thought about things. He realized that even his gut now accepted that Autumn would live. She would be herself again. But the other, her incredible gift—since she’d been shot, he’d picture her in his mind many times every day, but he couldn’t reach her. Nor had she called to him. It would be nice, he kept thinking, to speak to Autumn, no matter where she was, just to know how she was doing, what she’d done that day.

Would Autumn tell Sean about her gift? Would she be able to speak to Sean? Who knew? Sean was his son, after all. But the question now was, and he hated even to consider it, would she still have her ability at all?