“I’m sorry, but I had to go after him, Adam. That’s how he got into Thomas’s house, from the end of a very long oak branch; then he jumped onto the roof and managed to get the trapdoor open and made it into the attic. When I saw him going down to the end of the hall where those pull-down steps to the attic are, I knew he would escape. I just couldn’t let him do it. He got in that way, the chances were he’d get out. I had to stop him.” She paused a moment, looking inward. “Then he wanted to die. And he wanted me to die with him. But I didn’t. We won.” She kissed him again, and this time he managed to smile just a bit through the god-awful pain.

“Now, no more about it. I’ve done nothing but answer question after question for the FBI. Mr. Woodhouse keeps coming back again and again, but it’s mainly to see Dad, not for any more questions. Do you know what Savich is doing? He’s sitting in the waiting room, checking out churches on MAX to find one for us to get married in. He said he did that for another FBI agent who’d been shot, and sure enough, the other agent got married on the date and in the church that Savich picked. He said it was a special calling of his.”

“My folks?” Adam said. The pain was getting worse, that damned broken rib was digging into him like a sword, dragging him under, and he wanted to howl with it. The novelty of having himself distracted was losing its touch and wearing thin. But he knew he had to hold on, just a bit longer. He wanted to look at Becca, just look at her, hear her voice, perhaps have her kiss him again. He wanted her to kiss him all over, that would be very nice. He tried to smile up at her but it was a pathetic effort. Thank God she was safe. He wanted to lie very quietly and keep knowing that she was safe and she was here and that was her hand on his face.

“But Becca, I have to ask you to marry me before Savich can find a church. What if you say no?”

“You already sort of asked me when we were at your house. But I want the real words now. Ask me, Adam, and see what I say.”

“I hurt real bad but will you marry me? I love you, you know.”

“Yes, of course I will. I love you, too, more than even I can imagine. Now, Savich has already spoken to both your mother and your father. In fact, the last time I checked in, they were sitting on either side of him. Ah, I like them, Adam, very much. There are brothers and sisters and all sorts of second and third cousins coming in and out. They seem to be on some sort of rotation schedule. Oh yes, everyone is sticking his oar in about church locations and dates. I didn’t know you had such a large family.”

“Too large. They refuse to mind their own business. Always underfoot.” He coughed and it hurt his rib so badly he thought he’d expire on the spot. He couldn’t control it any longer. The pain in his rib and in his arm was slicing right through him, pulling him down and down. He was going to sink under and never come up. Then he heard the nurse say, “I’m going to give him some morphine. He’ll be okay in just a moment. I guess he forgot it was there. Then he needs to rest.” He hadn’t forgotten, he just knew he wouldn’t have been able even to push down the button because he was just too bloody weak. His arms were limp at his sides. He hated needles and there were two of them sticking out of his arms. Jesus, he was a mess but he’d be okay. Becca loved him. He said, his voice slurred, “I’m glad you love me. That makes two of us now.”

He thought he heard her laugh. He knew he felt her palm against his cheek.

And then he drifted away, the pain pulling back, like a monster’s fangs pulling out of his flesh, and it felt blessedly wonderful. Then he was asleep again, deeply asleep, and it was black and dreamless and there was nothing there to hurt him and that was a very good thing.

Becca slowly straightened over him.

The nurse smiled at her from the other side of his bed. “He’s doing great. Please don’t worry, we’re taking really good care of him. I hope he’ll sleep now. He should, since the pain has lightened up. You need to get some rest, too, Ms. Matlock.”

Becca gave Adam one last long look, a last kiss on his mouth, then walked out of his room, down the corridor to the small sitting room with two windows looking onto the parking lot, pale yellow walls dotted with Impressionist prints. That small room was filled with the latest batch of relatives. There was Adam’s mom, Georgia, playing with Sean, while Sherlock and Savich were laughing, taking turns announcing yet another church and yet another possible date for Becca and Adam’s wedding, only to have a boo from one relative who had to go salmon fishing in Alaska, or another who had to go to Italy on business, or yet another who had an appointment with her lawyer to cut her husband out of her will. On and on it went.