Split Second

She heard Court say, “She came running in here, waving Dad’s Kel Tec and demanding to see mother—‘that whore,’ she called her. Mom finally had to tell her she’d cheated on Dad before she had Miranda. Mom begged for her forgiveness for not telling her, but Miranda was over the edge. She screamed Mom had ruined her life, stealing what was hers, making the ring useless to her, and then she shot Dad’s Kel Tec into the ceiling. And then she laughed, a horrible sound, not funny at all, that laugh. I think I’ll hear it the rest of my life. What did she mean? What has that idiot ring got to do with anything?”

Uncle Alan hadn’t moved. He stood statue-still, staring at his dead daughter and his wife rocking over her, her deep tearing cries filling the silent room.

Lucy said, “I’m very sorry, Uncle Alan.”

Alan Silverman shook his son’s hand off his shoulder and looked toward Lucy. “This is your fault; you brought all this death and pain to us, you and that godforsaken ring.” He walked to his wife, knelt beside her, and cradled her in his arms. Jennifer turned into him and wept.

Lucy couldn’t bear it. Tears streamed down her face. Ruth pulled her close, stroked her up and down her back, trying to calm her, and said over and over, “He’s overwhelmed with pain, Lucy. Of course it wasn’t your fault.”

Lucy clutched Ruth hard. She smelled death around her. She looked back to see Uncle Alan staring at her over his wife’s head, his face ravaged, tears streaming down his face.

Aunt Jennifer pulled back and looked up at her husband. “It isn’t Lucy’s fault, Alan. It’s mine, all of it. If only I hadn’t slept with that man, if only—this ring, why did it mean so much to her? I don’t understand.”

Jennifer leaned into her husband again, sobbing.

Lucy heard the front door crash open, heard men’s and women’s voices yelling, heard their wild footsteps.

And Ollie’s voice shouting, “Stop! All of you!”

She barely registered the voices swirling around her, some urgent, some weary, all of them were moving, doing their jobs. They weren’t looking at her, not like Uncle Alan was. They were looking at Miranda’s body.

CHAPTER 77

Washington, D.C.

Washington Memorial Hospital

Late Sunday night

Lucy laid her hand lightly on Coop’s shoulder while Dr. Rayburn probed the bullet wound in his side. She looked at the line of black stitches in his bruised flesh, the traces of blood that had oozed from between the black thread until Dr. Rayburn covered it with a fresh bandage. It scared her to her toes to think how very close it had come to penetrating his belly. If only she’d been outside with him when Kirsten had taken him—

Dr. Rayburn straightened, gave Coop a toothy grin. “There you go, Agent. Except for some lingering soreness, you’ll be good as new in a couple of days. Well, more like two weeks. You’re a lucky man. No exercise until the sutures are out in seven days, well, more like no exercise for three weeks, and try to keep off your feet for a couple of days. No, er, strenuous activity, either. Don’t want to pull those stitches apart.” He shot a look toward Lucy.

“Indeed not,” she said.

“What?” Coop asked.

Dr. Rayburn kept talking. “I’m happy to say the surgeon who saw you in that ER in North Carolina fixed you up fine—good, tight stitches, no signs of infection. Still, I’m glad you stopped here before heading on home, if only to be sure. You can see your own doctor tomorrow.”

“Nah, not tomorrow, I’ll give him a call on Tuesday. I feel fine, Doctor, thank you—”

“That’s the narcotics you’ve got on board talking, Coop.” Lucy patted his hand, and turned to Dr. Rayburn, who was no older than she was, bags under his eyes the size of carry-ons. “He’ll do exactly what you’ve said, not to worry. I’ve got him well in hand.”

“Only because I’m such a nice guy. But Lucy, we’ll have to discuss this strenuous-activity business.”

“Ah, are you both FBI agents?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“You guys married?”

“I barely know him,” Lucy said, kissed Coop’s cheek, and smiled at Dr. Rayburn.

Dr. Rayburn opened the curtain around the stretcher, shook hands with the waiting Savich and Sherlock on his way out, and then he was off in a fast walk, his white coat flapping.

Savich and Sherlock walked into the cubicle and examined Coop’s face. “Lucy’s right,” Savich said. “You’re happier now than you’ll be for a good two days. Lots of rest, Coop. I don’t want to see you at work until Wednesday.”