Backfire

54

Sherlock was tapping her fingers. Why in heaven did everything take so long in a hospital? Well, okay, so she’d been sitting here in the patient waiting area only about ten minutes, but still. Where was a nurse, or the tech to wheel her in and get this business over and done?

She didn’t even need another brain scan. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t include an injection. Her head was aching again, a slow series of dull thuds. She wanted to get out of here; she wanted to be able to kiss Dillon silly and hug Sean to her, have him pat her shoulder and ask her to play a computer game with him that it would be her responsibility to lose with dignity and guile.

Deputy Ray Rozan stood near the radiology waiting room door, his eyes always on the move, studying anyone for the slightest interest in coming within six feet of her. He was on edge, all the guards were, what with two maniacs out there. But it wasn’t Xu, it was the other unknown man that scared him. They had only a sketch and a description of him: slender build, an American, maybe older, but no one was really sure. Whatever his age, he’d been capable of that mad spree in the elevator on Saturday.

Ray looked over at Sherlock, knew she wanted nothing more than to go home. He watched her pull her cell phone out of the pocket of a dark blue bathrobe with lots of dog hair on it that Savich had brought in for her along with her cell. He’d heard Savich had returned the previous night to sleep on a cot not two feet from her hospital bed. Rozan wondered if he’d told her why he’d been called away. He probably hadn’t, since she didn’t look upset, only a bit anxious. And hurting a little, too, from the fixed expression in her eyes. Her hair looked better without the blood-a soft riot of curls now, so thick it nearly covered the small bandage over the head wound. It was hard to imagine the person in that bathrobe tackling Xu and bringing him down.

“You want me to go see what’s holding up these yahoos, Sherlock?”

She glanced down at her watch. “We can give them another couple of minutes. We’ll make it fifteen minutes, tops. I think I’ll call Dillon, see what’s happened.”

Rozan said it aloud: “Xu killed a physician, the one who treated him.”

She nodded. “Yes, I was told.” She closed her eyes against the stark knowledge of it. She’d been so close, she thought. She’d had Xu flat on his face against the sidewalk. If only she’d had time to get the other cuff on him. If only.

“We’re ready for your test now, Agent Sherlock.” Sherlock looked up to see a tall, lanky tech standing beside Deputy Rozan, wearing scrubs, a mask over his nose, green booties on his feet. He had a sheaf of papers in his gloved hand.

Deputy Rozan said, “I need to see your ID.”

The man turned, clearly startled. “Are you her husband, sir?”

“No, I’m Deputy Rozan. She’s in my care. Show me your ID, please.”

“Well, you can see my name tag, and here are the orders for Agent Sherlock’s CT scan, signed by Dr. Kardak.”

“Why don’t you have a hospital ID?”

“It’s in my locker. I usually wear it, but no one ever asks for it.”

“Then show me your driver’s license.”

Savich burst into the waiting room, saw the tech, masked, standing too close to Rozan, and raised his SIG. “Get back and drop to your knees!”

The man dropped Sherlock’s chart and fell to his knees on the floor. Savich, panting hard from running, stood over him.

The man looked up at him, obviously terrified. “Who are you? What did I do?”

Rozan said, “He didn’t have his hospital ID, and I’d just asked him for his driver’s license when you, ah, came in, Agent Savich.”

“Lose the mask,” Savich said.

The man pulled the ties loose. The mask fell off his face. “My name’s Terry Lempert; see, my name’s on my name tag. Why are you pointing that gun at me?”

Savich put his SIG back in his waist holster.

A nurse came to the door. “What’s going on here? Goodness, Terry, what did you do now?”

Sherlock said calmly, “Officer Rozan is my guard, and this is my husband. I guess you’d say he’s part of the guard detail for me. He thought this man was a threat to me. Do you know him? Can you verify he’s supposed to be here? To take me in for a CT scan?”

The nurse looked toward Rozan.

“Yes,” Rozan said. “Can you identify this man for us?”

She said, “I’ve known him for nearly ten years. It’s Terry Lempert. He’s been known to flirt with pretty patients, though, and I thought he’d gone over the top this time.” She watched the husband pull Terry to his feet.

“Very funny, Kaitlyn,” Terry said, dusting off his knees. “I wasn’t doing anything, really.”

Savich said, “Sorry, Mr. Lempert. You really should consider wearing your ID, given all that’s happened here the past week.”

Lempert said, “Yeah, oh, yes, right. You nearly made me mess myself.”

“He didn’t shoot you,” Officer Rozan said, and smiled, shook Lempert’s hand. “You’ll be fine. You did good.”

Savich walked to where Sherlock sat smiling, of all things, in her wheelchair. She laid her hand on his arm. “My hero.”

“Terry, go get your ID. Then you can take over Jonah’s case in room three. Jonah can deal with Agent Sherlock. Next time, don’t wear a mask when you fetch a patient. I’ve told you it freaks them out.” She shot a look at Savich. “And their husbands.”

Savich rested one hand lightly on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sorry, Terry,” he said. “But if anything happened to Sherlock, I’d lose my job.”

Terry was very pleased to take over Jonah’s case, even if it was a ninety-year-old curmudgeon from Fresno who did nothing but cuss at him.