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Chapter Four

“Vander. Vander.”

Someone was whispering and touching her softly. Kat opened her eyes, blinked heavily, and focused beyond her feet. Bright blooms of flowers saturated the room, and for a moment, she wondered what otherworldly place she was in. Oz perhaps?

“Hey,” a voice came from her left. It was Murphy. He smiled, and she did her best to return it.

She closed her eyes and tried to recall where she was and why. The shooting rushed back, and she opened her eyes, panicked.

“Damien?” She gripped Murph’s hand.

He squeezed. “He’s recovering. It was touch-and-go for a while, but he’s pulling through.” He nearly whispered the last part, and she knew he wasn’t telling her everything.

“Murph, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He breathed deeply and released her hand. “Nothing. He’s alive. You need to recover too.”

She stared him down with her best “don’t fuck with me” look, which usually left perps quivering in their boots. It usually worked on Murph too. But he was avoiding eye contact and rubbing his palms on his jeans. His firearm was on his hip, and the light blue polo he was wearing had darkened pools of sweat under his arms.

“It’s not hot in here,” she said.

He looked at her and took the bait. “No, it’s actually very comfortable.”

“Then why are you sweating like a rookie on his first day?”

Murph rose, crossed to the flowers, and looked at the notes. “You sure have a lot of people pulling for you. Praying for you. Damn near the whole county.”

“Murph.”

“And the food. Lord have mercy, the food. Margie and I have most of it, and a lot of the guys come by to check on you and to eat. I think I’ve gained ten pounds in the last few days alone.” He touched his belly and smiled at her, but this time she didn’t return it.

“Murph, what the hell is going on?”

“Doc says you’re about ready to go. So you can join me and get a little fat as you recover. Margie says you need it. Says you’re looking a little peaked. And I have to agree. You need to eat, bulk back up. All that muscle needs fuel, and with you losing all that blood and not eating the hospital food—”

“That’s it,” Kat said, throwing back the covers and slinging her legs over the bed. “I’m getting out of here.” She stood, winced at the pain, and remembered her shoulder. Her arm sat snug in a sling. She snapped at Murph, who was standing there, shell-shocked. “Hand me some clothes, will ya?”

He glanced around with a panicked look on his boyish face. Finally, he found a cabinet and retrieved a pile of folded clothes. He brought them to her and hitched his thumb.

“Margie brought them for you. Some of my sweat pants and old T-shirts.” When she didn’t respond he said, “I’m just going to go get a nurse or someone. I don’t think they’re ready for you to leave yet.”

“You won’t do any such thing.” She glared at him and he dropped his hand and swallowed. “You say anything to anybody and I’ll tell Margie about that hooker you have a thing for.”

His face went pale. “I don’t have a thing for her.”

“Please,” Kat said as she carefully pulled on a pair of sweatpants. “You blush redder than a thirteen-year-old boy caught with a porno mag when she talks to you.”

“I do not.”

Kat grinned. “Yeah, bud, you do. And we all know it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re all a bunch of dicks.”

She laughed. “Maybe. But we’ve got your number, Murph.” Murph was a softie and everyone knew it. He was often the brunt of a joke, but it was because they loved him and looked after him. And there was no one better at talking to vics than Murph. And smart…holy shit was he smart. She wouldn’t trade anyone for him, not in a million years.

She motioned for him to come closer. “Help me out of this sling and this gown.”

He took a step and hesitated. “I really think a nurse—”