"This isn't a Liberty Avenue peep show."

Kate watched his hands as they deftly cut through the stitches securing the drain. She winced as he pulled the drain out of her body in one swift movement and deposited it in the trash can. He stripped off his gloves and threw them in the trash as well before turning back to her.

"I wanted to talk to you more about what you said yesterday."

She looked up, hopeful that he and Bianchi had solved the mystery of her disappearing mind. "Oh that, I think you were right and it was only the stress of being here. I didn't have any dreams last night."

"I talked to the cardiologists about Mrs. Greenbaum."

Dread iced her veins. "It happened just like I said it would."

"Yeah, well." He was nonchalant, distant as if they weren't talking about an impossible feat. "I was wondering. Maybe you were remembering tracings you saw on her monitor? Things from earlier that got jumbled in your brain."

"Maybe," she hedged, wondering where he was going with this.

He was silent, lips pursed as if trying to break bad news to her. It was very clear he didn't believe in her visions.

"Dr. Bianchi thought it was the drugs, maybe," she said, hoping he would confirm the anesthesiologist's opinion. She cursed the monitor that beeped out her racing pulse, giving lie to the calm facade she was working to preserve.

Lightner didn't answer, wouldn't even allow her the small comfort of that dim hope, but instead patted her on the shoulder. "I think you're going to be fine. I've got to get to the OR."

Kate watched him leave, more frustrated than ever. Why was he so distant today? Had he finally decided she was crazy, brain damaged, beyond help? Who could blame him?

But her visions, they were so real. What if she could see the future?

A cold sweat broke out over her. She shivered, pulled the sheet up and snugged it close. In her visions, she'd seen Rob's killer, her blood on his hands. She gagged against the sudden taste of copper. Would that come true as well?

Later that morning, they moved Kate upstairs to the regular floor. What a difference it made having walls instead of merely a flimsy curtain between her and the next person. No nurses keeping her under constant surveillance. She was still on an oxygen monitor and was tied to the bed by her various tubes and catheters, but she was blessedly alone.

Not for long. Before she could do more than appreciate her view of the parking lot, two bulky male figures crowded through the doorway.

"Aren't you ready to spring this place yet, O'Hern?" Phil Conrad asked with a forced grin.

"Nice to see you too, Sarge." Both men wore dress blues, wide black bands encircling their arms. "Is the funeral today, then?"

Conrad and Hernandez looked at each other. "We just came from there," Juan finally said.

Kate closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how Rob had joked with her. Right before he got shot. "How are Jenn and the kids?"

"Jenn took it pretty tough," Conrad said. "But she did okay. Came to the funeral alone, though. Said she wouldn't put her babies through that even if it was tradition. Said she didn't want that to be their last memory of their dad."

Kate felt guilty about lying here in this nice comfortable bed. Damn it, it was her job to be there for Rob's family right now, to help them through this awful thing. Her partner's family, they were her family as well. Even Turner, the old goat.

They were all silent for a moment. Cops never spoke of it, but they shared a feeling of invulnerability that came with wearing the uniform. They had to or none of them could venture out to face the streets.

Juan cleared his throat. "The rest of the guys say hi. They would've come but they're real strict about visitors around here."

"Yeah, I know. Almost didn't let Carter in yesterday while I was still in intensive. Any leads on the shooter?"

They both looked away. Juan changed the subject. "So how are you feeling?"

"They'll probably let me out in a few days, once I don't need the oxygen anymore. I won't be able to use my left arm much for a while, but everyone says I'm pretty lucky."

"Yeah. Art came down here the first night, and they told him that you were dead, then someone came out, said that you'd made it."

"Cut it," Conrad said to the other officer. "She doesn't need to hear that." He took the bushel of flowers from Juan. "Everyone pitched in for these. If you need anything else, holler."

Kate nodded, and he placed the flowers on the windowsill.

"Well, we got to get back on the job." Conrad cleared his throat and tugged at his tie. Kate knew he was dying to get out of the stiff dress blues.

"Thanks for coming Sarge, and you too, Juan. I really appreciate it. And the flowers-" she stopped, suddenly overcome by fear.

Conrad was facing her, coming toward her, as two gunshots tore through the air. His body jerked as one ripped through his chest. The second demolished his face.

Kate opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. She felt Conrad's hand on her shoulder. He looked down on her with a concerned expression.

Blood dripped from his uniform but none landed on the bed.

"Are you all right, Kate?" he asked, and she knew that to him everything was normal.

To her eyes, where his face should be there was a burnt and bloody cavity.

The smell of scorched flesh filled her nostrils. She bit her lip, trying hard not to vomit. Sweat soaked her thin patient gown, coating her in fear. She tried to speak but couldn't. Forcing herself to look up at Conrad's face, she told herself it was all an illusion, a dream, her imagination.

One of his eyeballs slid free of its socket, slipping in the blood and tissue until it lodged in the fragments of his shattered cheekbone.

"Kate? Should we call a nurse or something?"

"No, I'm fine," her voice came out in a cracked whisper.

"You sure now?"

The two men stared at her and she fought to sound normal. "Thank everyone for the flowers, will you?"

"Sure thing," Juan said, fidgeting with his hat. They turned to leave.

"Hey, Sarge," she called out. "Don't go into work tonight, okay?"

He turned back, puzzled. "You know I never work nights-besides Robbie's wake is tonight."

"Maybe you shouldn't go," she said. The heat clanked on, churning out hot air, but she couldn't stop shivering.

Both men turned to stare at her and she found herself unable to meet Conrad's eyes. She fumbled for a reason, anything to keep Conrad out of dark alleys tonight. "Maybe you could visit Jenn instead? I can't, and calling her doesn't seem the same."

Conrad smiled. It was the smile of someone trying to placate, not really listening. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she knows you're thinking about her. See ya, Kate."

"Thanks. Well, take care. Okay, Sarge?" Damnit, what else could she say-you're about to get your face blown off?

"Don't we always. Now you just work on getting better. I'll try to stop in tomorrow." They waved goodbye and were gone.

Short of handcuffing him to her bed, or worse, trying to explain her visions, there was nothing she could do to save him.

By morning, Kate knew Conrad would be dead.

CHAPTER 11.

Blake waited outside O'Hern's door. He wore his security guard uniform which made him virtually invisible as long as he kept out of the way of the hectic hospital routine. Yesterday he'd befriended one of the ICU nurses who had filled him in on O'Hern's condition, even pointed out Lightner. It was obvious the nurse was smitten with the surgeon, but Blake was far more interested in practical matters-the doctor's schedule, what kind of car he drove, where he parked.

Good reconnaissance was the key to any successful operation. He'd almost panicked when he arrived this morning to find O'Hern gone from the ICU. Was ready to spin a tale to the volunteer at the visitor's desk when the cops waltzed in, led him right to her.

From their conversation, the two cops must have been pretty good friends with O'Hern. Especially the old fart, the sergeant.

The door opened and Blake immediately turned away, heading towards the elevator. He walked slowly, gauging the distance. Within seconds the other two men caught up to him.

"Christ, she looks so pale," the younger one was saying.

"She's lucky to be alive. And she's upset about Rob," the sergeant replied, nodding to Blake as he pressed the elevator call button for them.

"Excuse me, were you visiting Officer O'Hern?" Blake asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, I just wanted to say how terrible it was-I mean you guys put your lives on the line everyday. You don't need any crazy taking pot shots at you. Are you close to catching the guy?"

The cops exchanged glances. "I wish," the young one said as the elevator arrived.

"I met Officer Hansen a few times down in the ER," Blake continued, "he was a great guy."

"The best," the sergeant said.

"Is there someplace we could send a contribution to? I know he had a wife and kids. The guys here would pitch in and I could bring it by after my shift-"

"There's a fund started at the station house, you could bring it by there," Conrad told him.

"My shift's not over until seven tonight, would that be too late?"

"We'll all be over at Riley's, but you can leave it with the desk sergeant," the young one said. Blake still couldn't make out the name on his badge, the damn black ribbon was in the way. The elevator came to a halt on the ground floor.

"Thanks, I'll do that. Have a good one-and good luck catching the creep." Blake smiled as he watched them leave through the revolving door in the main lobby. He was whistling as he helped a volunteer with a cart full of flowers onto the elevator before turning to leave himself.

Riley's Pub tonight. He could hardly wait.

Kate almost called Tony Martini to ask him to do some research at the newspaper on after-death experiences and precognition. Almost. Couldn't bring herself to admit her crazy theory, not even to Tony, her oldest friend.

With ever-increasing trepidation, she watched the day grow dark. Where was Lightner, the man with all the answers? Or his friend, the Italian Santa Claus? All these brilliant doctors around and no one could tell her what the hell was going on.

It was no wonder Lightner and Bianchi hadn't believed her. This entire place was an altar to the gods of cause and effect. Her visions-whatever they were-had no place here.

She would rather have paced as she thought, but she settled for the mindless activity of ripping the Velcro wraps sheathing her legs and thighs open and shut again. If her brain had been fried, somehow short-circuited to receive glimpses of the future, didn't she have a responsibility to do something about that?

Or maybe Lightner was right, maybe she was just plain old fashioned crazy and trying to rationalize it to herself. Maybe she would start seeing lots of insane things. Questions piled on top of more questions until Kate thought her head would split open from the pressure.

She had done her best to warn Conrad. But she still kept seeing him die. The vision had interrupted her lunch, or what passed as lunch around here, salty broth and tepid tea. Not that she would have been able to force any of it down. Not with Conrad's bloody face staring back at her, mocking, taunting.

Every time she tried to relax or distract herself, she saw Conrad die. Again and again until the sound of the shotgun blasts grew more real than the noises of the monitor above her, beeping out her heartbeat.

A rapping at the door made her jump upright, pulling at the wires connecting her to the dizzying array of medical equipment surrounding her. Her heart caught in her throat as the memory of the shooter, her blood dripping from his hands, colored her vision.

Murderers don't knock, she told herself. The door opened and Tony Martini poked his head inside.

"You decent?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he entered, closing the door behind him and presenting her with a large bouquet of apricot colored roses. Her favorite. "Jeezit, Kate. You look like hell."

Kate's mood immediately lightened. Typical, honest-to-a-fault, shoot-from-the-hip, Tony. Finally someone who wasn't treating her like a patient or a victim or an escapee from Western Psych. "Thanks. At least I've got a good excuse. Did you get the number of the bus that hit you?"

He blinked quickly, turned and busied himself with arranging the vase of roses in a prime spot on the windowsill. "Worrying about an old friend is all," he mumbled. He pivoted back to her, perched on the bed beside her knees, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You are all right, aren't you?"

"I'm fine, Tony. Or I will be as soon as I can break out of this joint." She gestured to the various contraptions tying her to the bed. "Don't suppose you brought a getaway car?"

"No shit, Kate. You've got to take it easy, listen to the docs and do what they say. I mean it-none of your usual short cuts."

"C'mon, I was just joking-"

"This isn't a joke," he broke in, his voice sharp. "You weren't-you couldn't know-damn, it, for once in your life just promise me you're gonna follow the rules, will you?"

His lips pressed together, a vertical crease gouged his forehead and she could swear tears sparkled his eyes. He really thought she might die. Then Kate realized what had scared him so much. "You were here that night, weren't you?"

He looked away and nodded slowly, color seeping back into his lips. "Heard it on the scanner. I got here right as the medics arrived. Saw them pull you out of the ambulance, blood everywhere, one guy pumping on your chest-" He broke off and tilted his head toward the door. "You're okay here, aren't you? I mean, they don't think this wacko is coming after you or anything, do they?"

Remnants of her visions of the shooter collided in her mind. "No, of course not. I'm fine, Tony," she lied.

"Then why is there a security guard outside your door?"

Her face burned as she blushed. No way she could tell him the truth, that Lightner thought she was headed down a one-way street to the looney bin. "Routine precaution. Besides, if this guy has any brains, he's half way to Mexico by now."

"Yeah, I guess." He looked at the door again, shifted his weight as if he wanted to join the guard. Good old Tony, always determined to protect the weak-he would never accept that she could fight her own battles.

Including the battle she was currently losing. The battle over her sanity.

Tony placed his hand on her plastic-swathed shin, his gaze roaming over the various medical implements, then moving to the bushel of flowers dwarfing his bouquet of roses. "Who's my competition?"

"Hernandez brought them. And Phil Conrad." Her voice cracked at the mention of Conrad's name. A cascade of bloody images stampeded through her mind.