"It was nothing."

"It was a lot to me. Are you volunteering today?"

"Actually, we're here to see our G.o.ddaughter. She had a baby."

"That's nice. Well ..." Cilla looked back toward the doors.

"Would you like me to go up with you first?" Cathy offered.

"No, no, I'm fine. It's just ... Steve's mother's probably up there. She harbors extreme dislike for me. It makes it pretty tight in that room with both of us in there."

"I can fix that." Cathy held up a finger. "Why don't I go up, lure her away for fifteen or twenty minutes."

"How?"

"Volunteer mode. I'll buy her a cup of coffee, lend a shoulder. It'll give her a break and give you a few minutes alone with your friend."

"She can do it," Tom said with a shake of his head. "n.o.body resists Cathy."

"I'd be so grateful."

"Nothing to it. Tom, keep Cilla company for a few minutes. Five should do it." With a cheery wave, Cathy strode into the hospital.

"She's great."

"Best there is," Tom agreed. "Let's sit down over here, give her that head start. I was sorry to hear about your friend."

"Thank you." Three days, she thought. Three days in a coma.

"Do the police have any idea how it happened?"

"Not really. I guess we're all hoping Steve can tell us if ... when," she corrected, "he wakes up."

She caught a glimpse of a white van crossing the parking lot and, with a shudder, looked away.

"I hope that's soon." Tom gave her hand an encouraging pat. "How's Brian doing on your place?"

"It's shaping up. He does good work. You must be proud of him."

"Every day. It's an ambitious project you've taken on. The grounds, the house. A lot of time, money and sweat. Word gets around," he added.

"It'll be worth it. You should drop by sometime, look at the progress."

"I was hoping you'd ask." He winked at her.

"Anytime, Mr. Morrow."

"Tom."

"Anytime," Cilla repeated, and pushed to her feet. "I'm going to sneak up, see if Cathy had any success."

"You can take it to the bank. I'll say a prayer for your friend."

"Thanks."

And this, Cilla thought as she crossed the lobby to the elevators, was the reason to make this home. People like the Morrows, and like Dee and Vicki and Mike, the ICU nurses she saw every day. People who cared, who took time.

People like Ford.

h.e.l.l, even people like cranky, dyspeptic Buddy.

She stepped off the elevator and spotted Mike at the nurses' station. "How's he doing?"

"Holding steady. Kidney functions are normal. That's an improvement. "

"Yeah, it is. Is anyone with him?"

Mike wiggled his eyebrows. "Mrs. Morrow breezed in and took Mrs. Chensky down for coffee. You got a clear road."

"Hallelujah."

Bruises still covered his face, but they were turning yellow at the edges. Thick stubble masked his jawline and p.r.i.c.ked her when she leaned over to kiss him. "I'm back. It's hot out this afternoon. Strip-it-off weather."

She tuned out the machines, started to turn to the window to describe the view for him before she relayed construction progress. And she saw the sketch taped to the gla.s.s wall.

"What have we got here? Con the Immortal?" She glanced back at Steve. "Did you see this? Striking resemblance."

Ford had drawn it. Cilla didn't need to see the signature looped in the bottom corner to know it. Steve stood, wearing what she supposed was a loincloth, with thick black straps crossing over his chest, and knee boots. His hair flew out as if in a strong wind, and his face was set in a fierce, f.u.c.k-you grin. His hands rested on the hilt of a sword, with its point planted between his spread feet.

"Big sword, obvious symbolism. You'd love that. And the biceps bulging over the armbands, the tats, the necklace of fangs. Con the Immortal. He's got you pegged, doesn't he?"

Tears rose hot in her throat, were ruthlessly swallowed down. "You've really got to see this, okay?" She crossed back to take Steve's hand. "You've got to wake up and see this. It's been long enough now, Steve, I mean it. G.o.dd.a.m.n it. This bulls.h.i.t's gone on long enough, so stop s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around and ... oh G.o.d."

Had his hand moved? Had it moved in hers or had she imagined it? She let her breath out slowly, stared down at the fingers she held in hers. "Don't make me yell at you again. You know if I cut loose I can out-b.i.t.c.h your mother. Who's going to come back here pretty soon, so ..."

The fingers twitched, curled. The lightest of pressure on hers.

"Okay, okay, stay there, don't go anywhere." She reached for the call b.u.t.ton, held her finger down on it. "Steve, come on, Steve, do it again." She lifted his hand, pressed her lips to it. Then, narrowing her eyes, bit. And laughed when his fingers twitched and curled again.

"He squeezed my hand," she called out as Mike came in. "He squeezed it twice. Is he waking up? Is he?"

"Talk to him." Mike moved to the side of the bed, lifted one of Mike's eyelids. "Let him hear your voice."

"Come on, Steve. It's Cill. Wake up, you lazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I've got better things to do than stand around here and watch you sleep."

On the other side of the bed, Mike checked pulse, pupils, BP. Then pinched Steve hard on the forearm. The arm jerked.

"He felt that. He moved. Steve, you're killing me. Open your eyes." Cilla grabbed his face, put her nose nearly to his. "Open your eyes."

They fluttered, and she felt another flutter on her chin. More than his breath, she realized. A word.

"What? What? Say it again."

She leaned down, her ear at his lips. She caught his slow, indrawn breath, and heard the hoa.r.s.e, raw whisper of a single word. He said, "s.h.i.t."

Cilla let out a sob that choked into a laugh. "s.h.i.t. He said s.h.i.t!"

"Can't blame him." Quickly, Mike strode to the door to signal another nurse. "Page Dr. North. His patient's waking up."

"Can you see me?" Cilla demanded when his eyes opened. "Steve? Can you see me?"

He let out a weary sigh. "Hi, doll."

SHE SPOKE to the doctor, even managed to smile genuinely at Steve's mother before she locked herself in a bathroom stall for a jag of weeping relief. After she'd washed her face, slapped on makeup and sungla.s.ses to hide the damage, she went back to the nurses' station.

"He's sleeping," Mike told her. "Natural sleep. He's weak, and he's still got a lot of healing to do. You should go home, Cilla. Get a good night's sleep yourself."

"I will. If he asks for me-"

"We'll call you."

For the first time Cilla stepped into the elevator with an easy heart. As she crossed the lobby, she pulled out her phone and called Ford.

"Hey, beautiful blond girl."

"He woke up." She moved down the sidewalk toward the parking lot with a bounce in every step. "He woke up, Ford. He talked to me."

"What'd he say?"

" 's.h.i.t' came first."

"As it should."

"He knew me, his name and all that. His left side's a little weaker than his right, just now. But the doctor says he's looking good. They have to do tests, and-"

"Looking good works. Do you want me to come by, bring you some dinner?"

"No, I'm heading home now. He's sleeping. Just sleeping. I wanted to tell you. I just wanted to say that I saw your sketch, and I was teasing him about it right before ... I think it might have done the trick."

"Nothing stops Con the Immortal for long."

"You are so- Oh G.o.d! Son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

"What? What was that?"

She stared down at the door of her truck. "I'll be home in a few minutes. I'll come by."

She clicked off before Ford could respond. And read what someone had written on the driver's-side door in black marker.

Wh.o.r.eS BEGET Wh.o.r.eS!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ford watched Cilla take digitals of the pickup's door. His rage wanted to bubble up, but he couldn't figure out what he'd do with it if he spewed.

Kick the tires? Punch a couple of trees? Stalk around and froth at the mouth? None of the options seemed particularly helpful or satisfying. Instead he stood with his hands jammed in his pockets, and the rage at a low, simmering boil.

"The cops'll take pictures," he pointed out.

"I want my own. Besides, I don't think Wilson and Urick are going to make this a priority."

"It could be connected. They'll be here in the morning."

She shrugged, then turned the camera off, stuck it in her pocket. "That's not coming off. The sun baked that marker on so it might as well be paint. I'll have to have the whole d.a.m.n door done. I haven't had this truck three months."

While he watched, she kicked a tire. He decided he'd been right. She didn't look satisfied. "You can use my car until it's fixed."

"I'll drive this." Both the defiance and the temper glared out of her eyes. "I know I'm not a wh.o.r.e. I saw Hennessy's van in the parking lot before I went in to visit Steve. He could've done this.

He could've hurt Steve. He's capable."

"Did Steve say anything about it?"

"We didn't ask him. He was still so weak and disoriented. Probably tomorrow, the doctor said. He'd be up to talking to the police tomorrow. d.a.m.n it!"

She stalked for a few minutes but, he noted, didn't froth at the mouth or punch a tree. Then she stopped, heaved out a breath. "Okay. Okay. I'm not going to let some a.s.shole spoil this really excellent day. Does the liquor store in town have any champagne in stock?"

"Couldn't say. But I do."

"How come you have everything?"

"I was a Boy Scout. Seriously," he said when she laughed. "I have the merit badges to prove it." She was right, he decided, no a.s.shole should be allowed to spoil an excellent day. "How about we heat up a frozen pizza and pop the cork?"

From his perch on the veranda, Spock leaped up and danced.

"Sounds good to me, too."As she moved in to kiss him, a horn beeped cheerfully.