The phone rang loudly, startling him.
“Hello?” He answered without thinking.
Frank Dorrien’s voice boomed in his ear, angry and doom-laden. “Stevens! Where in Christ’s name have you been?”
“I can’t talk now,” Jeff said dismissively. “I need to speak to Tracy.”
“Jeff . . .”
“I’m sorry, Frank. This can’t wait.”
“Well, it’ll have to,” Dorrien shot back hurriedly, before Jeff could hang up. “Tracy’s in a coma, Jeff.”
Jeff froze. The room had started to spin.
“What?”
“She was attacked the night you left Paris. Bludgeoned from behind.”
Jeff held on to the desk for support. He felt terribly light-headed suddenly. Dark spots swam before his eyes. When he spoke his voice sounded strangled. “I don’t understand. Who attacked her?”
“We’re not sure. Various witnesses—”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“We tried,” said Frank. “Repeatedly. None of us could reach you.”
“Well, what have the doctors said? I mean, she’s in a coma. But she’s going to recover, right? She’s going to be OK?”
“She hasn’t woken up since it happened,” Frank said bluntly, although not without compassion. “I’m sorry, Jeff, truly I am. But it doesn’t look good.”
CHAPTER 23
TRACY HEARD BLAKE CARTER’S voice first, out in the corridor.
“Where is she? I need to see her. I need to explain.”
And the doctor. “She’s not up to visitors yet, Mr. Carter.”
I am up to visitors!
Blake’s alive? He’s been alive all this time? And now he’s here to see me?
Blake! She sat up in bed, tried to call out his name, but no sound came out. Then the pain came back, the agony, like a herd of elephants stampeding across her skull, pulverizing her bones into dust one after the other. Blake, I’m here! Don’t leave!
She passed out.
FRANK DORRIEN WAS IN the room.
Tracy couldn’t see him. She couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t move, or speak, or do anything except breathe. And listen.
“Who’s her next of kin?” the doctor was asking.
General Dorrien’s voice. “She doesn’t have one.”
“Is there no one we can notify? A friend?”
“No. We’ll take care of it.”