"Because I thought she might be on her way to a hospital by now. Besides, she's already had rather a lot to deal with."
They were quiet for a moment, both looking at Sabra and disliking her paleness. "I'm afraid of infection too," he said. "Dammit, they both need to be hospitalized.
What's that Galloway like? Typical hard-ass?"
"All business, definitely. But he sounds reasonable.
Dendy, on the other hand, is a raving maniac. I could hear him in the background issuing threats and ultimatums."
She glanced at Ronnie, who was dividing his attention between the parking lot and the Mexican duo, who were be-coming steadily and increasingly edgy. "He won't execute us, will he?"
Seemingly in no hurry to address her question, Doc finished replacing the pads beneath Sabra, then leaned against the freezer chest and raised one knee. Propping his elbow on it, he wearily raked a hand through his hair.
By city standards, it could have stood a trim. But somehow, on him, in this environment, the unkempt look was fitting.
"I don't know w
hat he'll do, Ms. McCoy. The misery that human beings are capable of inflicting on one another has never failed to fascinate and repel me. I don't think the boy has got it in him to line us up and shoot us, but there's no guarantee that he won't. In any event, talking about it won't affect the outcome."
"That's a rather fatalistic outlook."
"You asked." He shrugged indifferently. "We don't have to talk about it."
"Then what do you want to talk about?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit," she said, wanting to surprise him and succeeding.
"You want to know how I recognized you."
He merely looked at her, saying nothing. He'd built up quite an armor, but part of her job was piercing invisible armor.
"When I first saw you, I thought you looked familiar but couldn't place you. Then sometime during the birthing process, just before the delivery, it occurred to me who you were. I think the way you handled Sabra was the giveaway."
"You've got a remarkable memory, Ms. McCoy."
"Tiel. And my memory might be sharper than that of the average Jane Q. Public. You see, I covered your story."
She recited the call letters of the television station for which she worked.
He muttered an expletive. "So you were among the hordes of reporters who made my life a living hell?"
"I'm good at my job."
He snuffled a deprecating laugh. "I'll bet you are." He readjusted his long legs, but his eyes never left hers. "Do you like what you do?"
"Very much."
"You enjoy preying on people who are already down, exposing their hardship to public scrutiny, making it impossible for them to pick up the pieces of their already shattered lives?"
"You blame the media for your difficulties?"
"In large part, yeah."
"For instance?"
"For instance, the hospital buckled beneath the weight of bad publicity. Bad publicity generated and nurtured by people like you."