4th of July (Women's Murder Club 4)

“Where am I?”

“San Francisco General. Recovery room.”

The fog was lifting. I remembered the dark chill of Larkin Street. Those kids. Jacobi was down!

“Jacobi,” I said, reaching out to Claire with my eyes. “Jacobi didn’t make it.”

“He’s in the ICU, honey. He’s fighting hard.” Claire smiled at me. “Look who’s here, Lindsay. Just turn your head.”

It took tremendous effort, but I rolled my heavy head to the right, and his handsome face came into view. He hadn’t shaved and his eyelids were weighted with fatigue and worry, but just seeing Joe Molinari made my heart sing like a flippin’ canary.

“Joe. You’re supposed to be in DC.”

“I’m right here, sweetie. I came as soon as I heard.”

When he kissed me, I felt his tears on my cheeks. I tried to tell him that I felt all broken inside.

“Joe, she’s dead. Oh, God, it was a horrible screw-up.”

“Honey, the way I hear it, you had no other choice.”

Joe’s rough cheek brushed m

ine.

“My pager number is right by the phone. Lindsay? Do you hear me? I’ll be back in the morning,” he said.

“What, Joe? What did you say?”

“Try to get some sleep, Lindsay.”

“Sure, Joe. I will. . . .”

Chapter 11

A NURSE NAMED HEATHER Grace, a saint if ever there was one, had secured a wheelchair for me. I sat in the wheelchair beside Jacobi’s bed as the late-afternoon light poured through the window in the ICU and pooled on the blue linoleum floor. Two bullets had tunneled through his torso. One had collapsed a lung, the other had punctured a kidney, and the kick he’d taken to the head had broken his nose and turned his face a brilliant shade of eggplant.

This was my third visit in as many days, and though I’d done my best to cheer him, Jacobi’s mood remained unrelentingly dark. I was watching him sleep when his swollen eyes flickered open to slits.

“Hey, Warren.”

“Hey, Slick.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like the world’s biggest horse’s ass.” He coughed painfully, and I winced in sympathy.

“Take it easy, bud.”

“It sucks, Boxer.”

“I know.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it. Dreaming about it.” He paused, touched the bandages over his nose. “That kid popping me while I stood there holding my dick.”

“Um. I think it was your cell phone, Jacobi.”

He didn’t laugh. That was bad.