The 8th Confession (Women's Murder Club 8)

“The medevac chopper is on the way,” he told me and Conklin. “Rich? How do you feel?”

“Scared out of my freakin’ mind,” my partner said. I thought he was slurring his speech. I put my hand over my mouth. I was so afraid of losing it. Of losing him.

“Any numbness?” Doc asked Conklin.

“Yeah. In my hand.”

“Try to relax,” Doc said. “It takes some time for the venom to have an effect. If you were in a jungle, that would be one thing. But we’ve got you, Rich. You’re going to be okay.”

I wanted to believe Doc, but I wouldn’t be comforted until Rich was back on his feet. As my partner was wheeled away, I told him that I’d be standing by in the waiting room, and I grabbed Doc’s sleeve.

“John, you’re sure the antivenin you got is the right stuff?”

“I’ve had the Aquarium of the Pacific on standby since Claire told me about the folks who died from krait bites. I figured there was a chance we could need antivenin.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I said, gratitude washing through me. “Thanks for being so damned smart.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. Then, “I’m going to look in on Rich.”

I found a dark corner of the waiting room and called Cindy. I repeated to her what Doc had told me. And then I made a call to a hotel in Amman.

It was one in the morning there, but after a verbal tussle, the desk put me through. He sounded groggy with sleep, but he brightened when he heard my voice. It was some kind of miracle that I could find him when I needed him most.

“I was just dreaming about you,” he said.

“Good dream?”

“I think it was a circus dream.”

“What’s that?”

“Tightrope. I’m wearing this spandex thing. Bodysuit. With sparkles.”

“You?”

“Chest hair coming out the top.”

“Joe!” I laughed.

“I’m way up there on this platform, size of a dinar.”

“And that’s…?”

“A Jordanian coin. And you’re on the tightrope coming toward me.”

“What am I wearing?”

“You’re naked.”

“No!”

“Yeah! Carrying a lot of stuff in your arms, balancing on this rope. And I’m supposed to catch you when you get to my dinar.”

“What happens?”

“Phone rings.”

“Joe, I miss you, honey. When are you coming home?”