Cross (Alex Cross 12)

The head physician, a woman in her thirties, said, “Stab wound, abdomen, questionable spleen injury.”

Other voices in the room blended together, and I tried to make sense of them as best I could, but everything was turning foggy on me.

“BP seventy, pulse one twenty. Respiration thirty-four.”

“Give me some suction here, please.”

“Is she okay?” I blurted out. I felt like I was in a nightmare where no one could hear me.

“Alex—” Annie’s hand was on my shoulder. “You need to give them some room. We don’t know very much yet. As soon as we do, I’ll tell you.”

I realized I’d been pushing forward to get closer to the bed, to Kayla. My God, I ached for her and was finding it hard to breathe.

“Call the seventh floor, tell them we’re ready,” said the woman doctor who seemed in charge of everyone else in the room. “She has a surgical belly.”

Annie whispered to me, “That means the stomach’s hard, no digestion going on.”

“Let’s go. Hurry up, people.”

I was being pushed from behind, and not with any kindness. “Move, sir. You have to move out of the way. This patient is in trouble. She could die.”

I stepped sideways to make room as they wheeled her gurney into the corridor. Kayla’s eyes were still closed. Did she know I was there? Or who had done this to her? I followed the procession as near as I could get. Then just as quickly as they had done everything else, they loaded her onto an elevator, and the metal doors slid shut between us.

Annie was right there at my side. She gestured toward another elevator bank. “I can take you to the waiting room upstairs if you want. Believe me, everybody’s doing the best they can. They know Kayla’s a doctor. And everybody knows she’s a saint.”

Chapter 76

THIS PATIENT IS IN TROUBLE. She could die. . . . Everybody knows she’s a saint.

I spent the next three hours in the waiting room, alone and without any further word about Kayla. My head was filled with disturbing ironies: Two of my kids had been born at St. Anthony’s. Maria had been pronounced dead here. And now Kayla.

Then Annie Falk was with me again, down on one knee, speaking in a quiet, respectful voice that scared me like nothing else could right then.

“Come with me, Alex. Come, please. Hurry. I’ll take you to her. She’s out of the OR.”

At first, I thought Kayla was still asleep in the recovery room, but she stirred when I came near. Her eyes opened, and she saw me—recognized me an instant later.

“Alex?” she whispered.

“Hey there, you,” I whispered back, and gently took her hand in both of mine.

She looked very confused and lost for a moment; then she squeezed her eyes shut. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and I almost started up myself, but I thought if Kayla saw me that way it might scare her.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s over now. You’re in recovery.”

“I was . . . so scared,” she said, sounding like a young girl, an endearing part of Kayla I had never seen before.

“I’ll bet you were,” I said, and I pulled over a chair without letting go of her hand. “Did you really drive yourself here?”

She actually smiled, though her eyes stayed slightly unfocused. “I know how long it can take to get an ambulance in this neighborhood.”

“Who did this to you?” I asked then. “Do you know who it was, Kayla?”

In response to the question, she shut her eyes again. My free hand tightened into a fist. Did she know who attacked her, and was she afraid to say? Had Kayla been warned not to talk?

We sat quietly for a moment—until she felt ready to say more. I wouldn’t push her on this, the way I had pushed poor Mena Sunderland.

“I was on a house call,” she finally said, eyes still closed. “This guy’s sister called. He’s a junkie. He was trying to detox at home. When I got there, he was just about out of his mind. I don’t know who he thought I was. He stabbed me. . . .”