FINDING PARKING took forever. Of course it did, we were in a hurry. I suggested just parking right outside the big sliding doors with the red EMERGENCY sign posted over it, but Ben indicated that that would be a bad idea when the next ambulance plowed into his sedan. Never argue potential traffic violations with a lawyer.
Walking to the emergency room after finding a parking spot also seemed to take forever, as if the space between us and the doors kept expanding.
“What did she say?” Ben asked for the millionth time. “Did she say what happened?”
“You heard as much as I did. She said he’d be fine, but that was it. Said that Cormac wanted to explain it himself.”
“God, if he’s broken parole…” he muttered.
Detective Hardin’s involvement did seem to suggest Cormac had done something illegal. He’d been doing so well, and he only had a couple more months on his parole. Surely this couldn’t be that bad.
“We should have more faith in him,” I said, as much to myself as to Ben.
“You haven’t known him as long as I have. Him and trouble, they’re like magnets.”
“Like somebody else you know?” I said, my grin lopsided.
He huffed at that, and we were inside.
The lighting was oppressively artificial, and the mood in the waiting room was dour. A dozen people slouched in plastic chairs watching a talking heads news show with the sound off on a TV hung in the corner. A kid sleeping in his mom’s lap coughed. The place smelled like illness, and bodily fluids covered over with antiseptic. My nose wrinkled.
Ben marched straight to the reception desk. “You’ve got a patient, Cormac Bennett? We’re his family.”
The nurse, a tired-looking woman whose brown hair was coming out of its clip, checked a sheet of paper and nodded. “Yes, let me take you back.”
She led us around the corner to a series of exam spaces separated by curtains. Halfway down the row, she held back a curtain and gestured us in.
Cormac was sitting on the side of the bed, his legs hanging over, slouching and looking annoyed. At first glance he didn’t look different; he was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt. His leather jacket lay over a nearby chair. But he smelled of sweat and adrenaline—of pain. His left arm was r
esting on a rollaway table that fit over the bed, wrapped in a bandage and covered with blue cold packs. Hardin stood a few paces away, arms crossed. She regarded us with amusement, eyes crinkled, smirking.
“What happened?” I burst. I had an urge to rush over and hug Cormac and make protective cooing noises over him, but I didn’t. He wouldn’t have appreciated it. I was just so relieved to see him alive, conscious, sitting up, and being himself.
Cormac’s moustache curved with the strength of his frown. “I fell.”
“We’re waiting for the X-rays to come back,” Hardin said. She was definitely smiling now. So, it wasn’t parole he’d broken.
“Is he in trouble?” Ben said. “He’s not under arrest or anything?”
“Nope,” she said. “Just feeling kind of dumb, I bet.”
Cormac made a noise like a growl.
“Okay, there’s a story here,” I said. “Who’s going to spill?”
“She’s been tailing me,” Cormac said, jutting his chin at Hardin and scowling. “Can we sue her?”
“Probable cause,” she said. “I’m tracking down the same vampire you are. You’re a possible witness. That vampire, he’s there, isn’t he?”
“I’m doing your work for you,” he said.
She merely shrugged in assent. “It’s a good thing I was following you, so I could drive you here.” I tried to imagine that car ride, Cormac in the passenger seat next to Hardin, cradling a hurt arm, both of them snarling at each other. It was almost cute.
“I ought to charge you consulting fees,” Cormac said.
“Not a bad idea,” Ben added.
The detective brushed them off. “We can discuss that later.”