Ashkan winced. The transplant people were so desperate, so determined—and if he had good organs, oh, what a difference they would make to people.

Lissa seemed to snap out of herself a little then and straightened up. “What did you say?” she asked.

Chapter 7

The cottage was nearly identical to the one they’d just left but furnished in a neutral, modern style, with a wood-burning stove and large prints of the children in black and white on the walls.

“Hello there, Islay,” Cormac said cheerily. “Why aren’t you asleep, then?”

The tween was lying on the bed, blue and breathing heavily. Nonetheless she attempted a grin for Cormac and a slightly flirtatious look for Jake, who was generally a hit with the ladies.

“Ach, you’ve looked better,” said Cormac, understating the case. The child had severe cardiomyopathy, and absolutely nothing seemed to be helping. The pacemaker was just the latest in a line of therapies that were failing her.

“I was thinking about maybe taking her in,” said her mother. They were extremely familiar with the hospital in Inverness.

“Well, let’s have a listen,” said Cormac, taking out his stethoscope. “Those beta-blockers not working on you, Islay?”

Trying to be helpful, the child shook her head, just a fraction. How used she was; how tired she was of the constant invasion, the constant questions. She looked so weary. Cormac felt his own heart sink. He’d left the army to get away from the endless trauma cases, but this, in its own way, was just as difficult. Jake took her blood pressure and frowned.

“Well?” said Mrs. Coudrie.

“I’ll talk to Joan,” said Jake. “This”—he wrote down the number on a piece of paper, but Elspeth Coudrie already knew it by heart—“is when we’d blue-light. But I think we’ll see what Joan has in her armory.”

Cormac patted Islay on the hand. “I know you want to stay up all night watching Mr. Drake on the television.”

Islay rolled her eyes. “It’s Drake,” she wheezed. “Not Mr. Drake. And I don’t like him anyway.”

“That’s good,” said Cormac. “He’s too old for you.”

Islay tried to smile.

“But the best thing you could do is get some sleep,” said Cormac.

This wasn’t true. The best—and rapidly turning into the only—thing she could do was to get a heart transplant. If only it were that simple.

“Imagine,” said Mrs. Coudrie, as Jake finished his call and Islay tried to get comfortable. “Imagine waiting for someone else’s child to die. Imagine hoping that they will.”

“I DON’T KNOW!” said Kai’s mother, her voice hysterical. “They were all yelling. And I just wanted to see my boy. He’s my boy! And they wanted to chop him up.”

Lissa took the woman’s hands. “Did you say no?” she said softly.