“You’ve got a concussion,” Barb said as she unlocked my apartment door and stepped aside. She then held the door open for me while I toddled through on leaden legs, a half-melted ice pack pressed to the back of my head, compliments of the U of C Hospital’s ER. My head felt like a Macy’s Thanksgiving-parade balloon, only bigger, and I was still seeing two of everything.

“The doctor said mild concussion, and so what? There’s a guy out there killing dying people. I don’t have time to be coddled right now.”

“I’ve never seen anybody so pigheaded,” Mrs. Vincent said.

“Huh,” Ben sneered, “don’t I know it. I partnered with her for five years. See what you’re signing up for?” Ben was speaking to Weber, who brought up the rear. He’d shown up at the hospital, too, after Ben called to tell him I was there. And we’d definitely talk about that when my head stopped spinning. Weber said nothing, though he was likely adding “pigheadedness” to his mental list.

“I can beat that,” Barb said, but then caught the look on my face. “But I won’t.”

Everybody had completely ignored both my countless declarations that I was fine and my bazillionth request that they all go home and leave me the hell alone. It was well after one AM, and I had work to do, connections to make. I tossed the ice pack on the table and headed for the phone to call Marta.

“Drop it,” Ben ordered when I picked up the receiver. “There’s nothing more you can do with this tonight.”

“What part of ‘murderer’ and ‘out there’ don’t you people get?”

If I thought I could have pulled off an end run, I’d have made a play for the door.

“You should rest,” Mrs. Vincent said.

Barb handed me back the ice pack. “At least a few hours.”

Ben padded over and took the phone out of my hand. “I’ll call Marta. I’ll tell her you made dupes of the files those idiots took. She’s going to want to know how you got them, though, and let’s face it, you’re not on the side of the righteous here.”

“Tell her I got them from a source.” That would hold her off, I thought. At least until the footage from Spada’s security camera surfaced. By then, though, I hoped Spada would be in custody and in no position to get all high-handed.

“She’s stubborn,” Ben said. “She ain’t stupid.”

“I don’t care what you tell her, then. There’s a woman out there with a target on her back. That’s priority one. If Marta wants to come after me for the rest of it, she knows where I live.”