“Thank you,” Sarah said. “I appreciate it.”

“It won’t take me long,” Jolie chirped, as she set down the grocery bag. “You’re such a good mommy. I can see what Mike saw in you.”

Sarah felt the unmistakable feeling of lightness come into her cheeks that meant she was blushing. That was what did it, Jolie’s casual flip-off as she twirled off to find medical supplies for Eli. It couldn’t really be called a dig; the blade was much too sharp for that, an expertly administered jab so quick and sly the victim didn’t feel it until she’d already started to bleed. Sarah turned back toward the exit again.

“Hey, hold up,” McPhee’s voice said behind her. “You aren’t waiting?”

Sarah didn’t reply, just carried Eli out into the warm twilight to the car. Birds twitted. In front of her, she could hear the whang-whang-whang of the flagpole cable, steadier now. A breeze was rising up.

“Mommy? What about Daddy?”

“He’ll be home later.” Or not.

Eli’s eyes began to tear up afresh, Sarah thinking, I can’t handle this, not now, okay, please? Setting him down outside the car, she cast one final look at the hospital. The last of the sun poured out long misshapen pools of darkness along the building’s service drive. Overhead, a crow came down to meet its shadow on the roof.

“Shit.”

Eli glanced up. “Shit?”

“My keys.” Sarah pawed through her purse and emptied it out onto the hood. She had her wallet, a bundle of coupons and old receipts, and plenty of toy trains, but her keys weren’t there. And the reason they weren’t there, of course, was because she’d left them down in MRI, after Mike had rushed her out the door.

“Mommy?” Now the boy’s bewilderment had seemingly eclipsed both his head pain and his sadness over leaving his father. “Where are we going now?”

“Back inside the hospital.”

“Why?”

“Mommy forgot her keys in MRI.”

“Why?”

“I just did, honey. Sometimes even grown-ups forget.”

“Is Daddy down there?”

She sighed. “I don’t know where your father is.”

“Maybe we’ll see him.”

Clasping Eli in her arms, Sarah hurried from the car back inside the emergency room entrance. She’d expected someone to be there, but the hallway was now deserted.

12.

The kick that Oz gave the door didn’t even budge it. Weren’t cops supposed to be good at kicking down doors? Mike watched him stumble backward, catching himself on the opposite wall, off-kilter, angry, and probably a little embarrassed. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, hand going for his gun.

“Hey, whoa, Oz,” Repko said. “Take it easy. Let’s rethink this.”

A loud crash came from inside the room, stopping them all where they stood like children in a game of statues. Mike heard somebody screaming, ending in a distant strangled gurgle. He felt a slow, luxurious wave of coldness move through him in a way he’d never experienced before—coldness that seemed to emanate from the inside out. This is how a dying man must feel, he thought. That inner chill.