I met her eyes. Edged to the right, farther from Hauser. That relaxed him.

Allison blinked.

I said, “One thing...”

Before Hauser could answer, Allison struck out at his knife arm, twisted away, and slid out of his grasp.

He shouted. She ran toward the door. He went after her. I had the purse, groped with tingling fingers, found it.

Allison’s shiny little automatic, perfect for her small hand, too small for mine. She’d oiled it recently and maybe some of the lubricant had made its way to the grip. Or my motor skills were shot and that’s why my shaking arms bobbled the weapon.

I caught it, used both hands to steady my aim.

Hauser was a foot behind Allison, flushed and huffing, knife held high. He made a grab for her, caught another handful of hair, yanked her head back, chopped down.

I shot him in the back of the knee.

He didn’t fall immediately so I blew out the other knee.

For good measure.

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 35

I’d spent ten years working in a hospital. Some smells never change.

Robin and Allison sat across from my bed.

Next to each other. Like friends.

Robin in black, Allison still in the baby-blue suit.

I remembered pokes and probes and other indignities but not being transported here.

The CAT scan and X-rays had been boring, the MRI a bit of claustrophobic fun. The spinal tap was no kind of fun at all.

No more pain, though. What a tough guy I was.

Robin and Allison— or maybe it was Allison and Robin— smiled.

I said, “What is this, some kind of beauty contest?”

Milo stepped into view.

I said, “I redact and retract and refract any former statement vis-àvis aesthetic compete-tition.”

Smiles all around. I was a hit.

“At the risk of utterly bonanzal banalistical cliché, where the bleep am I hospital-wise?”

“Cedars,” said Milo in a slow, patient way that suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d answered the question.

“Didja get to see Rick? You really should, you guys don’t spend enough time together.”

Pained smiles. Timing, it’s all about timing. I said, “Ladies and germs.”

Milo edged closer. “Rick says hi. He made sure they did all the necessary crap. No concussion or hematomas and your brain’s not swollen— at least not more than it usually is. You do have some bruised disks in your cervical spine and a couple of cracked ribs. Ergo, King Tut.”

“Ergo. Pogo. Logo.” I touched my side, felt the stiff swaddle of bandages. “Rick didn’t get to operate? No unkindest cut?”

“Not this time, pal.”

He was blocking my view. I told him so and he retreated to a corner of the room.

I looked at the girls. My girls.

So serious, both of them. Maybe I hadn’t said it loud enough. “No unkindeness cutaroo?”

Two pretty attempts at sympathy chuckles. I was dying up here.