Hearing the door creak, Caitlin stepped back from the bed, afraid it would be Sherry rather than another nurse. Henry’s girlfriend wouldn’t like seeing her leaning so close over him.

The first thing Caitlin saw was a huge, flower-print weekend tote. Then came a grease-stained McDonald’s bag, followed by Sherry herself, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans.

“Look what Sherry’s got,” Caitlin sang, hoping to break the spell of intimacy in the room.

“Is he awake?” Sherry asked, looking for floor space to set down her bag.

Henry’s lips moved, but as Sherry dropped her tote against the exterior wall, his head jerked to the right and his eyelids fluttered, then froze in the open position.

“Did you say something, hon?” Sherry asked, straightening up with a weary sigh.

In the silence that followed this question, a shard of glass fell out of the window. It tinkled against the air-conditioning unit, then shattered on the floor with a flat crack like a broken Christmas ornament. Caitlin stared at the shard in confusion, then looked up at Henry.

A single runnel of bright red blood trailed from his temple down to the white pillow. His head jerked again, but his eyes remained open. Caitlin’s gaze went to the window again and finally took in the state of the mini-blinds.

When were those opened? she wondered. They were supposed to be closed at all times—

“Henry?” Sherry said, puzzled but still not worried.

“Shut the blinds!” Caitlin screamed. “Sherry, shut the blinds!”

Flooded with adrenaline, she grabbed the foot of the hospital bed and pulled it away from the wall. Various cords and tubes resisted her, but she yanked hard and the bed came away on its wheels.

Sherry stared at Caitlin as if she were about to start pulling the bed back toward the wall.

“Shut the fucking blinds!” Caitlin yelled again. “Someone’s shooting!”

Another piece of glass popped out of the window, and Caitlin sensed more than felt something ricochet through the room. At last Sherry grasped what was happening. Without any thought for herself, she lunged for the plastic rod that controlled the blinds.

Caitlin manhandled the head of Henry’s bed past the bathroom door and slammed it against the main door of the hospital room. Then she kick-locked the bed’s wheels to stop anyone getting in from the hall.

Someone was pounding on the door—the deputy, probably—but Caitlin wasn’t about to let anybody inside. She shouted that he should call the FBI and lock down the hospital, but he just kept yelling for her to open the door. Scanning the room for her purse (meaning to get her pistol), she saw Sherry spin away from the window, both hands clutching her throat. The woman hung in the air for a surreal second, blood pouring from her left eye socket, then fell so heavily that Caitlin knew she was dead before she hit the floor.