“I mean, they said they could create an artificial plastic frame and cover that with a skin graft, and part of me thinks that would be just as cool, but using my own cartilage is better in a whole lot of ways. I mean, my body wouldn’t reject it, because, I mean, it is my body, or part of my body, and—”

“Tane.”

“Yeah?”

I swallow, trying to lubricate my throat. What is it about hospitals and dry throat? “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

Tane nods. “Me too. But thanks for coming. I mean, you were pretty badass.”

I close my eyes. “I’m completely badass. But right now I need a nap.”

“Oh, okay,” Tane says. “Sure. You get some rest.” I hear him start to roll away, his wheelchair squeaking.

“Tane?” I say, my eyes still closed.

“Uh-huh?”

I open my eyes a crack. “Come back and visit later, okay?”

Tane smiles. He’s in a hospital gown, and there’s a wad of gauze on one side of his head where his ear was sliced off, and he looks like he hasn’t showered in a few days. But that smile is gorgeous. “Yeah, sure,” he says.

BUT HE DOESN’T come back. Instead, the next day I’m visited by Alisha Rondeau. I hear her heels on the tile floor all the way down the hall. Then she’s standing in the doorway. Today she’s wearing a black pantsuit and an ivory blouse. Not for the first time, I wonder how many pantsuits she has in her closet. “Special Agent Rondeau,” I say.

“Hi, Suzie,” she says, and I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t flutter a bit. “Can I come in?”

“Mi hospital, su hospital.”

Rondeau walks in and sits next to my bed. “How are you?” she asks.

“Fabulous,” I say. “I’ve got wires and tubes coming out of me like I’m an experiment in a bad sci-fi movie.”

Rondeau considers my monitor wires and IV tube. “You do sort of look like a low-rent Borg.”

“If you tell me you’re a Star Trek fan, I’ll confess my undying love for you right here.”

It’s slight, but she smiles. “I wanted to tell you that Tane Kamaka has been discharged.”

I blink in surprise. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.”

“Oh,” I say. “Shit. You’ve got him in protective custody. Again.”

She has the good grace to look mildly uncomfortable. “He’s in the right hands this time. He’s a material witness in an ongoing federal investigation.”

“The Sureños will be looking for him.”

She holds my gaze. “Which is why he is where he is. They’ll be looking for you, too.”

I give her a bleak smile. “Bring ’em on.”

Neither of us says anything for a moment. My monitor makes its quiet beep.