Paramedics wheeled a gurney into the kitchen and helped him onto it. They threw out a string of questions about what had happened, his pain level, the kind of surgery. He answered patiently, his lips barely moving because his jaw was clenched in pain.

Trisha supplied medical-sounding words that turned distorted at the edges in Ashna’s ears. The room floated as though she were underwater watching it undulate.

“It’s a good thing we’re barely a mile from Stanford Hospital. They should have you fixed and good to go before it gets worse,” Trisha said.

At this point his knee resembled a small melon, a very angry melon with a scar that looked ready to rip open. But the initial blast of agony was gone from his eyes. It had to have taken an insane effort, but he had himself well under control.

Ashna’s hand tightened on the stainless-steel countertop. She wanted to step closer to the gurney and ease the pain he thought he was hiding. The thought made her livid at herself.

His eyes searched for something. Her gaze followed his to the floor and found his sunglasses wedged under a cabinet. Picking up the aviators, she handed them to him, careful not to let their fingers touch, even as he avoided touching hers.

In one quick motion he covered his eyes, and the mix of steady green and volatile gold disappeared behind the reflective blue.

When they started to roll him away, Ashna tried to follow, but the front of her sandal slid off her foot and hung from it like a dog’s tongue. The strap had been sliced almost right through, and the last bit of leather holding it together came apart. If his reflexes hadn’t been what they were, she might have had a few toes missing right now.

Then again, if his reflexes hadn’t been what they were, her life would not have taken the turn it had all those years ago.

Ashna watched them wheel the gurney out. The rest of the crew, and her cousins, followed. Only Jonah stayed back, fluttering around the kitchen looking strangely excited. Then he followed too.

He was almost out the door when he stopped, slapped a hand to his forehead, and turned to Ashna. “Shit, he never got a chance to introduce himself. That was Frederico Silva, the legendary striker for Manchester United.”

Car engines fired in the parking lot. A single siren blast rang through the air, then dropped into silence. Jonah ran out the door.

Ashna sank to the floor, shrinking back into the cabinets and under the countertops. “I know,” she whispered into her suddenly empty kitchen. “I know exactly who he is.”

Chapter Seven