He found he didn’t want to cry, but he held her limp light hand for a while and watched the sun set behind clouds. The nurses stayed out of his way. When the sun was down, he put her hand back at her side and pulled the sheet over her face. She looked smaller than he remembered.

“Martin?” Adrian Carling’s whisper was silk. He didn’t turn to look at her, or betray any surprise that she’d come to see him.

It had been two weeks since he’d woken up in the hospital to find that she’d been moved to another, more secure facility. One week since he’d received an arrangement of yellow roses and a card that said Be patient, Marty. He’d been patient. He’d had no choice.

“She’s gone.” It was the only thing he had to say, really. The only thing that meant anything.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and stood up. Carling looked pale and thin, but she was okay, getting physically stronger every day. Of course, she’d always been strong in spirit. Not like him.

“Do you want me to help with the arrangements?” she asked.

“What? Oh, no, I made them years ago. They kept thinking … it was just a matter of days. But she hung on. She was strong.” He met her eyes. “All I have to do is sign a form.”

“Will you be okay?” she asked. He noticed she did not ask, Are you okay, she knew the answer to that.

“I think so.” He sucked in a breath deep enough to ease the tension in his chest. “I’ve been patient.”

“I know. Thank you.”

God, so much to say, but he couldn’t think of any of it. He settled for information. “Any word on the two women who killed Ed Julian?”

“Gone. They drove his Mercedes to San Antonio and sold it the next morning for cash, hopped a flight to Florida. We lost track of them after that. Oh, and there was a man involved, too. James Patterson, alias Psycho Jim. Professional small-time thief. Other than the fact one of the women boosted him out of the hospital, there’s no information so far. I really don’t expect there will be.”

“Were they yours?” he asked. She looked at him with those secretive eyes, that faint half-smile, and he knew that no matter what, he loved her. He couldn’t help it. “Okay. What about the sweatshirts that were looted out of the truck?”

“We’ve issued a statement that they’re contaminated with toxic chemicals.”

“True enough.”

“We expect to get a ninety percent return.” She shook her head. “It gets warm in this town by March. The other ten percent will probably take care of themselves.”