That was Hayley to a T. It didn’t surprise me. She’d been there for me before. Oliver didn’t argue and the ride was wonderfully silent. We picked up Hayley’s car and made it to Koby’s by eight. My Lexus was right where I’d left it; his Toyota was nowhere in sight. I sighed. “I don’t think he’s home yet. He’s probably still at the hospital.”

“You aren’t going there, right?” Before I could answer, she said, “Cin, you need to go home and sleep.”

“You too.”

“No problem. I’m going home. You do the same. That’s an order.” We hugged. She said, “Breakfast on Wednesday?”

“How about Thursday?” I countered for no good reason.

“Thursday is perfect.”

I smiled, then got out of the car. After settling myself in my Lexus and placing the phone in the built-in recharge cradle, I put in a call to Koby’s cell.

I got his voice mail.

I left a brief message.

Next I tried the hospital. I was transferred about ten times and finally wound up talking to Marnie, the pixie nurse I had met the first time I had visited Sarah’s baby. She knew about the accident and asked me if I was okay. I told her I was.

There was an awkward pause.

“He’s in the ICU,” she told me. “Been there for a while. Maybe I can help you with something?”

Tension in her voice. It could have come from dealing with the horror of the accident, but the tightness told me it was probably more personal. That I was bugging her because I was bugging Koby.

“No … just tell him I called.”

“I will, Officer. Good-bye.”

She hung up before I could thank her.

I made it home by nine, then called Louise Sanders to cancel our lunch date at the precinct. She wasn’t in, but I left a message on her cell. Then after setting the alarm for one-thirty, I went to bed. The buzzer did its magic at the appointed time, and I was showered, dressed, and ready to go by two. There were messages on my answering machine from that morning. Three from my father, one from Hayley, and even one from Scott, his being two words— “Let’s talk.”

I’d deal with my messages later.

There was nothing from Koby.

I called his cell, but it was still on voice mail.

I called his house. He wasn’t home or he wasn’t picking up. This time, I left a message. I told him how proud I was of him. I told him I was okay and hoped he was okay as well. I was still shaken but otherwise fine. Then I hung up.

The ball was in his court. Tired and grumpy, I went to work.

It took some dogged determination, but I managed to catch up with Russ MacGregor while I was on break and he was in the squad room, working the phones before he went out on his next field call. The hit-and-run had given me some clout since I had reacted quickly and according to protocol. But Russ was far from generous. I had fifteen minutes to state my case.