“What the hell happened?” Ted said. “When I left her in the ER last night, she was hurting but she was okay.”

“I’ll see if a doctor will talk with you.”

“Is she asleep?” Ted knew she wasn’t, but he had to ask.

“She’s in an induced coma.” The nurse must have decided that his distress needed immediate attention. She spoke quietly. “There was some bleeding in the brain, which caused swelling.”

Ted felt light-headed. His blood pressure must have spiked—or dived. He wanted to sit.

“The swelling results in elevated pressure,” the nurse said. She sounded tremendously offhand to Ted. “She’s sedated. The fluids will disperse, and the swelling will go down. Then we will take her off the heavy meds, and she should be fine.”

“Or?”

“This happens with head injuries sometimes. And this is pretty standard treatment. Are you family?” The question was rote; her eyes were already moving on.

He was losing her, but he needed answers. “Fiancé. Is there a chance she won’t wake up?”

“I’ve got other patients.” She looked down the hallway as though hordes of ill and injured were awaiting her ministrations.

“What about permanent brain damage?”

“Go sit with her. The doctor will have to answer any other questions.”

This time Ted had the good sense to back off a touch. “Thanks. Will she know I’m here?”

Ted could see her take a moment to decide whether or not to continue the conversation. Compassion briefly won out over procedure. “We think she can hear and is processing at some level, so, yes, speak to her—quietly.” She drew herself up and reasserted her dominion. “And don’t bring up any stressful or emotional BS. I’ll know and I’ll kick your butt out of here.” She turned to leave.

“Wait. Didn’t the police have a guard on her?”

The nurse shook her head.

“They said they would,” Ted said, pushing it. It was important.

She half shrugged with a sad smile.

Ted took one of the two chairs next to the bed. It was hard, unyielding plastic. A place to perch only. No one over the age of eight would have been comfortable sitting there for any length of time.

He was angry. The detectives had blown him off. But anger would do nothing to solve the problem. He needed to think.

The blood pressure cuff on her arm expanded, paused, and, with a ping, subsided. The ventilator whooshed quietly. He heard the soft murmur of conversations from the adjoining rooms. Talk, the nurse had instructed him. What does one say to a woman in a coma?

“Hi. It’s Ted. Ted Molloy. We had dinner last night.”

Kenzie continued to breathe regularly.

“We kissed,” he said.

Her eyes did not fly open. She did not sit up and smile at him. But she did keep breathing. Or was the machine doing it all for her?