Rule set the little paper cup with the pills back on the rolling table. “Pain saps the body’s strength. You’ll mend faster with it muted.”
“Mute the pain, mute the brain. I can’t think when I’m drugged. I need to think.” Ever since she’d learned about the probable traitor in the Bureau, she’d been either asleep or drugged. Mostly asleep. Maybe it had been necessary, but she’d had enough. “Caffeine has analgesic properties.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You want coffee at nine o’clock at night?”
“I would love a cup, thanks.”
He considered arguing. That was clear from his long, unblinking pause. Finally he stood, went to the door, and asked one of the guards to go to the Starbucks in the other building.
“Regular coffee’s fine,” she said. “I don’t need Starbucks.”
“Tough. I do.” He slipped the guard a bill. “Pick up soup and a sandwich, too.”
“I’m pretty sure I ate.” She didn’t remember what now, but someone had definitely pestered her to eat.
“You ate six bites—two of the Jell-O, one of the cake, and three of the strange noodle mixture which may have had bits of chicken hiding in it somewhere.” He closed the door again.
“You counted my bites.”
“It helped me resist the urge to force-feed you.”
“I guess I’ve been a pain.” Her memories of the last twenty-four hours were fuzzy, but a few stood out. She was pretty sure she’d cursed someone out at one point. “Do I owe Nettie an apology?”
“Probably, though she understands. You hate having others make decisions for you. I do, too, but I begin to think you inherited your magical grandsire’s sense of sovereignty.”
“I’m not that bad.” But her mouth kicked up as she tried to picture Sam as a patient, obedient to nurses’ and doctors’ ideas of when he should eat, sleep, get up, lie down, or pee in a cup. The mind boggled. It was just as well dragons healed themselves, she decided. “Nettie and the surgeon don’t agree on how long my arm’s going to be unusable, but either way, I’m going to be on sick leave awhile.”
“From your perspective, that bites.” He rejoined her, but didn’t sit down.
“From yours, too, since I’ll probably be hard to live with. Sjorensen was here earlier.”
“Yes, you asked for her. Do you not remember?”
“Not clearly. I was drugged.” Did she sound aggrieved, or just whiny? “I don’t think I told her anything I shouldn’t.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I see your concern. You didn’t. You asked for her after exchanging civilities with the self-important buffoon the local FBI office put in charge of investigating the shooting.”
Now she remembered. Millhouse—that was the guy’s name. “Oh, yeah. It was him I cursed out, not Nettie. Good.”
For some reason that amused him. “You wished me to remind you to call the man’s superior. Perhaps you won’t need to, though. I spoke with Abel.”
“Abel Karonski?” Maybe her mind wasn’t working right yet, because she did not see the connection. Karonski was a Unit agent, not regular FBI. He couldn’t do anything about the local branch’s senior idiot.
“He called to see how you were doing, and I explained the problem with Millhouse. He’s going to speak with Croft about it. He seemed to think the personnel difficulty could be dealt with. He was on his way to D.C. when he called.”
“He finished up that hex case he was on?”
“No, he had to hand that off to someone else. He’s been put in charge of the investigation into the attempt on Ruben’s life.”
A tight knot of worry eased. “Good.” She thought it over a moment, and said it again. “Good. That’s excellent news.”
“It was Ruben’s suggestion. He had a hunch.”
“He must be doing better if he’s making suggestions.”
“Either that, or he’s no better at being a patient than you are.” Rule smiled when he said that, though, and stroked her hair. “You’re not hurting too much?”
“I’m in desperate agony, but I’m tough.” At the look on his face she added quickly, “Joke, Rule. That was a joke. It’s just pain. I don’t like it, and it ups the grouchy factor, but it’s already better than it was at first.” She expected to hurt more tomorrow, since she’d be moving around more. A lot more, if she had her way. She wanted out of the damned hospital.
Another memory surfaced. “My father called. So did my mother.” Two separate calls, one from each, and she dimly recalled that her father had made her laugh. She didn’t remember why, but she’d laughed. And her mother … Lily frowned. “She’s not coming here, is she?”
“It was a near thing, but I persuaded her you’d be home soon, so there was no need. She wants me to assure you that you are not to worry about the aesthetic effect of the sling.”
She looked at him blankly.
His mouth twitched. “Assuming you’re still using one at our wedding in March, that is. Julia believes a sling could be fashioned out of the same silk as your dress, if necessary.”
“She’s worried about matching my sling to my wedding dress.”
“No,” Rule said, “she wanted to be sure you wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve also taken calls from your sisters, Madame Yu, Detective James, Deputy Beck, one Rho, three Lu Nuncios, Steve Timms, Cullen, Ida, and a couple others. You know that Cynna’s sequestered with the Rhej right now. She may not yet know about the shooting.”
“Right.” It made Lily feel funny that so many people had called to check on her. Funny, but good. “Grandmother used the phone?”
“She had instructions for me.”
Lily grinned. “I’ll bet. I hope her instructions agree with Nettie’s. I wouldn’t want to annoy either one of them.”
“They’re largely congruent. While Nettie didn’t prescribe tea, I don’t think she’d object. I’m afraid I had to tell everyone that flowers and other delivered items weren’t appropriate, due to security.”
She would have done the same thing if she’d been arranging security for a potential target. It was weird being that potential target. “You’re assuming the shooter is an ongoing threat rather than a one-off, an opportunistic attack. Did the locals talk to the concierge?”
“The locals aren’t talking to me. However, Sjorensen intends to …” His phone chimed. He checked the screen and grimaced apologetically. “It’s Alex. I’d better take it.”
“Sure.” Why did that make her memory itch? Oh, yeah. He’d taken a call from Isen while they were on the plane. One he hadn’t told her about.
This call was about the memorial. The firnam, they called it. She tried to listen, but couldn’t. Her mind filled with the image she couldn’t get rid of: LeBron’s head again, the bloody mess of it. The missing eye.
It hurt. It hurt so much more than her arm, and in a place painkillers couldn’t reach. Once Rule disconnected, she distracted herself by asking about the other call she’d been reminded of. “On the flight out here, your father called you on my phone and didn’t want me to know what it was about. You said you’d hold off. Have you held off enough yet?”
“ Actually, I was planning to tell you tonight if you seemed up to listening to a puzzling tale.”
A puzzle sounded like an excellent idea. More distraction. “I’m up for it.”
“In a moment. This is not a Leidolf matter, so … ah, your coffee is here.”
So was his coffee and the food. Lily didn’t have much appetite, but the soup was chicken noodle, which was what her mother had always given them when they were sick, so eating it seemed right. Tasted pretty good, too. “Okay,” she said, putting her almost-empty bowl aside to sip coffee. “You’ve eaten, I’ve eaten. Puzzle me.”