“So have you.” He paused.
Paige gave a small smile. “I’m fine.” She hesitated. “How’s… how’s Trish?”
He smiled wryly and placed an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “I need to have a talk with her. In fact, I should have done this when I first got here.” Rubbing his hand down her arm, he turned to go, heading back to the Intensive Care ward. That had been an hour earlier.
Now, a movement in the dark corner of Dumenco’s room caught his eye. Trish. A glint of light reflected off her glasses. She stood with her arms folded across her breasts, intently watching the family’s reactions, as if she were comparing them against some set standard.
Trish slowly looked his way. Her face lacked expression. She stared at him for a moment, and he gestured with his chin to the door. He followed her out into the hall. Trish lounged back against the wall, her head tilted up and her eyes closed. “It’s always hard when someone dies,” she said.
“You look like you took it pretty well.”
“I have to. It’s the nature of the game.”
“You always could be detached.” Craig braced himself.
Trish glanced sideways at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Craig chose his words carefully. “When you first called, asking me to come out here, I thought you might have a deeper interest in this than you said. But now your reaction is so clinical. Judging from the passion you put into some of your PR-Cubed opinion pieces, I thought you’d be railing up and down the halls.”
An orderly walked past the elevators; nurses’ voices came from around the corner.
“Strictly professional,” she said. “I see now that a lot of the PR-Cubed soapboxing was just… words, nothing more.”
“How so?” Craig asked. “What made it change for you?”
Trish spoke in a small voice. “It’s so hard, day after day, seeing people die. I do everything I can for them, work myself ragged. I use every known technology trying to save someone, and then they die for no apparent reason. You have to keep it all inside-aloof, not get involved. Otherwise you’d be racked with grief. I have to be detached, damn it. Don’t fault me for it.”
Craig set his mouth as the words struck home. His own career was much the same, seeing people die, many of them innocent victims of circumstance. If he were to get personally involved, he’d never be able to do his job. “I do understand,” he whispered.
“I doubt it.” Trish setting her mouth in a firm line, dismissing him.
Craig remained quiet, unwilling to fight about it. He’d already had that experience too many times with her. Instead, he leaned over and put an arm awkwardly around her. “But it wasn’t your fault. And we never would have caught Bretti-or Dr. Piter for that matter- unless you chose to get involved and called me.” He hesitated. “You’ve always been involved. I realize that now. It’s your way, and you won’t ever change-not for Dumenco… and not for me.”
He drew her close, and for the first time in years smelled her hair. He felt Trish nestle into his arms, and he held her tight.
But he felt nothing for her except pity; pity that she had chosen to excel in a field where she would always feel the pain of other people, no matter how far she tried to distance herself from it.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Friday, 9:38 p.m.
Fox RiverMedicalCenter
Craig stood by Julene Goldfarb’s side, a hand on her shoulder as they looked down at her husband’s hospital bed. Paige waited directly behind him, and Jackson knelt with one knee on the floor in front of the bed-the tall, lanky black agent looked very uncomfortable in the awkward position. Ben Goldfarb’s two girls fidgeted on chairs at the other side of the room, doing their absolute best to be good and stay quiet. Outside, a powdery snow whipped against the windows.
Craig felt a flash of dèja vu-four hours ago he had stood with another family, two floors away, as they grieved over Georg Dumenco’s death. Luckily, this situation wasn’t nearly so tragic.
Craig watched his short, curly-haired partner wince as he tried to roll over on his side. Hanging from supports above the bed, two intravenous tubes ran into his arm, while others disappeared under the sheets. The numerous tubes and diagnostics made Goldfarb look like a mannequin supported by thick strings.
Jackson stood up, helped position his partner, then stuffed a pillow behind him to support Goldfarb while lying on his side.
“Thanks,” whispered Goldfarb. “I feel like one of those lab rats.”
“I’m not sure the doctors want you to be off your back, Ben,” said Julene.
Goldfarb snorted, then started coughing as it tickled his throat. “Everybody wants me off their back.”
“Sounds like he’s in pretty good shape to me. ” As Paige leaned over to Craig, he caught a hint of White Shoulders perfume; he felt strangely giddy with her face so close to his.
Jackson turned to the dresser and picked up a paper Starbucks cup covered with a white plastic lid. “Brought you something, big guy.” Removing the lid, he waved the cup under Goldfarb’s nose. “Bet you hadn’t tasted this for a while.”
Goldfarb’s eyes lit up. “That coffee smells heavenly. Bring it over here!”
“Randall Jackson!” Julene leaned over to pluck the coffee cup away. “You know he’s not supposed to have any caffeine.”
“I was just going to let him smell it, ma’am,” protested Jackson, taking the cup back with a swift movement. “Let him inhale.”
“Starbucks is potent enough to have a jolt just in the fumes,” Goldfarb said wistfully.
“Mom! Mr. Jackson’s spilling on me!” Goldfarb’s oldest girl pushed back in her chair as Jackson swung the hot cup of coffee over her. Jackson put a hand under the cup to keep the liquid from sloshing out.
Craig started to laugh when his pager beeped. Digging it out of his suit jacket, he checked the number. June Atwood, calling to check in.
Craig dialed the number from Goldfarb’s bedside phone. June sounded anxious and curious. “I got your summary of the events regarding the incidents at Fermilab-but you didn’t tell me how Ben is doing!”
Craig smiled at the clear concern behind her stern voice. “I told you it was an incomplete report, June.” He glanced at the commotion in the room. Jackson alternated between sweeping the coffee under Ben’s nose and keeping it at bay from Julene. Julene resorted to folding her arms and staring coldly at him.
“I think Ben’s made it over the hump. Remember how much he moaned about breaking his pinky finger in Nevada -he’ll probably milk this for a promotion, or at least a bonus.”
“He’s lucid?” asked June. “Is anything the matter? I can hear some sort of commotion in the background.”
Craig smiled. “Uh, it’s nothing. Just a difference in opinion on post-traumatic recovery procedures. He’ll be fine. Another few days and he’ll be able to fly home.”
“I really should have come out myself.” June sounded guilty.
“ Jackson coordinated everything at the hospital. And you wouldn’t have been able to do anything out here- Jackson wouldn’t have let you. They’re quite a team.”
“You all are. Including that Ms. Mitchell. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Uh, oh, thought Craig. “Uh, I doubt you’ll have a chance to do that, June,” he said. “She’s working out here in Fermilab.”
Paige looked at him curiously. Craig just shrugged.
“For the time being,” said June dryly. “But we’ll see about that.”
Now Craig was really confused. “What do you mean?”
June sighed. “I don’t know how you two manage to do it, but the breakthroughs you and Paige Mitchell have made on the last few cases-even though you’ve been thrown together by circumstances rather than any conscious design-have gained attention as a model for inter-agency cooperation. Both rhe Attorney General and the Department of Energy have already spotted an opportunity.”