Divided in Death (In Death #18)(98)

"Are you hitting on me?"

He stiffened like a rod. "That would be inappropriate under the circumstances."

"Because I might still be married or because you're not interested?"

"Your marriage would hardly be a factor, considering. But you're not in a state of mind where... An advance of a personal nature is clearly inappropriate while your emotions and your situation are in flux."

She found herself smiling, just a little. And found something opening inside her again, just a little. "You didn't say you weren't interested, so I'll just say I don't think I'd mind. If you worked up to hitting on me."

To test it out, she rose on her toes and touched her lips lightly to his. "No," she said after a moment, "I don't think I'd mind. Why don't you think about it?"

She was still smiling, just a little, as she started back upstairs.

19

Quinn Sparrow would live. He might, with several months of intensive therapy and treatments, walk again-if he had the same level of will and guts Reva Ewing had called upon to recover from her injuries.

It was, to Eve's mind, a solid kind of justice.

He had broken bones, a fractured spine, and a concussion among other insults. He would require reconstructive surgery on his face.

But he would live.

Eve was glad to hear it.

He was and would remain in Intensive Care for at least forty-eight hours. He was sedated, but Eve's badge and some bullying got her through.

She left Peabody posted at the door.

He was either sleeping or zoned when she walked in. She was banking on the zoned and shut off his IV drip of blockers without a twinge of remorse.

It only took a few moments for him to surface, moaning.

He looked considerably worse for wear, brutally bruised around his bandages, with a skin cast on his right arm, another along with a stability cage-that looked a little like one of Bissel's sculptures-around his right leg.

The wedge of collar prevented any movement of his head or neck.

"You in there, Sparrow?"

"Dallas." White at the lips, he shifted his eyes, tried to focus on her. "What the f**k?"

She moved closer, making it easier for him to keep her in his line of vision, and laid a hand in what she considered a "survivors of the battle" gesture on his shoulder. "You're in the hospital. You're strapped in to restrict movement."

"I don't remember. How... how bad?"

It was, she thought, a nice touch to look away for a moment as if she was struggling to speak. "It's... it's pretty bad. He hit us, hard. You took the worst. Vehicle went up like a rocket, crashed like a bomb. Slammed into a maxi on your side. You're messed up bad, Sparrow."

She felt his shoulder tremble as he tried to move. "Christ, Christ, the pain."

"I know. It's gotta be rugged. But we got him." She closed a hand over his now, squeezed. "We got the bastard."

"What? Who?"

"We got Bissel, wrapped and locked. Still had the shoulder launcher he used on us. Blair Bissel, Sparrow, alive and well, and singing like a canary."

"That's crazy." He groaned. "I need the doctor. I need something for the pain."

"I want you to listen, to dig down and pay attention. I don't know how much time you've got."

"Time?" His fingers jerked under hers. "Time?"

"I want to give you a chance to clear your conscience, Sparrow. To set the record straight. You deserve that much. He's dumping the whole ball on you. Listen to me. Listen." She tightened her fingers on his. "I've got to give it to you, and you've got to prepare yourself. You're not going to make it."

His skin went sickly gray. "What are you talking about?"

She leaned in close so he could see only her face. "They did everything they could. Worked on you for hours. There's too much damage."

"I'm dying?" His voice, already a weak tremble, cracked. "No. No. I want a doctor."

"They'll be back in a minute. They'll give you... they'll give you a humane dose. You'll go out easy."

"I'm not going to die." Tears swam, and spilled over. "I don't want to die."

She pressed her lips together, as if overcome. "I thought you'd want to hear it from me, from... a colleague. His aim had been better, we'd both be on our way out. But he just sheered the front end, and we flipped. They saved your leg," she continued, and paused to clear her throat. "They hoped that... Christ. The impact messed up your insides, messed them up bad. The son of a bitch killed you, Sparrow, and tried for me."

"I can't see. I can't move."

"You've gotta stay quiet, still. It'll buy you time. You've been out of it, Sparrow, and he's using that. He tried to wipe us both, and because of that I'm trying to give you a chance to go out with some dignity. I'm going to read you your rights." She paused again, shook her head. "Jesus, this sucks."

He began to tremble as she recited the revised Miranda. "You understand your rights and obligations, Assistant Director Sparrow?"

"What the hell is this about?"

"It's about setting the record straight, and getting some of your own back here. A good lawyer's going to get Bissel off with a few slaps if you don't tell me how it went down. He's counting on you just dying. Dying and taking the hard rap. He says you killed Carter Bissel and Felicity Kade."