Suspects(62)

“She said she was his sister,” one of them said.

“I don’t think so, if you listen to her talk to him. Girlfriend more like,” one of the other nurses said.

Another nurse lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He’s some big-deal CIA guy. Half the CIA was in here when it happened last week. It didn’t look like he would make it at first, but these guys are tough. He’s hanging in. All the big-gun surgeons were called in for the surgery when they brought him in. Two flew up from Washington.” They all went back to work then.



* * *



—

Patrick was still waiting for her when Theo left the hospital and got back in the car to go to the hotel.

“I’m sorry it was such a long day,” she said to Patrick and the driver.

“How’s Mr. Andrews?” Patrick asked her.

“He’s in a medically induced coma, so it’s hard to tell right now. He’s on a respirator,” she said, and melted into the seat. She was exhausted. The emotional strain of seeing him so sick and watching the machine breathe for him left her so drained that she could hardly get out of the car when they got back to the hotel. Patrick gave her a hand, which she accepted gratefully, and she asked the driver to be back again at eight forty-five the next morning, then she and Patrick rode up in the elevator. He was looking forward to a good meal from room service. Theo had had two bites of a sandwich Patrick bought from one of the shops in the lobby and she ate in the ICU waiting room. She wasn’t hungry now but knew she had to eat.

She ordered a cheeseburger from room service, and it reminded her of their first date at the diner. She was going to remind him of it the next day when she saw him. She had talked to him about inane things all day, about what they were going to do when he was better, the places they wanted to go. She reminded him that he had promised to take her to Venice, and they wanted to go to Rome too. She wondered if they ever would. He seemed so close to death that it was hard to imagine him surviving, but she wanted to believe he would. She had to, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. She refused to believe that would happen, but she was scared for him every time she looked at him.

She managed to eat half the burger and a few French fries, took a shower and put the cozy robe on again, and lay on her bed. She fell asleep and the next thing she knew it was seven in the morning. She ordered oatmeal for breakfast and turned on the news, where she saw a big story about a major drug bust the week before. Literally tons of heroin and cocaine had come in by plane from Ecuador, and one of the biggest Colombian drug lords had been captured in a gunfight with federal agents at the airport. She knew as she listened that that was when Mike had gotten shot. It said that three of the drug runners had been killed in the process, and two federal agents had been killed, and three others had been saved by a heroic senior agent who had been shot in the process and was in critical condition. She understood what he did better now. And all she hoped was that he’d survive. She hoped that Paul Blakely was right and Mike had nine lives.



* * *



—

Theo was back at Mike’s bedside at nine-thirty. The nurses smiled when she arrived, and she took up her gentle patter of one-sided conversation with Mike. She reminded him of their first date at the diner, and told him she wanted to go back there with him again. And she reminded him about Venice and Rome. She talked about anything she could think of, and told him again and again how much she loved him.

The days ran into each other as she arrived in the ICU every morning. She brought a big box of chocolates for the nurses, which pleased them. And on her third day there, she saw the doctors examine him. They pulled the curtain around his cubicle and looked satisfied when they emerged. She asked one of them how they thought he was doing.

“We’re pleased with his progress,” he said conservatively, once she introduced herself and he saw her name on the approved visitors list. “He’s been stable for ten days, we may wake him up a little and take him off the respirator next week.” It sounded like good news to her, and later when she asked, one of the nurses told her it was.

“He’s getting stronger,” she said. “It’s hard to see progress while he’s on the respirator. When they lighten the sedation, you’ll start to see some improvement,” she encouraged her. They had all been impressed by how faithful Theo had been. She was there every day for ten or twelve hours, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She was obviously very concerned about him.

Theo had gotten texts from both Guy Thomas and Robert Richmond. The last kidnapper was still at large somewhere, but both men were concerned about Mike’s condition, and they told Theo to wish him well and a speedy recovery. She told him about it during one of her fifteen-minute visits with him. She told him everything she could think of to encourage him.

She called her office occasionally, but everything was running smoothly there and they didn’t want to burden her.

She maintained her hourly visits with Mike for an entire week, and on Monday, almost two weeks after his long heart surgery, they let him out of the medical coma, and he opened his eyes for the first time. He looked surprised to see Theo. He couldn’t speak while he was still on the respirator, but she thought his eyes were smiling and he squeezed her hand. He was still very weak, but his color was better.

They took him off the respirator that night. He ran a fever, which panicked Theo, but the nurses said that happened sometimes, and the doctors weren’t concerned. His temperature was normal by morning.