Lucas pushed himself out of the chair and said, ''See you guys later,'' and hurried down the hall after the nurse.
Weather had a private room, and when Lucas walked in, she was on her feet, in a hospital gown, digging into a lockerlike closet for her clothes. Her face was intent, hurried.
''Weather…''
She jumped, turned, saw him and her face softened: ''Oh, God, Lucas.'' She reached toward him.
''How are you?'' He wrapped her up in his arms and her feet came off the floor.
''If you don't smother me, I'll probably be okay,'' she gasped.
He put her down. ''Probably?''
''Well, when they had me sedated, they talked me into this ridiculous hospital gown.'' She pulled it out to the side, as if she were about to curtsy. ''Every doc I know has been down to check on me, and every one has taken a good look at my ass.''
''Just like you: bringing light into people's lives.''
''I gotta get out of this gown,'' she said, digging into the locker again.
''Shut the door.''
Lucas shut the door, and as she tossed the balled-up gown on the bed, he said,
''Really now-don't bullshit me. How are you?''
She was pulling on a blouse, and stopped, suddenly, as her hands came through the cuffs. ''I'm sorta… messed up, I think. It's the weirdest thing.'' She rubbed her temple, looking up at him. Then her eyes drifted away, focused in the middle distance past his shoulder. ''I'll be going along, thinking about something else, and then all of a sudden, there I am again, back in the hall with this man and you're standing there and then…''
She shuddered.
''Don't think about it,'' Lucas said.
''I'm not thinking about it. I refuse to think about it. But it's like… like somebody else holds up a picture of it, right in front of my eyes. It just comes, boom!'' she said.
''Post-traumatic stress,'' he said.
''That's what I think,'' she said. ''But in some way, I never really believed in it until now. It's like people who had it were… weaklings, or something.''
''It'll go away,'' he repeated. ''There in the hall-I didn't know what was happening with you and LaChaise, I couldn't take any chances, there wasn't any way to really know.''
''I worked that out,'' she said. ''And God, the whole thing was my fault. What was I doing here? When he came in the OR, I thought I was dead. I thought he'd kill me right there, and all my friends, the people with me. I felt so stupid. ..''
''You can't anticipate lunatics,'' Lucas said. ''None of this made any sense.''
Weather was rambling on: ''Then he made the fatal error. I didn't see it, because we were talking so… normally. But I see it now: he'd maneuvered himself, by what he'd done, the way he was acting, into a spot where all the solutions were drastic and narrow. Thinking about it, I'm not sure he would have surrendered. At the time I thought he would: No, I was sure of it. But now, I'm not sure. When we were talking, he'd keep changing his mind, like
… like.. .''
''A child,'' Lucas said.
''Yes… Well, not quite. Like a crazy child,'' she said. She was staring out the window when she said that, looking down at the trees along the Mississippi, when suddenly she focused again, and turned to look up at him. ''What about you?'' she asked. ''We heard about the policeman, that he was killed and you were there… are you all right?''
''Oh, yeah, I'm fine.'' He stood back from her, holding on to her shoulders but at arm's length, looking her over. She seemed so bright, so focused, so normal, so all right, that he suddenly laughed.
''What?'' she asked, trying on a smile.
''Nothing,'' he said. He wrapped her up again, and her feet came off the floor again. ''Everything. Especially the way that gown showed your ass off.''
''Lucas… ''
''Sandford grabs you by the throat and never lets go.''
– Robert B. Parker
If you enjoyed Sudden Prey, you won't want to miss John Sandford's newest, most blood-chilling thriller…
THE NIGHT CREW
Turn the page for a special excerpt from this provocative new novel- available now from G. P. Putnam's Sons…
THE BEE WAS IMPATIENT, CHECKING HER WATCH, PEERING down the street, bouncing on her toes. She was waiting at the corner of Gayley and Le Conte, next to the
Shell station, a forest-green JanSport backpack at her feet. Her face was a pale crescent in the headlights of passing cars, in the Los Angeles never-dark.
Anna Batory, riding without her seatbelt, her feet braced on the truck's plastic dashboard, saw the Bee step out to the curb and pointed: ''There she is.''
Creek grunted and eased the truck to the curb. Anna rolled down the passenger-side window and spoke to the mask: ''You're the Bee?''
''You're late.''
Anna glanced at the dashboard clock, then back out the window: ''Jason said ten-thirty.''
Jason was sitting in the back of the truck on a gray metal folding chair, next to Louis. He looked up from his Sony chip-cam and said, ''That's what they told me. Ten-thirty.''
''It's now ten-thirty- three,'' the Bee said. She turned herwrist to show the blue face on a stainless-steel Rolex.
''Sorry,'' Anna said.
''Around the corner to Westwood, then Westwood to Circle. You know where Circle is?''
''Yeah, we know where everything is,'' Creek said. They'd been everywhere.
''Hold on.''
THERE'S A GUY ON THE CORNER,'' CREEK SAID.
Ahead and to the right, a woman in a ski mask was standing on the corner, making a hurry-up windmilling motion with one arm.
''That's Otter,'' the Bee said. ''And that's the corner of Circle. They must be out-turn right.''
Creek took the corner, past the waving woman. The street tilted uphill, and a hundred yards up, a cluster of women spilled down a driveway to the street, two of them struggling with a blue plastic municipal garbage can. A security guard was running down from the top of the hill, another one trailing behind.
''Got them coming out,'' Anna said, over her shoulder. A quick pulse ran through her: not quite excitement but some combination of pleasure and apprehension.
Nobody ever knew for sure what would happen at these things. Nothing much, probably, but any time you had guards with guns… Did the guards have guns?
She took a halfsecond to look but couldn't tell.
As she looked, she reached behind her, lifted the lid on the steel box bolted on the back of her seat, pulled the Nagra tape recorder from its foam nest. Jason was looking past her, through the windshield at the action, and she snapped:
''Get ready.''
''Yes, Mom,'' he said. He fitted a headset over the crown of his head, plugged in the earphone. Creek was driving with one hand, pulling on his own headset.
''Everybody hear me?'' Anna asked, speaking into her face mike. The radios were one-way: Anna talked, everyone else listened.
Creek said, ''Yeah,'' and took the truck over the curb, one big bounce and a nose-down, squealing, full stop. Jason had braced himself, and Louis had swivelled to let the chair take the jolt. The Bee toppled over and squealed,
''Shit.''
Ahead of them, the women carrying the garbage can were jerking and twisting down the driveway, doing the media polka-looking for the cameras, running for the lights, trying to stay away from the guards.
The raiders had gone into the back of the building, over a loading dock; the dock was contained inside a fence, with a concrete patio big enough for fifteen or twenty cars. At least a dozen women and a couple of men, all masked, milled around the patio; then a man ran out of the medical building, carrying a small, squealing, black-and-white pig. Then another woman, carrying boxes, or maybe cages.
As the truck settled, as Bee squealed, Anna was out and running, the Nagra banging against her leg. Jason was two steps behind her with the backup Sony, and Creek was out the driver's door, his camera up on his shoulder, off to
Anna's left. Bee, a little out of shape, sputtered in their wake.