LITMIR.BIZ

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down the hall in the opposite direction.

      “Dr. Egan is Ms. Maltona’s doctor,” the nurse at the station said.

      Gretchen showed her badge. “I need to talk to her. Just tell me which room.”

      The woman bristled, but another, older nurse dropped the file she was perusing and came to the first one’s rescue. “That’s for Dr. Egan to decide.”

      “Then find him.” Gretchen stared at her and she stared back. After a moment, she picked up the receiver, practically shoving the younger nurse aside, and punched in a number. “Please call the fourth-floor nurse’s station,” she clipped out.

      “There’s a policewoman insisting on seeing Ms. Maltona.” She hung up and said, “It’ll just be a moment. . . .”

      A moment turned into five minutes and Gretchen said, “You can turn this into a war, or you can work with me. Either way I’m going to see Ms. Maltona.”

      The younger nurse was gazing at Gretchen with a sort of fear mixed with awe. “Dr. Egan usually answers his page fairly quickly.”

      The older nurse flashed her a look of fury, as if she’d given away state secrets. Gretchen simply nodded and turned her back on them.

      A few minutes later a good-looking doctor with dark hair and eyes came their way, his lab coat billowing behind him. He had a smile on his face and he looked at Gretchen, then September, then back to Gretchen. “You wish to speak to my patient, Ms. Maltona?”

      “That’s the plan.” Gretchen’s eyes narrowed as she sized him up. He appeared more genial than Denby and she was feeling her way.

      “She’s in room 505. We’ll take the elevator.” He’d already turned toward the bank of elevators, which was a short walk further down the corridor. “I’m not sure what good this’ll do you. She’s surfaced once or twice since yesterday’s surgery, but she hasn’t completely come back to consciousness.” He gave them a considering look as they crowded into the elevator car. “The bullet did extensive damage to her heart. You understand she may not recover.”

      September’s stomach did a slow somersault. She swallowed and nodded as Gretchen said soberly, “We understand. We just want to see her.”

      The elevator dinged and the doors opened and Dr. Egan led them down a hall and around a corner to Jessica Maltona’s room. She lay white-faced against the white pillowcase, barely a shade’s difference between her flesh and the pillow. A bandage wrapped around her chest was visible as the gown gapped in the front. Her eyes stayed closed and her breathing seemed low and faint.

      She’s not going to make it, September thought.

      They only stayed a few minutes then headed back to floor three, street level and out to Gretchen’s Jeep. Once inside, September asked, “What do you think?”

      “I got nothing. Upjohn’s sad about his son and worried about his company. He wants to talk to his accountant, and maybe there’s some book-cooking, or something, but he didn’t act like a man who felt real danger.”

      “He doesn’t think whoever did it is going to strike at him again, while he’s laid up in the hospital,” September clarified.

      “That’s my hit. What about you?”

      “I don’t know. If Camille Dirkus doesn’t call me back soon, I’m going to have to track her down.”

      Gretchen made sounds of annoyance low in her throat.

      “What did you think about Jessica Maltona?”

      Gretchen sent her a sideways look as she drove out of the lot. “What did you think?”

      “Doesn’t look good.”

      “If the shooting had anything to do with her, she’s paying a heavy price. Maybe her squirrelly boyfriend got her into something. I don’t know.”

      “Could the boyfriend have done this, do you think?”

      “My opinion? Not a chance. Jaffe’s hiding something, though. I don’t know what yet. I’ll figure it out, but it doesn’t feel like it’s germane to the killings. We’ll see.”

      “So who does that leave?” September asked.

      “I don’t know. De Fore? One of the gamers? Olivia Dugan?”

      “Auggie’s with her.” September felt that same faint touch of betrayal that her brother hadn’t contacted her. “And what about Trask Martin?”

      “Somebody killed him right outside her door.” Gretchen considered that. “I don’t believe in coincidence, do you?”

      “No,” September said.

      “Then Martin’s death is related to the Zuma shootings, too. You said the girlfriend blamed his death on Dugan.”

      “Jo. Yeah. But D’Annibal doesn’t believe that.”

      “Only because your brother texted him that he was with Dugan,” Gretchen said. “Man, Auggie sure didn’t get any time off between the task force and this job, did he?”

      “No.” September felt irrationally irked.

      “Huh,” Gretchen said, “I asked D’Annibal about him, but he fobbed me off some more.”

      September didn’t want to talk about Auggie. He was her twin and she sometimes felt closer to him than anyone else in the universe, but at other times he was beyond annoying. What the hell was he doing? She’d known his work with the task force was winding down. Though his cover hadn’t been blown, he’d said he needed to get out while the getting was good, and besides, he’d gathered as much intel as he could, or so he’d told her.

      She knew Gretchen had hoped he would come back and partner up with her, but she’d gotten the feeling that would never happen. September suspected Gretchen had a little bit of a thing for him, but she kinda thought Gretchen wasn’t his type. As if she’d asked the question, September said aloud, “My brother tends to go for damsels in distress.”

      Gretchen made a retching sound. “Sounds like Olivia Dugan’s right up his alley.”

      “Yeah . . .”

      Detective August Rafferty was in a quandary. He’d managed to plug in his car charger for a few minutes while Liv was inside Hathaway House and text his lieutenant, but then Liv had come out and he’d scrambled to hide the evidence, to no avail. The wires had been in plain sight.

      She hadn’t said anything about it much, and he’d driven them both back to the “safe” house after filling the Jeep’s tank and now . . . what? What should he do next? He wanted to follow along the path of Liv’s zigzag investigation because this whole thing seemed to be morphing into something different than what it had first seemed. Did he think it was all about her? Not completely. But he did believe something was going on. Whether it was part of the massacre at Zuma Software, or something else entirely, he wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t truly the investigating officer on the Zuma case; D’Annibal had told him his sister and Gretchen Sandler were in charge.

      He was just an extra player. He wasn’t even really supposed to be working. This time was supposed to be his own, a decompressing period after the infiltration of Cordova’s gang. In a perfect world he’d be back at his duplex, getting ready for football season and evicting his aggravating next-door tenants.

      But instead . . .

      He glanced at Liv, who was sitting at the kitchen table. He’d asked her if she’d like a sandwich, but she’d shaken her head and was just staring straight ahead, involved in some inner pathos. He’d made a sandwich for himself and felt like he’d been eating them forever, even though it had only been a few days. Even this morning’s Egg McMuffin hadn’t been much of a break.

      “Maybe I’m wrong and it doesn’t have anything to do with me,” Liv said as Auggie grabbed the seat across from her

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