"The swelling was already acute, and I didn't want to run the risk of her vomiting it back up," David said, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

"Smart… smart. Unfortunately, there's little you can do to mitigate esophageal damage. Liquefaction necrosis happens almost instantaneously."

"Yes," David said. "I know."

"Fever? Whites are normal?"

"No. Yes."

"I'm going to need to get down there and take a look."

"In the meantime?" David waited through what seemed an eternity.

"One-fifty of Zantac IV stat to reduce the stomach acid. That should prevent stress bleeding and ulcerations as well."

"We'll see you shortly."

"Okay. Very we-"

David set the phone down on the cradle and relayed the order. He glanced at the monitor, admired the healthy baseline rhythm. Blood pressure 160 over 100. Respiratory rate at eighteen. Pulse 120. Oxygen saturation 99 percent.

He pulled a deep breath into his lungs and exhaled loudly. It took a conscious effort to relax his muscles and let his shoulders sink. Diane leaned forward over Nancy's face, continuing to irrigate her eyes. A wisp of hair arced across her cheek, finding the corner of her mouth.

An intern skidded on the floor, accidentally sliding past the door. She hooked the frame with a hand as she leaned in. "Golf cart versus Buick. Two forty-three-year-old males with penetrating head wounds. ETA two minutes. We're prepping Procedure Two."

David shot his other latex glove at the trash bin and headed for the door.

Chapter 2

"YOU let me the fuck back there or I'll mop the floor with that ratty head of yours."

The police officer's gloved hand was inches from Carson's nose, pointing, as David approached them. Carson stepped back and glanced at the floor. He did not look pleased at the prospect of his prize locks being used to clean the tile of Hallway Two.

"Excuse me, officer," David said, pulling Carson farther back with a hand on his shoulder. "I'm Dr. Spier, chief of the ER Division. What can we-"

"You'd better step back," the officer said, the words coming in a low hiss through his teeth. Though he was cleanly shaven, incipient stubble dotted his face. It was only a little after 10 A.M., David thought. That's a lot of testosterone.

The cop's shoulders were broad, made broader by the dark, dark blue LAPD uniform that stood out in the stark white hall like a stroke of paint. His hair was neatly groomed, flicked to one side in a clean part. Though he looked younger than thirty, the hard flat sheen of his eyes bore witness that they'd already seen much beyond the purview of civilian eyes. His eyebrows, sharp strokes above his supraorbital arch, lent his face a sharp, focused cast.

David glanced quickly behind him for a white security uniform, but saw only pink and blue scrubs. He wasn't sure how helpful a security officer would have been in the face of a belligerent cop anyway.

David spread his arms slightly, his hands splayed, palms out. "You seem agitated," he said. "I'm sorry."

The cop took a deep breath and David eyed the name tag above the pocket line on his right breast. Jenkins. Nancy's brother?

David looked up and caught Jenkins's hard stare. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Listen, Doctor, I need to know right now where my sister is."

Seventeen years in the ER had left David not unfamiliar with how to deal with hard-ass LAPD cops. He forced a curt smile. "Nancy's in Trauma Twelve. I'll be happy to take you back to see her once I check on her, make sure a visitor won't interfere with the doctors and nurses who are still treating her. I'm sure you don't want to do anything to endanger her."

Jenkins's nostrils flared slightly. David debated asking him to step out through the swinging doors to Admit but decided not to fight that battle.

David backed up and pointed Carson toward the Central Work Area, saying in a low voice, "Get a female nurse over to keep an eye on Mr. Jenkins, please, and ensure he stays put." Jenkins was aggressive and upset-a woman would more likely calm him down, and he probably wouldn't pick a fight with her. "And I heard we've had some press milling around triage. Have security clear them out."

David passed through the CWA, dodging nurses, and ducked into Trauma Room Twelve. Nancy's body lay bare on the gurney, pale except for the red blisters on her face and throat. She was still unconscious, the ventilator pushing air into her lungs. Two nurses continued to irrigate her face and eyes.

A young nurse sat on a chair in the corner, sobbing, her yellow hair falling over her face in thick, yarnlike clumps. She was new to the ER, but David recognized her: one of Nancy's college roommates whom she'd recruited to the Division. In fact, he recognized the faded Aztec-print scrub top that was shaking with her sobs as one of Nancy's.

Pat crouched in front of her, rubbing her upper arm in tight ovals. A lapse in her usual truck-driver toughness.