Page 71 of Hard to Kill

“He was pretty banged up.”

I’m too angry to cry. And too scared.

“Maybe it was just supposed to look like a robbery,” I say to Jimmy. “Maybe whoever did this was just there to deliver a message to me.”

Jimmy takes one of my hands and puts it in his own. “Or it really was a break-in and they were looking for drugs.Newsdayreported that local vets’ offices are frequent targets. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Maybe the wrong place for Dr. Ben isme,” I say. “And the wrong time is right now.”

After what seems like about three lifetimes, the doctor finally comes through the door. It’s not Raymond Williams, who treatedJimmy after he was shot. Tonight it’s a small woman with big red hair and what looks to be a sleek runner’s body.

Dr. Byrne, her name tag reads.

“He’s awake,” she says.

“Are you going to have to operate?”

She shakes her head. “No. Even though his skull is fractured.”

“Good Lord.”

She smiles. “Let me finish,” she says. “Fortunately, it’s a linear fracture and not what we call a depressed fracture. So, no surgery.”

“So that means he’s going to be okay?”

She pauses. After everything I’ve been through over the past several months, I’m not crazy about doctors hitting the pause button, even for a beat or two. Every time they do, I feel like I might be slip-sliding toward the end of the world.

“He’s very lucky, let’s put it that way.”

“Is that an answer?”

“As a matter of fact,” she says, “it is. Because this could have been so much worse if he hadn’t somehow regained consciousness long enough to make that call, and they didn’t get him here as quickly as they did.”

I decide not to press her further. She’s on Ben’s side, after all. And I don’t want her to feel as if she’s on the stand.

“Can I see him?”

“He wants to see you,” Dr. Byrne says. “But be aware that the drugs have him feeling no pain.”

“Good,” I say. “I just need to tell him something.”

Before I follow Dr. Byrne inside, Jimmy gently takes my arm.

“Whatdo you need to tell him that can’t wait?” he asks quietly.

“How sorry I am.”

“I’m sure he knows that.”

Now I’m the one pausing.

“And that as soon as he’s out of here I’m breaking up with him.”

FIFTY-SEVEN

Jimmy

AFTER THE SHOOTOUT AT Napeague Harbor, Jimmy’s Jetta should have been tagged do-not-resuscitate. Miraculously, he’ll be picking it up from the shop in a couple of days. For now he drives out from the trauma center in his rented Hyundai, toward Montauk.