Page 16 of Rowe

“They suspect,” he said trying to reassure her.

“That is how knowing starts.” He went to the bed and crouched so she did not have to lift her head.

“Can you stand?” Mara looked at the IV line entering her hand. She stared at him for a moment, trying to get up and then spoke.

“Can I lie?”

“Very convincingly.” He nodded at her and then leaned toward her.

“Then yes, I can stand.”

Rowe pressed the call button. The nurse arrived in less than thirty seconds carrying a folded set of pale-blue scrubs, a wheelchair, and the expression of a woman who had already made three decisions nobody was going to debate.

“We’re discharging her through laundry,” she said.

“Is that medically approved?” Rowe asked.

“Nothing happening today is medically approved.” The nurse clamped Mara’s IV, detached the line, and taped the port against her wrist. “You will not pull this out. You will not use that arm. You will not decide bravery is a substitute for blood volume.” Mara swung her legs toward the edge of the bed.

“I haven’t decided anything today.”

“Good. Continue showing promise.”

Rowe helped her into the scrubs without letting his hands tremble. The shirt hung from her shoulders. The pants required three turns at the waist and a length of gauze as a belt. The nurse covered Mara’s hair with a surgical cap and tucked a folded blanket over her lap once she was in the wheelchair.

Tucker opened the door and checked both directions.

“Service elevator is clear.” Beaux stepped behind the chair.

“I’ll push.” Rowe put his hand on the grip.

“I’ve got her.” Beaux met his eyes, measured the need there, and released the chair.

“Then I’ve got behind.”

They moved into the corridor. The nurse walked ahead, calling out ordinary instructions loudly enough for anyone around the corner to hear.

“Laundry pickup is late again. Take those linens down and tell Benoit I want the clean isolation gowns before four.”

Mara lowered her chin beneath the blanket. Her breathing had gone shallow. Rowe bent close as he pushed.

“Not far.”

“I remember that you said that in the boat.”

“It was true, eventually,” he grinned with satisfaction.

“That is not what eventually means.” Behind them, Tucker concealed a smile.

The service elevator opened with a soft electronic chime. Beaux entered first. Rowe backed the chair inside. Tucker followed and faced the corridor until the brushed-steel doors met.

Downstairs, Patrick came through the emergency entrance carrying two cups of coffee and a paper sack darkened with grease. Christopher followed with another sack tucked under one arm. Jethro ducked beneath the doorframe, not because he needed to but because years on boats had trained him to distrust anything overhead. Kai and Sonny came last, still arguing about whether a powdered doughnut counted as evidence if it had been purchased at the sheriff’s request.

They saw the three men in black. The three men saw them. Patrick slowed.

“Did we miss a funeral?” Christopher looked at the cloudless sky visible through the glass doors.

“If they stay dressed like that, theirs.” Jethro took a cup from Patrick and drank without asking.