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“As long as you’ve done everything else on the list, I’ll release you in the morning. I do want to keep you here one more night, as a precaution.”
Aine nodded. Her sister had crept back into the room, but it didn’t seem like she noticed.
“Any other questions?”
She started to shake her head, but stopped. “Just one. Are there tests that will tell me whether my ovary is functioning?”
“There are, but there’s no point taking them for at least six weeks. By then we should be able to tell whether your body has resumed functioning normally.”
Aine looked up at Striker. “Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t,” he said, unsure if he was missing something she wanted him to say.
“Elizabeth said your incision looked fine, so I don’t need to check it again. I’ll see you later, once we have the results of your MRI.”
The doctor left the room, and Ava came back over to Aine’s bedside. “I’m going to stay,” she said, looking straight at him.
“Right,” he said, leaning down to kiss Aine’s cheek. “I need to leave, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She moved so her lips brushed his. “As much as I know I should tell you not to, to get some rest instead, I want you here too.”
“Soon as I can,” he repeated, smiling at her as he walked out.
Razor was a few feet away, but instead of being on the phone, he was talking to his son.
He had spent eight months denying that having a child was something he wanted in his life, but now he wondered what it would feel like to hold his own baby in his arms, one he and Aine made together. And if they couldn’t, one they adopted together.
“Are you okay?” Razor asked. “Bad news?”
“No, good news. If all goes as planned, Aine should be able to leave the hospital tomorrow, in time for Thanksgiving.” Striker didn’t like the look on Razor’s face. “What?”
“We may need you to leave.”
“What? Dammit. No.”
“Like I said earlier, let’s head back to the house, and you can judge for yourself.”
Striker studied the monitor in front of him, watching as the arms Ghafor had been stockpiling were being systematically transported away from his compound.
“When’s the last time you laid eyes on Abdul?” he asked Monk.
“A little over eight hours ago.”
“Tell him where,” prompted Razor.
“Colombia.”
“Where are Tackle and Halo?” Razor asked.
“Still on the East Coast. So are Onyx and Corazón,” answered Monk.
With Ghafor in Colombia, there was no point in sending the team in. Neither Tackle nor Halo would have time to work their way into the embassy or one of the cartels. That level of infiltration would take weeks if not months.
“Let’s keep everyone on standby for now.”
“Roger that,” responded Monk.
“Oh, and there’s one more thing.” Razor motioned him out of the room, surprising him. Whatever he had to say couldn’t be said in front of Monk?
