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Dylan's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"
"Meaning we've got some things to work through. Stan Hager's one of them. As soon as we've got our ducks in a row, we'll discuss them with you. As for Pruet, we're meeting with him and his New York staff in a few hours. We'll let you know how that goes."
Dylan had opened his mouth to pursue the subject, when the door opened and the ER doctor stepped in. "How do you feel?" he asked Dylan.
"Better."
"Good. Because there's a wheelchair on its way. When it arrives, get in it. No arguments. Even though you're feeling stronger, I don't want you walking yet."
"Walking where?" Dylan asked, his brows drawing together in puzzlement.
"You and Ms. Radcliffe are taking an elevator ride."
"Why?"
The doctor sighed. "Apparently, the incident that took place at your apartment tonight was reported on TV a few minutes ago. The early edition business news broke it. They gave a brief overview of what happened. And they described it as a close call for both of you."
"So?"
"So, Carson Brooks saw the TV clip. He's making a huge scene in ICU. He won't stop bellowing until he sees for himself that you're both all right. I told Dr. Radison I'd send you up there as soon as you felt up to it, to calm him down."
Sabrina was already on her feet. "Poor Carson. He must be frantic."
"The poor nurses," Dylan amended dryly. "They must be rioting."
Jeannie looked like she was biting back laughter. "Yeah, well, you'd better get your friend to simmer down. I've heard him when he's ticked off, and it's not pleasant." She stepped aside as the wheelchair was brought in.
"Oh, for God's sake, I don't need that," Dylan protested.
"I say you do," the doctor contradicted him. "So either you use it, or you don't go. In which case you'll help us hire new nurses after the ICU staff quits."
"When you put it that way..." Dylan levered himself off the examining table and maneuvered himself into the wheelchair. Actually, he didn't mind being forced to comply. His head was still throbbing pretty badly. And his chest stung like hell.
"The nurse is bringing in a hospital gown for you to put on. She should be here any minute." The doctor turned to Sabrina. "Would you like something to wear over your gown? I realize that parading around like that doesn't do much for your modesty."
"I'd rather get dressed," Sabrina replied. "Detective Whitman was kind enough to bring me some of my clothes. Not only would I feel more comfortable, but Carson will be less upset if only one of us looks like a patient."
"No arguments there." The poor doctor sounded as if he'd try anything that might succeed in mollifying Carson. "And no problem. You've been discharged, so there's no reason you can't get dressed. Go ahead and change. You can use the room next door."
"Thank you."
After Sabrina had excused herself and stepped out, and the doctor had vanished to attend to other patients, Dylan spoke up, maximizing the time he had alone with the detectives.
"Two things before you go. First, any idea what the damage was to my apartment? The fire department was there on a dime, but the fire was burning like hell when the ambulance took us away."
"Your downstairs is a mess," Frank supplied. "The hall's destroyed, and your living room furniture was charred to the point where you might have to chuck it all. The rest of the ground floor isn't much better. The good news is, your two upstairs levels are pretty much intact. They're smoky, but that'll clear up with some fresh air and a cleaning service. The downstairs you'll have to renovate."
Dylan nodded. "That's a small price to pay for being alive. It's also better than I expected."
"Your insurance will cover it," Jeannie pointed out. Again, that hint of a smile. "In the meantime, I'm sure Ms. Radcliffe will let you bunk with her. She seems fond of you."
"Yeah, thanks." Dylan kept his face carefully expressionless. "Good observation. I'll mention your suggestion to her."
"What was the other thing you wanted to discuss?"
"Stan." Dylan cleared his throat. "Listen, Detectives, I'm bound by attorney-client privilege. That having been said, I want this case solved yesterday. So I'll go out on a limb and say this much—I think you might be barking up the wrong tree if you think Stan shot Carson. Look elsewhere. If you still come up empty, if you're pushed to the wall and need some concrete facts, I'll see what I can do to give you some."
Jeannie's eyes narrowed. "What you're telling us is that there's something going on with Stan Hager."
