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“Last I heard, Mitch.”
Rapp wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Whether he wanted to see his friend struggling to cling to the last few moments of life or if he’d just rather see him gone. He told himself that it didn’t matter. Everyone ended up the same way eventually.
Kennedy appeared from a door to his right, wearing a meticulously pressed gray suit jacket and skirt, but looking tired. Her dark hair was pulled back, making the sadness on her face even more stark.
“I’m glad you made it.”
“Where is he?”
She led Rapp down the corridor to a transparent wall that looked in on one of the hospital’s intensive care units. With the bandages on his head and a respirator covering much of his face, Coleman was almost unrecognizable. A small patch of blond hair and an exposed arm full of needles were the only things left to identify one of America’s greatest and most loyal warriors.
Maslick stared through the glass for a few seconds and then just walked away, his broad shoulders sagging in a way that actually made the man look small. He’d lost his best friend, Mick Reavers, in a firefight only a few months ago. The price of America’s war on terrorism had begun to weigh heavily on
him.
Rapp saw motion in his peripheral vision and glanced right to see a figure approaching with two cups of coffee. For one of the few times in his life, he wasn’t able to hide his surprise.
Claudia Gould put down the cups and rushed forward, throwing her arms around him. “I’m so sorry about your friend, Mitch.”
He just stood there, unsure how to react. Kennedy watched carefully from a few feet away. There was no question that she was the one who had called Claudia. The two women had a long and complicated relationship that had only gotten stronger after Hurley had killed Claudia’s husband. But why bring her here now?
“I know how close you and Scott are,” she said, pulling away but keeping her gaze on him.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a hesitant step back.
“When we met again, I thought I would be telling you all about your house and the horrible amount of your money I’m spending. It seems stupid now.”
The strange thing was that he wanted to hear about the house. He wanted to go with her to see it and to listen to the endless details of how she’d chosen things he had no interest in at all.
“How’s Anna?”
“She misses her new home and her new friends, but Irene’s son has been spending time with her and she’s quite taken with him.”
“I’ll get the two of you back to the Cape, Claudia. I promise.”
“I know.”
The silence that followed dragged out until Kennedy reached for Rapp’s arm and gave it a gentle tug. “Could you excuse us for a few minutes, Claudia? I need to talk to Mitch.”
“Yes. Of course,” she said, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. “Should I . . . Should I stay here?”
“I’d appreciate that. Please let us know if there’s any change.”
Her discomfort was understandable. It seemed almost certain that at some point she’d created a dossier on Coleman. History, habits, address, family ties—all designed to give her husband an edge if he ever came up against the man. Now she found her world turned upside down. The people she had once spent time calculating out how to kill were now her protectors.
Rapp followed Kennedy down an empty hallway. “Any new information?”
“On Scott’s condition? No. He’s on intravenous antibiotics but the doctors don’t think they’ll work. They keep telling me he won’t make it another hour, but he keeps proving them wrong.”
They entered a break room and she took a seat in a plastic chair at its center. Rapp pushed the door closed, not speaking again until the latch clicked.
“What’s Claudia doing here?”
“I thought you could use a friendly face.”
“Are you trying to handle me, Irene?”
“We just lost Stan. And now this. I’m not trying to handle you, Mitch. I’m trying to help you keep perspective.”
