“It’s Detective Connolly, actually. And does it make a difference?” she asked. “I mean whether I take it seriously or not. Will that improve my chances?”
He pursed his lips as though he wasn’t pleased with the question. “Probably not, though there is some evidence that excessive excitement and extreme emotions can exacerbate the condition.”
“Well, I promise not to get excited.” That shouldn’t be too hard. “How long before you get the results?”
“A couple of weeks, maybe less. I’ll hurry them through.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “You think you’ll have to operate?”
“At this point, I’m not sure we can operate. The test results will show us more.”
“And if you can’t?”
He shrugged. “Wait until we have the results. In the meantime, I’ll give you a prescription for some painkillers for the headaches, but if you get anything else—blurred vision, dizzy spells—I want you to come right back.”
She nodded. Right now, all she wanted was to escape the confines of the hospital.
As she came out of the main entrance and into the open air, she realized the doctor was right. She wasn’t taking this seriously. She was in denial. But a goddamn stroke? At thirty-two. Who had a stroke at thirty-two?
A brain aneurysm, they’d called it. A weakness in the blood vessels inside her skull. But worse, they believed that the minor attack she’d had was merely a precursor to something bigger. She had a time bomb in her brain, waiting to go off.
The tests she’d had today weren’t so much to see what was wrong, but to see what they could do about it. If anything.
She tried to make herself think about dying. But it didn’t seem real. All she could do was concentrate on living right now. Try and put it out of her mind and focus on solving her case.
Six weeks ago, the body of a young girl had been found abandoned on the embankment by the river. She’d been exsanguinated, drained of blood to the point of death. Puncture wounds in her throat, wrists, and thighs had made them speculate that it was some sort of cult death or vampire wannabes. Her team had been interviewing every weirdo in the city.
A little while later, a second girl, fifteen-year-old Jessica Thomas, had gone missing. She’d been found alive, but with the same wounds and totally traumatized.
Ryan had located Jessica, and Faith still had no clue how he’d done it. But there had been a woman with him that night Ryan hadn’t introduced to any of the team.
After her ordeal, Jessica had given an initial statement but now refused to say any more unless they took her to the mystery woman. Faith would love to, but unfortunately, she had no idea of her identity.
She’d seen nothing of Ryan since he’d left. He’d taken her to the hospital the night she’d blacked out and been there when she woke, but she hadn’t seen him in the two weeks since. It was as though he’d cut his old life away and that hurt.
And pissed her off.
She’d believed they were friends as well as partners. And she’d been toying with the idea of forcing the issue. Going to see him, though she wasn’t sure where. He’d moved out of his old apartment without leaving a forwarding address. That only left his new place of work, CR International.
“Detective Connolly?”
She glanced up and came to an abrupt halt. A man stood before her, tall and lean and dressed as a priest. The latter nipped at her already frayed temper. Brought up as a Catholic until the age of twelve, she hated priests.
“What?” she snapped making no effort to hide her impatience.
“We’d like to talk to you for a moment, if you have the time.”
“We?”
He nodded to a black SUV parked by the curb. The windows were tinted and she couldn’t see inside, but as she stared, the driver’s door opened and a second man climbed down.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. Not tall, probably about the same as her five ten, but lean and he moved with the grace of a fighter. Ex-army? When he turned to face her, she realized he was older than she’d first thought. In his late fifties maybe, but still fit.
He strolled toward them, his gaze running over her, and she reckoned he wasn’t missing anything.
“This is Colonel Grant,” the priest said. “And I’m Father O’Brien.”
The colonel stepped up close and held out his hand. For a moment, she stared at it, and then she put her own in his. His grip was cool and firm.
Something occurred to her as she tugged free. “How did you know where to find me?” She hadn’t told anyone at work about the appointment. Her colleagues were unaware of her illness—there was some advantage to the blackout having taken place on Ryan’s last night on the job—he’d failed to report it. And she wanted it to stay that way. Otherwise, she’d find herself tied to a desk job until she got the all clear—if she got the all clear. No way was that happening while she had a murder to solve.