“Like I’ve been shot in the head.”
The door swung open, and Dr. Campbell swept in. “Ah. I heard you’ve come to see our star patient, sir. I’ll have to ask you to keep this initial visit brief. Miss Donovan has a way to go before she’s up to answering any questions.”
Kendra flicked the doctor a look. “I’m the one with questions.”
“Or up to conducting an interrogation,” he continued smoothly. He turned to the associate director of the BSU. “We need to bring Miss Donovan down to Diagnostics. I’ve scheduled her for an MRI.”
Leeds nodded. “Give us five minutes, Dr. Campbell.”
Aware that the associate director was asking—no, demanding—a few minutes alone with the patient, Dr. Campbell moved toward the door. “Five minutes,” he agreed, but there was a stern note in his voice. While he was aware of Leeds’s clout, Dr. Campbell was the one with authority in this room, in this hospital, and with this patient.
Leeds waited until the door swung shut before turning back to Kendra. “Peter Carson is flying down here. He wants to talk to you.”
“I’m sure he does. Could you please pass me that water?” As Leeds glanced around, Kendra fiddled with the gadget on her bed, elevating the mattress so she was in a sitting position. There was something undignified about talking to your boss while flat on your back.
He took the plastic pitcher and filled the cup. “Are you all right?”
Kendra hated the weakness in her arms as she reached for the water. “I said I felt like I’d been shot in the head,” she muttered irritably, sticking the straw in her mouth. “Sir.”
Leeds smiled, a little more genuine this time. “Well, your attitude’s the same.”
“I feel like shit.”
The smile disappeared. “I’m sorry, Kendra. Carson will be the one to debrief you, but what the hell happened?”
Kendra’s hands trembled as she put the plastic water cup on the metal-arm tray that had been wheeled beside the bed. “Major clusterfuck—sorry. Terry Landon sold us out. Or would’ve, if he’d had time.”
Briefly, she closed her eyes; saw Sheppard’s head explode. She opened her eyes, and Leeds could see the torment swimming in the inky depths. “He killed Daniel Sheppard right in front of me. Fucking bastard.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah. He’s a fucking bastard.”
“Kendra.”
“He’s the one who shot me. I wanted to go after Balakirev, Greene. That’s when Landon . . . shot Daniel. Then me.” Her gaze fell to her hands restlessly twisting the bed linen. She forced herself to stop. “If I hadn’t tried to go after Balakirev, Daniel would be alive.”
“You know better than that, Agent Donovan.” Leeds waited until she lifted her eyes. “You didn’t kill Sheppard.”
“I sure as hell didn’t help him.” Her breath hitched. “I worked with Landon. I’m a profiler, for Christ’s sake. I should’ve seen him . . . should’ve recognized—”
“You’re not that powerful. Or that perfect.”
She raised her hands, pressing her knuckles against her eyes. She shook her head. A mistake, since it once again sent the merciless knives slashing into her skull. They’d offered to increase her morphine intake, but she’d refused. She sighed, dropping her hands. “I took out Landon. The doctor . . . Dr. Campbell said he’s dead.”
“He is.”
“What about Greene and Balakirev? The ricin?”
“Balakirev’s dead. He was caught in the cross fire. The ricin was packaged in pellet form, just as you predicted. We confiscated it—and Balakirev’s laptop. We’ve got CAT working on it. There’s a lot of encrypted information. Once they crack it, we hope to infiltrate several terrorist cells the bastard was doing business with.”
“So we didn’t need Balakirev after all. We just needed his laptop.”
“Well, I don’t think Peter Carson sees it quite that way. But technology makes most of us obsolete, doesn’t it?”
“God, I’d love to get my hands on it.” Kendra’s fingers curled in frustration, digging into the crisp sheets.
“I’ll bet you would.” He glanced at his watch. “My five minutes are up. I’m going to go before Dr. Campbell boots my ass out. I’ll check on you tomorrow. The Director indicated that he may stop by.” He walked to the door. Hesitated. “If you need to talk to anybody—”
“I don’t.”
He stared at her for a full minute, and decided not to remind her that she’d be required to do a full psych evaluation before returning to the Bureau. For now, he simply nodded. “You’re a valuable member of our team, Special Agent Donovan.”
“Thank you. Ah . . . sir? Have you informed . . . do my parents know that I’m . . . never mind.” Her throat closed tightly, cutting off the remainder of her words. She was embarrassed to see her fingers, twisting in the bed linen again, tremble. She already regretted her impulsive question, could see pity in the associate director’s eyes.