“I promise not to disturb him in any way.”
“Good. I try not to shoot people in hospitals,” the cop told her. Then he winked, too.
Bobby was almost as pale as the sheets. His head was wrapped in what looked like a white turban.
She sat next to him, staring at the array of monitors attached to him and the IV that flowed into his veins.
Poor Bobby.
How the hell—why the hell—had this happened to him?
His eyes were closed. She didn’t try to speak to him. His hand lay on the white sheet. She saw the gnarled old flesh and the spattering of liver spots. He had long fingers, calloused from a life of hard work.
She slipped her fingers around his and held his hand with no pressure, but with what she hoped was reassuring warmth.
She was sure he didn’t even know she was there.
Then he squeezed her fingers.
She looked quickly at his face. His eyes were still closed.
But he had responded to her.
She sat back, grateful that he was alive. She was happy just to sit there and stay with him.
She heard a commotion in the hall and recognized Danny’s voice.
She rose, still holding Bobby’s hand, and tried to signal the police officer. “My brother. Um, Bobby’s nephew!”
A moment later Danny was there. “He’s—he’s hanging in?” he asked anxiously.
She nodded.
Danny went to Bobby’s other side and carefully took his other hand. A moment later, he looked at Kieran with relief. “He squeezed.”
“Yeah,” she said softly.
It wasn’t long before Declan and Mary Kathleen arrived, and then Kevin. That was okay. They were family; even Declan had come in with the lie on his lips.
Poor Nurse Emily was having a fit. Only two people could be in the room, and that was that. And so they rotated, two of them in with Bobby, the others drinking coffee and pacing the waiting room.
Hours went by.
A doctor came in at last and spoke with them. Bobby had a skull fracture; the big fear was water on the brain. He and the rest of the team wanted to wait before taking further steps. They would only operate if it was Bobby’s only chance, because the operation came with serious risks.
“What can we do?” Kieran asked.
“If you’re the praying sort, then pray,” the doctor told them.
“We’re Irish. We’re good at that,” Danny said. He looked over at Kieran, his expression anguished. “We’re great at praying—and guilt,” he said softly.
She felt her stomach flip.
Did Danny know something about what had happened to Bobby? Or, worse, about the robberies—and the murders?
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
RICHARD EAGAN CALLED an emergency interdepartmental task force meeting that morning, laying out flatly what they knew, what might be circumstantial, what they surmised—and what every law enforcement agency in the city needed to be looking out for.
The FBI, the US Marshals Service, city and state police, and Homeland Security were all involved.
Craig wasn’t sure if he was glad to be appointed—with Mike—as colead on the investigation, seeing as they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.
Except Finnegan’s, he thought unhappily.
And, of course, he was left to field questions such as, “What are we supposed to do? Stop and question anyone who’s wearing a hoodie?”
After the Q and A, he wrapped up with an overview of what he did want everyone to do.
“Watch for individuals in hoodies behaving in a suspicious manner. I want the surveillance footage from all the robberies shown at every agency, so every man and woman out there is aware of who and what to look for. We’re also posting twenty-four-hour surveillance in the Diamond District and at a rotating selection of jewelry stores across the city that carry high-end diamonds. We’re working on a theory that the killers stalked the foursome that we apprehended last Monday in order to learn and copycat their MO. We have a partially complete list of places where the original thieves met and did some of their strategizing, places where the copycats might have eavesdropped on them. We’ll have people at these locations, too, questioning staff to see if anyone noticed something that might help us, then cross-referencing that information looking for repeat customers, so to speak. We’ve already collected a massive amount of information, and you’ll all have access to those files.”
Mike said a few words next, and then Eagan spoke again when he was done. Everyone filed out a few minutes later, leaving the three FBI agents alone in the room.
Craig didn’t wait to consult with the others; he pulled out his phone and dialed Kieran’s number.
She didn’t answer.
He dialed the hospital and found that there had been no change in Bobby O’Leary’s condition.
He realized, as he hung up, that his director and partner were staring at him. “Checking on O’Leary,” he said.
“Could have nothing to do with any of this,” Eagan said.
“But it does. Somehow, I know it does,” Craig said.