Page 162 of Say Yes to the Death

- Forgive Jack

- Google how to get blood out of sequins

- Grade the questionnaires from new prospects

The vending machine hummed like a fifty-year-old refrigerator in the otherwise empty hospital waiting room. It had eaten a handful of Claire’s quarters an hour earlier. Her stomach growled like a feral cat. She hadn’t even had a chance to sample a reformed penis pastry.

The surgical floor was dead this time of night, save for the occasional custodian pushing a squeaky cart. Forty-two ceiling tiles. Seventeen earth-toned squares of carpet. Eleven recessed lights. Three stitches in her side and one large wad of gauze to close the wound where the bullet had grazed her hip.

She glanced at the clock for what must have been the thousandth time since Luke had been taken away for questioning by the police. The sky outside was starting to lighten from an inky black to a deep purple. She hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours, and her visual field seemed to lag a little when she changed focus. What she would do for a nice nap. She picked up her tablet and flicked through some proposal candidates, but the hospital’s Wi-Fi was spotty, and she couldn’t concentrate anyway.

Footsteps came from the hallway, and Claire’s head snapped up.

“Sorry, they kept me forever.” Luke dropped heavily into the chair next to her. “They insisted on having a PA check me out.” He gestured to a pucker in his shirt where they must have applied gauze to his stab wound.

His dress shirt was covered in grass stains, and there was a massive tear in his pants.

“You’re okay?” she asked hesitantly.

He nodded. “Thanks to you. You jumped on the back of a knife-wielding idiot for me. Don’t ever do that again,” he said sternly. He took a deep sip from his coffee cup and winced. “Any updates on Jack?”

Guilt twisted her stomach. “He’s still in surgery. Shoulders are tricky.”

“He’ll be okay,” Luke said, sliding his arm around her. He planted a kiss on her forehead and offered her a bag of chips from an apparently less irritating vending machine.

“Did you get any good footage?” she asked over a cheddar and sour cream chip. She tucked her legs under her. Her red evening dress was soaked and in tatters, so she was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt Luke had found in his car. The ensemble didn’t really go with her gold stilettos, but hopefully no one had noticed.

“I don’t know. I had to turn it over to the police.”

Claire nodded. It figured. “So, what did they ask you?”

“The same things they asked you, I’m sure. Why we were at the event, what made me hide in the woods in the backyard, why you were impersonating someone else? They weren’t happy when I reiterated that we reported ESA to the FBI, and they neglected to follow up on it.”

She snuggled under her his arm. After the worst spring and summer in the history of time, this horrible, dark chapter of her life might just be coming to a close. “Bet they feel stupid now.”

He kissed her forehead and stroked her arm. She was home.

“Luke?”

“Hmm?” He stifled a yawn.

“There are other chapters of ESA out there.” The victims Jack had shown her had come from all over the country. How many members were there?

“I assume so.”

“Do you think the FBI will finally take care of it?”

“Probably. Unless there’s a mole in the Bureau.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” She nudged him in the side.

Footsteps came from the hallway again, and she cringed. Were the police coming back to talk to her again?

“Oh, Claire,” Tanya said as she swept into the room in a tropical-print muumuu. She gathered Claire and Luke in a tight hug that smelled like patchouli. Her eyes were swollen and red.

“The nurse said about half an hour ago that he’s still in surgery,” Claire reported dutifully. “They think he’ll be fine.”

“I’m so relieved,” Tanya said, wiping at her eyes with a tissue.

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