Page 4 of No Surrender
“Here,” Vic rasped, not sure he was ready to stand up just yet, or that he was finished praying to the porcelain god.
“You weren’t kidding about lunch not setting well. Do you need a doctor?”
Vic shook his head, then feared the movement might bring on another round of yakking up his guts. “I feel terrible.”
“You look like shit—more than usual.” Ross’s attempt to lighten the moment fell flat.
“I need water.” Vic decided not to chance moving away from the toilet.
“I’ll get you some. And if there’s a sports drink, I’ll grab one.” Ross disappeared, returning moments later with two bottles. “Go slow, or it’ll all come back up.”
Vic sipped water, only to have his stomach rebel. “I don’t think I’m going to get out of here anytime soon. Go back to work. Check for my body before you leave for the day.”
His stomach spasmed, and Vic dove forward, wincing as acid irritated his already raw throat. He rested his forehead against his arm, trying to ignore the bathroom smells that made him want to hurl even more.
Ross came back at intervals to leave more water and make sure Vic hadn’t died, then left him to his misery. His stomach balked at anything more than small sips, and his whole body shook. He wondered if he had passed out once or twice. Vic wasn’t disturbed, so he suspected Ross had put a sign on the door warning people to use another restroom.
“Hey, Vic—are you still alive?” Ross called.
Vic had lost track of time. “Barely.”
“That’ll do. C’mon. It’s time to go home.”
“Are the reporters gone?” Vic had enough presence of mind to not want to be seen like this.
“They’re still out there. Want to make a run for it?” Ross asked.
Vic swore under his breath. “Yeah, but we are not running. We will walk purposefully with dignified speed.” He wasn’t sure he could manage navigating to the parking lot without help, but he intended to put up a good front.
Ross snorted, apparently not fooled. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”
“Alright, let’s do this.” Vic got to his feet without help, steadying himself with a hand on the stall until he was reasonably sure he wasn’t going to pass out or throw up again. When a couple of minutes went by, he figured he could get to the car. Ross handed him a container of breath mints, and Vic nodded his thanks.
“I’ll go in front,” Ross said as Vic washed his hands, not wanting to think too hard about what he’d been clutching. “Stay behind me, and move as fast as you can. I’ll try to block the cameras.”
“What does it say about me that I’d rather face a madman with a gun?’ Vic muttered as he and Ross approached the front door. The reporters spotted them through the glass panels and closed in.
“Detective D’Amato—”
“No comment.” Vic held up a hand to fend off inquiries.
“Can you tell us—”
“No comment,” Ross echoed.
“Just a short statement—”
“Did the Strand Slitter use real magic?”
“Will there be ghosts in the courtroom?”
“Is it true you’re engaged to the ghost whisperer?”
Vic clenched his jaw on that last question as he and Ross shouldered through the crowd. They never paused, mindful that cameras recorded their every move, but they also didn’t let the reporters hem them in or slow them.
“Detectives!”
Vic didn’t look behind him at the disappointed shouts of the reporters as he and Ross finally cleared the small crowd.
