"This isn't a courtroom," she snapped. "What was going on upstairs?"

"I don't know. Someone got beaten up."

"Who?"

"I just said. I don't know."

"Man, woman, black, white?"

"Oh, I see what you mean. But I don't get it. Why are you asking me? Why can't you-?"

"Just tell me, Ernie. I don't have time to make a bunch of calls."

"Not a bunch of calls, but you could just radio the cops who were here before, the Newark guys-"

Her voice was steel. "Ernie."

"Okay, okay, relax. It was a man, all right? White. I'd say mid-thirties. They wheeled him out on a stretcher."

"What happened to him?"

"Someone beat him up, I guess."

"And this all happened on the fifth floor?"

"I guess so, yeah."

"And you said something about women in the room. That they might have called the ambulance."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did say that." He smiled like he was proud of himself. Loren wanted to draw her gun too.

"How many women, Ernie?"

"What? Oh, two."

"Was one of them the tall girl who pulled the gun on you?"

"Yeah."

"And the other?"

Ernie looked left. He looked right. Then he leaned closer and whispered, "I think it might have been the guy's wife."

"The guy who got beaten up?"

"Uh huh."

"Why do you say that?"

His voice stayed soft. "Because she went with him. In the ambulance."

"So why are we whispering?"

"Well, I'm trying to be whatchya call discreet."

Loren matched the whisper. "Why, Ernie? Why are we being whatchya call discreet?"

"Because that other woman- the wife, I mean- she's been staying here for the past two nights. He, the husband, hasn't been." He leaned over the desk. Loren got a whiff of whatchya call chronic halitosis. "All of a sudden the husband rushes in, there's a fight of some kind…" He stopped, raised both eyebrows as though the implications were obvious.

"So what happened to the Amazon girl?"

"The one who pulled the gun on me?"

"Yes, Ernie," Loren said, fighting off her growing impatience. "The one who pulled the gun on you."

"The cops arrested her. Cuffed her and everything."

"The woman you think might be the wife, the one who stayed here the past two days. You have a name?"

He shook his head. "No, sorry, I never heard it."

"Didn't she register?"

Ernie's eyes lit up. "Sure. Sure, she did. And we take an imprint of a credit card and everything."

"Great." Loren rubbed the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. "So- shot in the dark here, Ernie- why don't you look up the name for me?"

"Yeah, sure, I can do that. Let me see." He turned to the computer and started typing. "I think she was in Room 522… Wait, here it is."

He turned the monitor so Loren could see.

The occupant of Room 522 was named Olivia Hunter. Loren just stared at the screen for a moment.

Ernie pointed to the letters. "It says Olivia Hunter."

"I can see that. What hospital did they go to?"

"Beth Israel, I think they said."

Loren handed Ernie her card with her cell phone number on it. "Call me if you think of anything else."

"Oh, I will."

Loren rushed out for the hospital.

Chapter 31

MATT HUNTER WOKE UP.

Olivia's face was there.

There was no question that this was real. Matt didn't have one of those moments where you wonder if it's a dream or not. The color was drained from Olivia's face. Her eyes were red. He could see the fear and the only thing Matt could think- not about answers, not about explanations- the only thing he could think clearly was, "How do I make it better?"

The lights were bright. Olivia's face, still beautiful, was framed by what looked like a white shower curtain. He tried to smile at her. His skull throbbed like a thumb hit with a hammer.

She was watching him. He saw her eyes well up with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I'm fine," he said.

He felt a little la-dee-dah. Painkillers, he thought. Morphine or something similar. His ribs ached but it was a dull ache. He remembered the man in the hotel room, Talley, he of the blue-black hair. He remembered the paralyzing feeling, the dropping to the floor, the brass knuckles.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Emergency room, Beth Israel."

He actually smiled. "I was born here, you know." Yep, he was definitely on something- a muscle relaxant, painkiller, something. "What happened to Talley?" he asked.

"He ran away."

"You were in his room?"

"No. I was down the hall."

He closed his eyes for just a moment. That last part did not compute- she was down the hall?- so he tried to clear his mind.

"Matt?"

He blinked a few times and tried to refocus. "You were down the hall?"

"Yes. I saw you go into his room, so I followed you."

"You were staying at that hotel?"

Before she could reply, the curtain was pulled open. "Ah," the doctor said. He had an accent- Pakistani or Indian, maybe. "How are we feeling?"

"Like a million bucks," Matt said.

The doctor smiled at them. His name tag read PATEL. "Your wife told me that you were assaulted- that she thought the perpetrator might have used a stun gun."

"I guess."

"That's good, in a way. Stun guns don't leave permanent damage. They only temporarily incapacitate."

"Yeah," Matt said. "I live under a lucky star."

Patel chuckled, checked something on the chart. "You suffered a concussion. The rib is probably cracked, but I won't know that until we do an X-ray. It doesn't matter much- bad bruise or break, you can only treat it with rest. I already gave you something for the pain. You may need more."

"Okay."

"I'm going to keep you overnight."

"No," he said.

Patel looked up. "No?"

"I want to go home. My wife can look after me."

Patel looked at Olivia. She nodded. He said, "You understand I don't recommend this?"

Olivia said, "We do."

On TV, the doctor always fights the "wanna-go-home" patient. Patel didn't. He simply shrugged. "Okay, you sign the release forms, you're out of here."

"Thanks, Doc," Matt said.

Patel shrugged again. "Have a nice life then."

"You too."

He left.

"Are the police here?" Matt asked.

"They just left, but they'll be back."

"What did you tell them?"

"Not much," she said. "They assumed it was some kind of marital spat. You caught me with another man, something like that."

"What happened to Cingle?"

"They arrested her."

"What?"

"She drew her gun to get past the clerk at the front desk."

Matt shook his aching head. "We have to bail her out."

"She said not to, that she'd take care of it."

He started to sit up. Pain tore down the back of his skull like a hot knife.

"Matt?"

"I'm okay."

And he was. He'd been beaten worse. Much worse. This was nothing. He could play through it. He sat all the way up and met her eyes. She looked as if she were steeling herself for a blow.

Matt said, "This is something bad, isn't it?"

Olivia's chest hitched. The tears welling began to escape. "I don't know yet," she said. "But yeah. Yeah, it's pretty bad."

"Do we want the police involved?"

"No." The tears had started running down her cheeks. "Not until I tell you everything."

He swung his feet off the bed. "Then let's hurry the hell out of here."

Loren counted six people on line at the ER reception desk. When she cut to the front, all six grunted their disapproval. Loren ignored them. She slammed her badge down on the desk.

"You had a patient brought in here a little while ago."

"You're kidding." The woman behind the desk looked up over the half-moon reading glasses and let her eyes travel over the packed waiting room. "A patient, you say?" She chewed gum. "Gee, I guess you caught us. We did have a patient brought in here a little while ago."