In Graywolf's Hands. Marie Ferrarella
smile was replaced by a glare. “What’s wrong with my smile?”
He spread his hands. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Makes you look like a completely different person, in my opinion.”
As if she gave a damn about his opinion. “I’ll remember that the next time I need a disguise.” It was getting late and she had to get down to business. “Have you moved my prisoner since last night?”
She had remained long enough for Conroy to be transferred from recovery to a single-unit room, where she’d made certain that a policeman from the Bedford police force was stationed.
Lukas was about to remind her that the man was his patient before he was her prisoner, but he let the matter drop. He’d learned early on that butting his head against a stone wall never brought victory.
“I wouldn’t dare. I left him just where I found him this morning.”
She could do without the sarcasm. “How is he?”
It was Conroy’s chart he’d been writing on when he heard her approach. “Still weak.”
That was a relative term in her opinion. “I don’t want him to dance, I just want him to talk.”
“That might be difficult. He’s on a great deal of pain medication—speaking of which,” he segued smoothly, “how’s your shoulder?”
Graywolf’s question only reminded her of how much the shoulder ached. “If I was a bird, I’d have to postpone flying south for the winter, but under the circumstances, I guess it’s all right.”
Lukas nodded. “I need to see you back in a week to take the stitches out.” She was favoring her left side. Would it have killed her to follow his instructions? “I see you’re not wearing a sling.”
She’d actually toyed with the idea this morning, arranging and adjusting several colorful scars around her arm and shoulder. They’d only made her feel like an invalid. “I don’t want to attract attention.”
Too late, Lukas thought. Three orderlies had passed by since she’d stopped to talk to him and all three had been in danger of severely spraining their necks as they turned to look at her. “Then maybe you should wear a paper bag over your head.”
“What?”
Was she fishing for a compliment, or was she wound up so tightly about her job that she didn’t see her own reflection in the morning? “I’m just saying that a woman who looks like you do always attracts attention.”
Her eyes narrowed in surprise. “Are you coming on to me, Doctor?” She’d dabbled in profiling. Graywolf didn’t seem the type.
“Me?” He raised both hands, fingers pointed to the ceiling. “I wouldn’t have the nerve to come on to someone like you. I’m just making an observation, that’s all.” He looked at his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got the rest of my rounds to make.”
He was turning away from her when she called after him. “You mean you’re not going to hover over me while I try to question the prisoner?”
Lukas stopped to look at her one last time. “Would it do any good?”
A smile crept back to her lips as Lydia shook her head. “No.”
“Then I won’t.” He crossed back to her, fishing into his coat pocket. He took out a card and pressed it into her hand. “There’s my number if you need me.”
She glanced down at the card. Three numbers were neatly printed above one another. “Pager, cell phone and office number.” Lydia raised her eyes from the card. “What about your home number?”
“Unlisted. On a need-to-know basis,” he added just before he left.
Looking after him, Lydia thoughtfully folded the card between her thumb and forefinger and tucked it into her jacket pocket.
“Damn but I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
Roused from her thoughts, Lydia spun around to face Elliot. “See what day?”
He was grinning. Wait until Janice hears about this! “The day you were flirting.”
“Flirting?” Lydia echoed incredulously. “Are you out of your mind? I was not flirting.”
“No?” Elliot crossed his arms at his chest, waiting to be convinced. “Then what do you call it?”
“Talking.”
“I see.”
There were times when her partner got on her nerves—royally. “Don’t give me that smug smile.”
He made no attempt to eliminate it. “I wasn’t aware that it was smug.”
“Well it is,” she told him. Because one of the nurses had stopped what she was doing and was obviously eavesdropping, Lydia pulled her partner aside, out of earshot. “What is this, a conspiracy? My mother calls to find out if I’m alone in the bathtub and then you come along and tell me you think I’m flirting.”
Elliot made a mental note to later ask her what had prompted her mother’s question. For now, he shrugged innocently. “Can’t help it. In spring a person’s mind often turns to thoughts of love, remember?”
What did that have to do with anything? “It’s autumn. Remember?”
Unruffled, Elliot laughed. “I’m late, it’s been a busy year.”
Okay, she’d been a good sport long enough. This had to stop. “Elliot, I’m packing a gun.”
The look he gave her was completely unimpressed. “I’m shaking.”
This was getting them nowhere. And the day stretched out in front of her, long and unaccommodating. “Let’s go, we have a prisoner to interrogate.”
“Lead the way.” Her partner’s expression had turned appropriately serious, but there was a twinkle in his eye she had trouble ignoring.
Chapter 4
John Conroy was not a particularly large man. The height of five foot eight listed on his driver’s license was charitably stretching the truth. Bandaged, bruised and buffered by white sheets in a bed, he looked small and non-threatening.
Looking at him, it was almost hard for Lydia to believe that this was the man who had helped to carry out an attack whose ultimate goal was to kill as many people as possible. Which made her wonder why he had picked a weeknight. Was it that he couldn’t wait, or that he had thought there was less of a chance of being caught?
There was something to be said for impatience, she thought as Elliot closed the door behind them.
“Evil comes in all sorts of packages, doesn’t it?” Elliot commented, noticing the way she was looking at the man in the hospital bed.
“The Bible says that Satan was the most beautiful of all the archangels,” she murmured, moving closer to the prisoner.
She noted with satisfaction that along with the various devices hooking Conroy up to vigilant monitors, a tarnished steel bracelet encircled his wrist, chaining him to the railing, keeping him from escaping if he could somehow summon the strength. She’d made a point of putting it back on him last night. Nice to see that the doctor hadn’t removed it again.
Conroy looked as though he was unconscious. Lydia studied his face intently, watching for a telltale flutter of his lashes that would give his game away. There was none.
“Not that,” she added, “this puny, unimpressive piece of work could have ever been remotely placed in that category.”
Not getting a reaction to her insult, Lydia bent until her face was level with Conroy’s.
Elliot came closer. “What are you doing?”
“Getting in his