“Oh,” Cindy said in a small voice, feeling silly.

“I guess we both jumped to conclusions that night, huh?” he said, smiling down at her.

“I guess so,” she replied, thinking that there was still no explanation for the perfumed bubble bath. But she didn’t have the nerve to ask him about that. One thing at a time.

Fox had parked his car in the underground garage. He had found the back window jimmied the previous week and had taken this precaution against theft. They took the elevator to the basement, where they were very much alone, since it was an unusual time for a departure. The workers had already returned home and it was a little early for the evening traffic. Fox was walking a little ahead of her, and as he turned to put his arm around her, his expression changed from a slight smile to sudden alarm.

That was the last thing she saw before the world went black.

Chapter 8

Cindy woke to semi-darkness, with a throbbing pain in her head. It took her several seconds to determine that she was in a hospital. Antiseptic smells drifted in from the corridor, where she could make out the curved bar of a nurses’ station. There was a rustle of starched fabric and she realized she was not alone.

“I see you’re awake,” a man in a white lab coat said. “Just let me take a look at those eyes.” He took out a tiny light which looked like a fountain pen and shone it in her face.

“Drew,” Cindy said hoarsely.

“Pupils look good,” the doctor said, as if congratulating her on some achievement. “How’s the head?”

He put the light back in his pocket and made a note on a chart.

“Where’s Drew?” Cindy said louder, sitting up straight. Pain shot through her head like a bolt of lightning, and she dropped back to the pillow, trembling.

“I would advise against any sudden movements,” the doctor said cheerfully, too late. “That’s quite a concussion you have there.”

“Is Drew all right?” Cindy almost screamed. At least she tried to scream. It came out like a croak.

“Mr. Fox is fine,” the doctor said soothingly, answering the question at last. “Or he will be, once we get him patched up.”

‘‘Patched up?” Cindy repeated faintly.

He looked at her for the first time, as a person rather than a patient, and saw the depth of her anxiety.

“Mr. Fox was stabbed in the arm, and one of my colleagues is putting in the stitches right now.”

“Stabbed,” she whispered. “Oh, my God.”

The doctor replaced the chart at the foot of the bed and then came to stand next to her. He patted her hand awkwardly.

“Don’t be upset,” he said. “Mr. Fox is an old hand at this sort of thing.”

“Well I’m not,” she mumbled, and he smiled.

“No doubt. But you shouldn’t worry unduly about your friend. He’s been with us before, you know. He shows up every few months with something like this.”

Cindy was silent, trying to put it all together.

“Aren’t you interested in what happened to you?” the doctor asked.

She nodded, and discovered that it hurt to do so. “Yes.”

“Apparently one of the men Mr. Fox put back in jail got out on parole. He found out where your friend lived and waited for him in that garage area. When you passed he jumped both of you.”

Cindy listened, too appalled to comment.

“He chopped you on the back of the neck first,” the doctor continued equably, as if reading the weather report, “to get you out of the way, and then went after Mr. Fox with a knife, slicing his arm. Mr. Fox knocked him out and then brought you here in his car, violating every posted speed limit in the process. He picked up a police escort of two squad cars and they all roared into emergency at the same time. And I understand that the admitting nurse was your roommate, and she put on quite a scene. It was all very colorful, I assure you.”

“Paula,” Cindy murmured. Oh, no.

“And,” the doctor said, warming to his tale, “Mr. Fox punched out an orderly he thought wasn’t tending to you fast enough. I must say he was more concerned about your welfare than the pint of blood he had lost along the way.”

“You were there?” Cindy asked, glad that she had slept through it.

“Only for the last part. The punching out, I mean. I missed your dramatic arrival by a few minutes but I heard all about it.”

I’m sure you did, Cindy thought gloomily. “Is Paula still here?”

“The nurse? Oh, no, we sent her home with a prescription for tranquilizers. I’m sure she’ll be in to visit tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with me? You said it was a concussion?”

“In simple terms, yes. You sustained a blow that might have caused damage to the spine or the head. We’ll be doing some tests for intracranial pressure and a few other things tomorrow. I’m Doctor Markel, by the way, and I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”

“I want to see Drew. Can I see him?”

Dr. Markel shook his head firmly. “Absolutely not. You need your rest and so does he.”

“What about tomorrow? Can I see him tomorrow?”

“We’ll talk about it then. Now settle down and the ward nurse will be in shortly to take your vital signs.”

Whatever they are, Cindy thought. She watched as Dr. Markel bustled out the door, closing it behind him, eliminating her view of the hall.

She lay back and stared at the ceiling.

There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.

* * * *

In the morning Cindy was shuffled around for various tests,which ranged from the uncomfortable to the ridiculous. Apparently she passed them all because around noon they began making noises about discharging her.

She asked about Fox five times and was put off with a range of excuses. She was told that he was doing well, but that she still could not see him.

Paula arrived after lunch, carrying a plant bigger than she was. She took one look at Cindy and burst into tears.

“Stop crying, Paula, I’m all right. What is that, a baby tree?”

Paula put the bush down and pulled a wad of tissues from her pocket. “I couldn’t believe it when they brought you in,” she began. “You were out cold, white as a sheet, and Fox was covered with blood, yelling for us to take care of you. He looked like something out of a horror movie, even his hair was matted with gore. I thought that you were dead and he was dying.”

“It’s over, Paula. We’re both all right.”

“No thanks to him!” Paula said fiercely. “I knew he would be trouble. Didn’t I tell you he would be trouble? He’s dangerous, those people he chases are dangerous. That guy who attacked you really meant business, you know. When they brought him back to jail he said he didn’t want to hire someone to go after Fox, he wanted the pleasure of taking care of him personally. ‘Taking care of him.’ His exact words.” She shuddered.

“Calm down, Paula. You’re getting hysterical.”

“When I think,” Paula barrelled on, ignoring her, “of all the time I spent trying to get you out of those libraries and into a social life. And this is how you take my advice? By jumping from the reference stacks into knife brawls with hoods. By running around with Andrew freakin’ Fox, of all people! Even the cops are afraid of him.” She threw up her hands. “It’s like going from singing in a church choir to running guns for the mafia.”

A nurse came in from the hall, glancing at Paula’s offering. “I see that Birnam Wood has arrived,” she said dryly.

Paula threw her a dirty look.

“Time to take your pulse,” she said, picking up Cindy’s wrist.

“How is Andrew Fox?” Cindy asked her.

The nurse smiled. “You two should work up a routine. Every time I go in his room he asks about you.”

“He might well ask,” Paula sniffed. “He’s the reason she’s here in the first place.”

The nurse glanced curiously at Paula. “Don’t you work down in emergency?” she asked.

Paula nodded. “I was there when the two of them came in.”