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  “You know it’s more than a possibility. It’s a likelihood.”

  Martin stared at her in silence for what seemed a very long time before he looked away. “C’mon. I’ll take you.”

  “Martin,” she said softly and waited until he’d looked at her again. “Thank you.”

  Martin was a good driver. Conscientious, never failing to put on his signal or stop completely at every stop sign, even though the traffic on the road was next to zero. His hands firmly grasped the wheel at the correct positions. He looked carefully both ways at every intersection, not just once, but twice.

  Even so, urgency and anxiety made Tovah want to squirm. She resisted by clasping her hands tightly in her lap. She stared straight ahead, tensing at every flare of red taillights in front of them. Her seat belt was a comforting tightness against her chest, but she fought the urge to grab at the handhold each time the car sped up.

  “Are you okay?”

  From the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of Martin’s head as he glanced at her. “Just a little edgy. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t ask again. He reached to turn on the radio so music filled the space between them instead of silence. Outside, it had begun to rain.

  The road emptied, leaving them the only car making the journey through mostly darkness. They hadn’t yet turned off the main road onto the smaller local streets that led to the Sisters of Mercy, but the streetlamps had disappeared. The road unwound before them like a long dark ribbon.

  She knew this song. It was a Celtic piece, full of the mournful wail of uilleann pipes. It was something like a lullaby, though perhaps one meant to sing to a child whose sleep was never going to end. Her hands crept up to press her belly, briefly and without conscious effort, though she at once put them back in her lap.

  The sound of the rain was like a lullaby, too. The soft shush-shush of a mother soothing a fretful babe. The tires purred along the road, going round and round just like the wheels on the bus…the wheels on the bus…

  Her tension eased one muscle at a time. She still heard the rain, the music, the tires rolling. She still saw the road ahead and the occasional flash of another vehicle’s lights. They simply no longer had the power to tighten her nerves.

  They drove a long, long time.

  The car slowed. It stopped.

  Tovah turned her head to face the driver. The light from the parking lot lamp cut across Martin’s face in bars of silver edged with shadow. One eye flared a blue almost painful in its brightness. The other stayed a faded gray, shielded by darkness.

  “You shouldn’t have to be afraid,” he whispered. “See? I wish you’d let me help you not be so afraid.”

  Words snuck around her mouth before tripping from her lips. “You can’t help me not be afraid.”

  His hand reached, fingertips brushing her cheek. “I can, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart.

  Tovah startled awake. Martin had pulled into the parking lot. Lights blazed from all the windows of the immense brick building in front of them, and cars circled the lot even at this hour gone so late it had become early.

  Where had the peace gone, the light and shadow?

  “Tovah?”

  “Sorry, I must have dozed off.” She scrubbed her face, hoping she hadn’t drooled and glad for the chance to feel for a blush.

  She had no right to dream of Martin as her savior. Not after the game of back and forth she’d played with him. Hell, not even if she hadn’t pushed him away. Nobody deserved that much responsibility.

  Look what it had done to Spider.

  Martin grabbed her crutches from the back seat and waited patiently as she hoisted herself out of his car. Neither of them had bothered with an umbrella but the rain of earlier had turned to a fine, light mist that coated her hair and coat within moments with damp. Tovah balanced using the open car door, then settled her crutches under her arms and started toward the hospital.

  The last time she’d been there after visiting hours, she’d been a patient. The staff had changed, but the feeling the hospital got in the wee hours hadn’t. Buildings in which people who were supposed to be sleeping stayed awake always had a certain vibe.

  Security shouldn’t have let her through, really, even though she was with Martin, who had a staff ID badge. Tovah tensed for a confrontation. She wasn’t above threats. She could toss around legal and medical jargon, whip out proof she was Henry Tuckens’s guardian. Cause trouble.

  “Dr. Goodfellow.” The guard nodded, his eyes flickering past Tovah without stopping. “And a guest?”

  “Thanks, Terry.” Martin tucked his ID back into his shirt pocket.

  The guard turned back to his newspaper and bag of popcorn. Tovah waited until they were on the elevator, doors closed behind them, before she said, “How’d you do that?”

  Martin pushed the button for Five. “Do what?”

  “With the guard. He should’ve given us a harder time than that. What did you do?”

  Martin shrugged. “Some people don’t take their jobs seriously, I guess.”

  “Jedi mind trick?” Tovah asked, watching him refuse to look at her.

  Martin looked at her then, his pupils wide and dark in the elevator’s fussy, flickering light. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You have a way, don’t you?” she murmured. “With people.”

  The doors opened. Martin pushed a hand against them to keep them from closing before she could get off, and this, yet another example of his constant consideration, proved to her again he was a good man. He waited until she was through before stepping through himself and waited again to make sure she was moving smoothly before walking after her.

  Despite the hour, or perhaps because of it, Five was alive with activity. Staff moved purposefully from room to room, always in pairs and armed with trays of small plastic cups and gleaming silver needles.

  “What’s going on in here?” Martin snagged a passing orderly Tovah didn’t recognize.

  “Full moon? Hell if I know,” said the orderly with a shake of his head. “It’s been a madhouse since that dude on the end decided to join the land of the living.”

  “It’s always a madhouse,” Martin said without a trace of irony.

  “Yeah, well, it’s even worse tonight.” The orderly shook off Martin’s hand and headed into a room from which a flurry of shouting had started.

  Martin didn’t wait for her this time. He stalked down the hall, his long legs taking him twice as fast as she could hobble. He pushed through the door to Henry’s room. The door hissed shut behind him on its pneumatic hinge, clicking entirely closed just as Tovah reached it.

  She grabbed the handle but paused to listen for shouting or cries from inside before opening it. She heard plenty of commotion, but it all came from outside, not Henry’s room. Tovah pushed open the door.

  “Henry?”

  He and Martin stood by the window, their backs to her. Both turned as she said his name. Tovah would have run into his arms, had she been able, but Henry didn’t wait for her to try.

  “Tovahleh.” He pushed past Martin without a second glance and came to her. “Look at you, doll. You’re a sight.”

  Hugging around crutches and with only one leg was awkward, but they managed. Tovah didn’t mean to cry, but seeing him aware and awake was such a relief she couldn’t help it. Henry smelled of the soap she’d bought him, and of comfort. His chin rested neatly on the top of her head as he rubbed her back.

  From outside his room, the sound of pounding feet filled the hall. Then a wail and a crash. Tovah looked, but Martin had already gone to peer out the door. He looked over his shoulder at them.

  “I’d better go help.”

  “What’s going on, Spider?” Tovah said when Martin had gone. “Why is everyone acting so—”

  “Crazy?” Henry didn’t laugh. “It’s because they can’t wake up, Tovah.”

  She shook her head, not understanding. “I have to sit, my leg’s aching.”