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be her legal training. Putting people at ease on the stand and encouraging them to talk by asking the right questions would be a critical skill for an attorney. One it was clear she’d mastered.
    Jake was saved from having to find a way to shift the conversation back to more neutral territory by a soft knock on the door.
    Spence stuck his head inside. “Dr. Lawrence is here.”
    As Jake’s gaze met the other marshal’s, some sixth sense told him what was coming. He rose, circled the bed, and stationed himself beside Liz as Spence pushed the door all the way open.
    The doctor, still attired in surgical scrubs, entered.
    At the man’s grim demeanor, Liz drew a sharp breath and her posture went taut as a bowstring. When her fingers clenched, crushing the empty plastic cup in her hand, Jake bent down to take it from her.
    The surgeon snagged a chair, placed it at the foot of the bed across from Liz, and sat. Exhaustion had deepened the smudges under his eyes since his visit to the ER, and the lines etched on his brow were mute testimony to sustained, intense concentration.
    “There’s no easy way to say this, Judge Michaels.” His tone was gentle and filled with quiet sympathy. “We did everything we could. But the bleeding and swelling were so severe that your sister’s brain stem, which controls the body’s most critical functions, stopped operating. We’ve done an EEG, and there’s no electrical activity. In light of our earlier conversation about organ donation, we’re keeping her on a ventilator and moving her to the ICU. But brain death has occurred. I’m very, very sorry we couldn’t save her.”
    As the doctor gave Liz the bad news, Jake watched her knuckles whiten on the arms of the chair. Tracked the shudder that rippled through her. Heard the catch in her breathing.
    But when she spoke, she once again sounded steadier than he’d expected.
    “I know you did your best, Doctor. And I thank you for that. May I . . .” Her voice caught, and she tried again. “I’d like to see her.”
    “Of course. Just give us a few minutes. One of the ICU nurses will come and get you.” He looked up at Jake. “Because of the nature of her injury, we’ll need some direction from the coroner before we can proceed with organ retrieval.”
    “I’ll get things in motion.”
    The doctor nodded, then leaned toward Liz and took her hand, cocooning it between his. “I wish we could have repaired the damage to your sister and given her many more years, Judge Michaels. But some things can’t be remedied, even with modern medicine. If it’s any consolation, the quality of her life, had she lived, would have been severely compromised. The damage to her brain was extensive.”
    “Thank you for sharing that. It does help.”
    With one more squeeze of her hand, the doctor stood and spoke to Jake. “When you have some information, just let the ICU know.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    In the quiet that descended after the doctor exited, Jake tried to think of some words of comfort. But if they existed, he couldn’t come up with them. So he resorted to the standard, trite expression of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Liz.”
    “Thank you.” She blinked and swiped the backs of her hands across her eyes. “I knew all along there wasn’t much chance she’d survive. But I . . . I guess I kept hoping for a miracle.”
    “Can I get you anything?”
    “No. Thanks. I’d just like to sit for a few minutes.”
    “Okay. I’ll be in the hall.”
    With one last glance at her, he exited the room, let the door click shut behind him, and joined his colleague.
    “I take it the news was bad?” Spence handed him a cup of black coffee.
    “Yeah.” Jake took a long swallow of the lukewarm brew and kneaded the back of his neck. “Her sister didn’t make it.”
    “How’s the judge holding up?”
    “She’s still on her feet. But my guess is she’s close to folding.”
    “It’s been a rough night.”
    “Yeah.”
    “While you were