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Detective.”
    “Tell Felipe and Ken I need to talk to them.”
    “Your boss will be disappointed if he’s not in on your powwow.”
    “Okay, fine. Send him in, too.”
    “Maybe you should just go into the lobby and hold a damned press conference,” she said irritably, as the tight band of tension around her head finally snapped. She started to the door of the treatment room.
    “Molly?”
    She turned.
    “You okay?”
    “Sure. I’m just dandy,” she retorted. “You get yourself practically blown to smithereens and now it’s back to business as usual. You’ll have to pardon me if I can’t switch emotional gears as quickly as you do.”
    He eased gingerly off the examining table. “Come here.”
    “What for?”
    “Come on,
amiga
, humor me.”
    She walked slowly over to him. Her insides were still turning somersaults. He cupped her face in both hands and tilted her head until she was forced to meet his gaze.
    “It’s over now and I’m okay,” he said quietly.
    A sigh eased through her, but relief was tantalizingly elusive. Molly slid her arms around Michael’s waist and rested her head against his chest. He felt warm and solid and very much alive. If she could have held on like this forever, it might have reassured her. Instead, she knew deep down that this respite would be short-lived. If anything, the real danger was just beginning.

CHAPTER
FOUR
    Outside the doors of the relatively new trauma center entrance, the media hounds were gathered like a pack of irritable wolves. Before Molly went through those doors, she found a police spokesman. He was clearly a rookie, judging by his age and the fact that he was hiding inside, rather than outside where he could hobnob with the reporters. She pulled him aside and suggested that this might be the perfect time for some sort of statement.
    “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously. “Do you work for the hospital?”
    “No, but I have to get something from O’Hara’s car for him and I really don’t want to be the one they start questioning out there. It’d be a lot better if you gave them an update, something official.”
    “But nobody’s issued anything formal yet,” the officer argued.
    This was definitely not a man inclined to climb out on a limb. “I can solve that problem. Tell them the doctors are impressed with Detective O’Hara’s hard head,” she suggested.
    “Huh?”
    The challenge of getting through to him lost its appeal. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll be able to think of something innocuous. That’s what people in your line of work are best at.”
    The officer regarded her uncertainly, clearly not sure whether to take offense at her sarcasm. Since she really wanted him to distract the media—and since she frequently had to do the same kind of public relations tap dance—she apologized.
    “Sorry. Just pacify them, okay?”
    “I’ll get the director.”
    Obviously this was not a man who craved the limelight. She predicted a very short career in the public information office. “You can forget the director. He’s in with O’Hara. You’re on your own, Officer.”
    Just to make sure he didn’t turn tail and run, she nudged him out the door ahead of her. As she’d expected, the reporters turned into a frenzied pack, lobbing questions faster than tennis balls flew at the annual Lipton International Tournament over on Key Biscayne.
    Since she didn’t trust the reticent young man’s ability to satisfy their hunger for information for long, as soon as all attention was focused on him, Molly slipped past the crowd. When she reached Michael’s big wagoneer, which she’d left illegally parked and protectively watched over by a willing hospital security guard, she opened the tailgate and collapsed for a moment on the cool metal. All of the tension of the past few hours caught up with her at once.
    “Are you okay, ma’am?” the petite female security guard in her snug navy-blue uniform asked.
    “Just a delayed