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Sloan couldn’t keep the pleasure from her voice. As the surgeon started for the door, she called softly, “And thanks.”
    When they were alone, Michael reached for Sloan’s hand. “I love you.”
    The words hit Sloan like a hammer blow. Her knees felt suddenly  weak, and the next thing she was aware of was gasping for breath as tears poured down her cheeks. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you were hurt. I love you so much.”
    “Come here, love,” Michael murmured, tugging on Sloan’s hand.
    Somehow, Sloan managed to get the bed rail down and very carefully stretched out next to Michael, curling on her side and pressing her face close to Michael’s on the pillow. “I’m such a mess without you.”
    “Well, I’m here,” Michael soothed. “And you know I’ll never leave you, don’t you?”
    Nodding, Sloan caressed Michael’s face as she slipped into sleep. I promise to take you home soon. And I promise, no matter what, that you’ll be safe from now on.
    ———
    When Sloan was certain that Michael was asleep, she eased from the bed and slipped from the room. On her way through the hospital, she stopped at a payphone.
    A female voice answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
    “Sarah? It’s Sloan. Is Jason around?”
    “He’s in the study. I’ll get him.”
    A minute later, Jason said, “How’s Michael.”
    “Good. There’s even a chance she’ll come home soon.” Saying the words made Sloan feel uncharacteristically superstitious, so she quickly moved on. “What are you doing?”
    There was a beat of silence, then, “Phishing for addresses on our Internet ‘friends.’”
    Sloan understood that to mean he was trying to pin down the on-line pedophiles the team had been tracking. Phishing referred to the practice of hijacking confidential information from on-line consumers by pretending to be a legitimate business updating a common account, such as AOL or Paypal. An individual would receive an e-mail claiming that there had been a problem with the billing of the consumer’s account and directing the consumer to click on a hyperlink in the body of the e-mail for the “Billing Center.” When the consumer clicked on the link they landed on a site that looked completely legitimate, but when they entered their confidential financial or personal data, it would be relayed back to the Internet thief.
    “Finding anything?”
    “Might be.”
    Sloan caught her breath. “How about we discuss this at the office?”
    “Sure. When?”
    “Now.” Sloan hung up, her fatigue magically dissipating. She was ready to hunt.
    ———
    At seven-thirty Rebecca settled into a plain office chair in the drab institutional room and nodded perfunctorily to the middle-aged man seated across from her.
    “Good morning, Sergeant,” he said.
    “Dr. Whitaker.”
    “I was a bit surprised to find that you had scheduled more sessions with me.”
    Rebecca shrugged. “My paperwork isn’t quite in order, and Captain Henry won’t assign me to any regular duty because of it.”
    “Ahh…I see. So I’m the sticking point.”
    “Yes.”
    He asked the usual routine follow-up questions, to which she answered with the obligatory neutral responses. Near the end of the session, he asked, “And how is Dr. Rawlings?”
    “She’s fine.” Rebecca held his gaze, refusing to reveal her surprise at the unanticipated turn in the conversation.
    “How does she feel about your job?”
    “Why does it matter?”
    “One major source of stress in a police officer’s life is conflict at home. There is very often domestic discord stemming from the erratic work hours or complaints of…emotional absence.”
    His words hit close to the mark, and Rebecca colored. “I’m not stressed.”
    “Then you may be the only officer who isn’t.” Whitaker smiled slightly.
    “What do you know about Catherine?” she asked abruptly. Never let the witness lead the discussion. Always take the offensive position.
    Whitaker blinked.