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with me, Anna,” she urged the woman. “Just stay with me.”
    Sara’s words did not matter. The woman had lost consciousness, either from the seizure or the pain. Long after the drug should have taken effect, the muscles still spasmed through the body, legs jerking, head shaking.
    “Portable’s here,” Mary announced, motioning the X-ray technician into the room. She told Sara, “I’ll check on Sanderson and the OR.”
    The X-ray technician put his hand to his chest. “Macon.”
    “Sara,” she returned. “I’ll help.”
    He handed her the extra lead apron, then went about preparing the machine. Sara kept her hand on Anna’s forehead, stroking back her dark hair. The woman’s muscles were still twitching when Sara and Macon managed to roll her onto her back, legs bent to helpcontrol the pain. Sara noticed that Will Trent was still in the room and told him, “You need to clear out while we do this.”
    Sara helped Macon take the X-rays, both of them moving as fast as they could. She prayed that the patient would not wake up and start screaming again. She could still hear the sound of Anna’s screams, almost like an animal caught in a trap. The noise alone would set up the belief that the woman knew she was going to die. You did not scream like that unless you had given up all hope on life.
    Macon helped Sara turn the woman back on her side, then went off to develop the films. Sara took off her gloves and knelt beside the gurney again. She touched her hand to Anna’s face, stroking her cheek. “I’m sorry I pushed you,” she said—not to Anna, but to Will Trent. She turned to find him standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at the woman’s legs, the soles of her feet. His jaw was clenched, but she didn’t know if that was from anger or horror or both.
    He said, “We’ve both got jobs to do.”
    “Still.”
    Gently, he reached down and stroked the sole of Anna’s right foot, probably thinking there was nowhere else to touch her that wouldn’t cause pain. Sara was surprised by the gesture. It seemed almost tender.
    “Sara?” Phil Sanderson was in the doorway, his surgical scrubs neatly clean and pressed.
    She stood up, lightly resting her fingertips on Anna’s shoulder as she told Phil, “We’ve got two open fractures and a crushed pelvis. There’s a deep incision on the right breast and a penetrating wound on the left side. I’m not sure about the neurologic; her pupils are nonresponsive, but she was talking, making sense.”
    Phil walked over to the body and started his examination. He didn’t comment on the state of the victim, the obvious abuse. His focus was on the things he could fix: the open fractures, the shattered pelvis. “You didn’t intubate her?”
    “Airways are clear.”
    Phil obviously disagreed with her decision, but then, orthopedic surgeons didn’t generally care whether or not their patients could speak. “How’s the heart?”
    “Strong. BP is good. She’s stable.” Phil’s surgical team came in to prep the body for transfer. Mary returned with the X-rays and handed them to Sara.
    Phil pointed out, “Just putting her under could kill her.”
    Sara snapped the films into the lightbox. “I don’t think she’d be here if she wasn’t a fighter.”
    “The breast is septic. It looks like—”
    “I know,” Sara interrupted, putting on her glasses so she could read the X-rays.
    “This wound in her side is pretty clean.” He stopped his team for a moment and leaned down, checking the long tear in her skin. “Was she dragged by the car? Did something metal slice her open?”
    Will Trent answered, “As far as I know, she was hit straight-on. She was standing in the roadway.”
    Phil asked, “Was there anything around that might have made this wound? It’s pretty clean.”
    Will hesitated, probably wondering if the man realized what the woman had been through before the car had struck her. “The area was pretty wooded, mostly rural. I haven’t talked to