The Lost - J. D. Robb [16]
“I don’t think . . .” She lifted her hand to worry at the bandage on the forehead. “I don’t think . . .”
“There were a lot of people.” Steve angled his head to look at the photo. “We were looking out at the water most of the time.” He glanced with concern toward the monitor as his wife’s pulse rate jumped. “Okay, honey, take it easy.”
“I don’t remember. It scares me. Why does it scare me?”
“Don’t look at it anymore.” Will snatched the photo away. “Don’t look at it, Mom. Don’t scare her anymore.” He thrust the photo back at Eve. “She was in the picture.”
“Sorry?”
“The lady. Here.” He pulled a camera out of his pocket. “We took pictures. Dad let me take some. She’s in the picture.” He turned the camera on, scrolled back through the frames. “We took a lot. I looked through them when they had Mom away for tests. She’s in the picture. See?”
Eve took the camera and looked at a crowd shot, poorly cropped, with Dana Buckley sitting on a bench sipping from a go-cup. With a briefcase in her lap.
“Yeah, I see. I need to keep this for a while, okay? I’ll get it back to you.”
“You can keep it, I don’t care. Just don’t scare my mom.”
“I don’t want to scare your mother. That’s not why I’m here,” Eve said, directly to Carolee.
“I know. I know. She—that’s the one who was hurt?”
“Yes. It upsets you to see her photo.”
“Terrifies me. I don’t know why. There’s a light,” she said after a hesitation.
“A light?”
“A bright flash. White flash. After I see her picture, and I’m scared, so scared. There’s a white flash, and I can’t see anything. Blind, for a minute. I . . . It sounds crazy. I’m not crazy.”
“Shh.” Pete began to stroke her hair. “Shh.”
“I’m going to speak to the doctor. If Carolee’s clear, I want to get her and our boys back to the hotel. Away from this. We’ll get room service.” Steve winked over at Will. “In-room movies.”
“God, yes,” Carolee breathed. “I’ll feel better once we’re out of here.”
“Let’s go find the doctor,” Eve suggested and sent a glance at Roarke. He nodded, and moved to the foot of the bed as Steve went out with Eve.
“So, Mrs. Grogan, where would you be staying here in New York?”
It took another thirty minutes, but Roarke asked no questions until they were out of the health center. “And so, how is the lady?”
“I had the doctor dumb it down for me. He was giving it to the husband—he’s a doctor, too—in fancier terms.”
“You can keep it dumbed down for me.”
“She’s good,” Eve told him, “no serious or lasting damage. The contusion, mild concussion, and most interestingly what he dumbed down to a ‘smudge’ on her optic nerves—both eyes. He seemed to be pushing for another test, but he’d already done a recheck and as the smudge was already dissipating, I don’t think Steve’s going to go for it. Added to it, the brain scan showed something wonky in the memory section—a blip, but that’s resolved, too, on retest. Her tox is clear,” Eve added as she got back into the car. “No trace of anything, which is too damn bad, as that’s where logic was leading me.”
“A memory suppressor would’ve been logical. And may be yet.” He shook his head at her look. “We’ll have some things to check into when we get home. You’ll likely have to follow up with the Grogans?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’ll find them at the Palace. They’ll be moving there tonight.”
“Your hotel?”
“It seems they’re a bit squeezed into a room at the moment, and it struck me they could use a bit of an upgrade for their troubles. Plus the security’s better there. Considerably.”
“I’m putting a watch on them,” Eve began, then shrugged. “It is better.” She engaged the ’link to update her men on the change. “Let’s go home and start ‘checking into.’ ”
Six
Summerset, Roarke’s man about everything, wasn’t lurking in the grand foyer when Eve walked in. She spied the fat cat, Galahad, perched on the newel post like a furry gargoyle. He blinked his bicolored eyes twice, then leaped down with a thud to saunter over and rub against her legs.
“Where’s Mr.