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He was saved from responding by the creak of a door. Monk pushed out into the hall, followed by the hospital's internist. Monk's gaze swept between Gray and Seichan. The residual tension must have felt like a cold front.

Monk waved to the internist as he departed, then pointed to the door. "She's tired, but you can visit for a few minutes...but only a few minutes. And I don't know if you've heard, but her uncle is out of his coma. Vigor woke up this morning. And won't shut up, I hear. Anyway, I think the good news went a long way toward perking her up."

Gray stood.

Seichan rose, too, but she turned toward her hospital room.

Gray stopped her with a touch on her arm. She visibly flinched. "Why don't you come inside, too?"

She just continued to stare down the hall.

Gray's fingers tightened on her arm. "You owe her. You put her through hell. Just speak to her."

She sighed, responding to the necessity and taking the offer as a punishment. She allowed herself to be led to the door. Gray hadn't meant the invitation as a chastisement, but at least it got her moving.

Seichan had been standing outside long enough.

Inside the room, Rachel was sitting up in bed. She smiled when she recognized Gray, but a flash of anger lit her eyes when she saw who followed him inside. Her smile faded.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not poisoned."

Seichan knew the barb was directed at her. But she took it without comment. She walked past Gray and took the seat next to the bed.

Rachel leaned away.

Seichan sat quietly, her fingertips resting on the bed rail. She didn't say a word. She just sat there, letting Rachel's silent anger wash over her. Slowly Rachel sank back into the bed.

Only then did Seichan whisper, not tearfully, not coldly, just plainly, "I'm sorry."

Gray hung back. He suspected that Seichan needed to speak those words as much as Rachel needed to hear them. They spoke haltingly, quietly after that. Gray drifted back toward the door. He knew it was a conversation he had no part in.

He returned to the corridor and found Monk still seated on the bench. Gray joined him and noted that Monk clutched his cell phone between his two palms.

"Did you speak to Kat?"

Monk slowly nodded his head.

"Is she still angry with you for putting yourself in harm's way?"

Monk just kept nodding, not stopping.

They remained quiet for a few breaths.

Gray finally asked because he knew his friend well. "How are you doing?"

Monk sighed. A longer stretch of silence followed before he spoke. His words were calm but masked a well of pain. "He was a good kid. I should've been watching over him better."

"But you couldn't-"

Monk cut him off, not angry, just tired. "You know, I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet."

Gray respected that. Instead, they just sat quietly in each other's company. And that was enough for both of them.

After a time, a familiar whistling arose down the hall. Kowalski appeared. Somehow his partner had come through everything without a scratch, but for security reasons he was still restricted to the hospital.

As he sauntered toward them, Gray saw that he held something in one of his large mitts. Once Kowalski spotted them on the bench, he hurriedly shoved his arm behind his back. Gray remembered a certain fixation Kowalski had back in Hawkshead.

As he drew abreast of them, Gray called over. "So is that a gift for Rachel?"

Kowalski stopped, suddenly sheepish. Caught, he pulled the teddy bear into view. It was white, plushy, and dressed in a nurse's uniform. He stared down at it, over to Rachel's room, then finally glared at Gray and shoved the bear at him.

"Of course it is," he growled.

Gray took the bear.

Kowalski stomped off heavily, no longer whistling.

"What was that all about?" Monk asked.

Gray leaned back. "You know, I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet."

Chapter 33

October 23, 10:14 A.M.

Washington, D.C.

They all met at Senator Gorman's office on Capitol Hill.

Painter was seated next to General Metcalf. On his other side, Dr. Lisa Cummings sat with her legs crossed.

One toe of her shoe lightly brushed Painter's pant leg. It was not done casually. He and Lisa had been apart for too long. And since she had returned from vacation, she had been busy, often red-eyeing out to the Midwest to oversee the medical crisis out there. The two of them captured whatever spare moments they could together.

Metcalf continued reporting on the manufacture of the antifungal compound. Painter had already reviewed the report.

Instead of listening, he watched his girlfriend's reflection in the window behind the senator. Lisa had her hair up in a French twist and wore a conservative suit to match the mood of the meeting. He daydreamed about undoing that twist, unbuttoning that shirt.

"We're spraying all the production fields," Metcalf continued, "covering a safety zone of fifteen miles around each site. The EPA has mobilized with the National Guard to monitor and continue testing samples of surrounding vegetation for another thirty miles out."

Gorman nodded. "On the international front, all the planted fields have been scraped and sprayed. We can only hope we've stamped this out in time."

Lisa spoke up. "If not, we'll be ready. The initial human trials have been successful. Minimal adverse reactions. The early cases have responded well. It will be a boon to medicine across the board. While we have a slew of powerful antibiotics, our arsenal of antifungals, especially for systemic infections, has been limited and is burdened by high toxicity levels. With such a new compound readily available-"