Rachel cried when they brought Kaapo out. She cried when they brought Briggs out. She cried when the paramedics pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt and revealed the bone that was protruding through the skin. She cried when Jack told her they’d have to take me to the hospital.

The police swarmed the church, the lights almost festive in the night air. I didn’t know what to tell them about Kaapo.

“Did you know him?”

Yes.

“Did you know he was in town?”

No.

“Did you know where he was staying?”

No.

“Do you know the reason for his visit?”

That one was trickier. I did, but telling the police would mean admitting I was a wanted murderer in Israel. I couldn’t do that. As far as the cops knew, I was Patrick Shaughnessy, a third generation Irishman from Memphis by way of Denver and Boston. I couldn’t tell them an Israeli citizen had flown all the way to Arizona to torture me in order to make me pay for what he saw as the murder of his sister.

That was just too complicated.

No.

Jack hovered nearby as they spoke to me, insisting between each and every question that I was severely injured and needed to be taken to the hospital. But he let the questioning go on because he knew as well as I that it was best to have it finished before the doctors began pumping me full of painkillers and sedatives.

So, I answered questions and watched Rachel cry.

“What happened to…Kaapo, you said his name was?”

That was an easier question to answer.

“Briggs Thomas slammed him into a shelf that held a group of scissors. I guess one of the pairs of scissors was pointed in just the right direction, in just the right position.”

“You saw this?”

“Everyone saw this.”

“Who is everyone?”

Rachel stood to one side, Quentin speaking quietly to her, trying to calm her down. She caught my eye, and I quickly looked away.

“Briggs had three men in the room at the time. One was injured a few minutes later, so I imagine they’re all at the hospital.”

“How was he injured?”

“Briggs cut his shoulder with that blade,” I said, indicating the blade one of the cops had in an evidence bag, dangling carelessly from his hand. The cops all looked at it, the thing suddenly taking on new significance.

It was after that that they decided they’d gotten enough answers out of me.

The hospital was utter chaos. They wheeled me into the emergency room, and a whole group of medical personnel suddenly descended on me, this one checking my blood pressure, that one taking blood, that one cleaning the wound on my chin to see if it required stitches. My arm seemed to be the least of their worries, though it was the one that was causing me the most concern.

The pain was overwhelming now that I’d seen that piece of bone sticking out. I had no idea how I’d been able to lift it—wondering if moving it had caused the bone protrusion—but was grateful I had. If not, I might not have an arm right now, what with the way Briggs had been aiming that blade.

When the guy who was clearly there for the arm arrived, everyone moved out of his way as he examined it and the x-rays they’d managed to take at some point. I was a little fuzzy on that. Maybe I’d passed out at some point?

“You’ll need surgery.”

That was a no-brainer.

“This will help you relax,” a pretty redhead was telling me not long after, as she prepared a syringe.

Rachel came into the room behind her, her pretty face swollen and blotchy from all the crying. The redhead followed my gaze and politely excused herself, claiming she’d forgotten something out in the hall.

“You okay?”

Rachel came to the side of the bed, her eyes frantically moving over my bruised and broken body. I was in the most unflattering garment ever made, a hospital gown, a breeze capable of exposing more parts than it seemed necessary to put on display at the moment.

“I’m better than you,” she finally said. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do this.”

“I didn’t help.”

“What could you have done?”

Her eyes met mine, making it clear we both knew she could have done something and didn’t. But she had been in shock. I didn’t blame her.

“What happens now?”

“They’re taking me up to surgery in a minute. And then…I guess weeks of rehab.”

“Briggs is dead.”

“I know.”

“You killed him.”

I nodded. “I did.”

“You promised you’d protect me, and you did.”

“I wish I’d been able to do it sooner.”

She studied my face for a long moment. “He’s been a part of my life for so long, I don’t know who I am without him. I don’t know how to exist without him.”

“You find yourself again.”

She cocked her head slightly. “I don’t know if I ever did. But…I want to try.”

“Good.”

“Thank you, Patrick. Thank you for being kind to me.”

“No. I was cruel. Last night, I was—”

“You don’t have to apologize. I don’t regret it. I don’t want you to, either.”

“It was uncalled for. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“I bring out the dark side of people.” She smiled softly. “It’s okay. You were still far kinder to me than any other man I’ve ever known.” She bent low and kissed my cheek. “I hope you find peace, Moshe,” she whispered. Then she walked away, leaving me alone in that bed.

Profoundly alone.