probably have been given to changing the term ‘Murphy’s Law’ to ‘Whitestone’s Law’, considering the way her life had unfolded. After all, whatever the worst possible outcome in any scenario could be, that’s the one she could usually count on. ‘So, now what?’ Dana asked as a wave of utter exhaustion washed over her body and suddenly made her want nothing more in the world than to go back to sleep again – maybe even for ever this time.
Spinks laid down the medical chart on her bedside table and lifted her left wrist to take her pulse. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘now we’ll monitor you closely for the next several days to make sure that no additional swelling occurs in your brain. You’re something of a medical miracle, Agent Whitestone. You really are. Your recovery speed has been absolutely astounding. Before you know it, you’ll be up and about and as good as new.’
Dana closed her eyes. If Dr Aloysius Spinks knew just how far off the mark he’d been with that statement, he’d probably blush about nine shade of purple. Wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know her horrible history, though. Still, ‘good as new’ wasn’t all that terribly good when it came to her, now was it?
Dana opened her eyes when Spinks dropped her wrist and spoke again. ‘I’ll alert Bill Krugman that you’ve emerged from your coma,’ he said. ‘His name is listed at the top of the emergency contacts in your cellphone. Or is there someone else you’d prefer for me to call?’
Dana shook her head. The head of the FBI – known to everyone in the Bureau simply by his title of ‘The Director’ – was the only living person left on her emergency-contacts list. The others were all dead now, most of them thanks to her. Another thing Spinks had no way of knowing. ‘No,’ Dana said, sinking her head back down into the pillow and feeling her eyelids droop. ‘That’ll be just fine.’
Spinks’s voice filled Dana’s brain as the murky world of dreamland dragged her off insistently into its warm embrace. She only prayed that her destination this time would be a much more pleasant place than the horrific nightmare world from which she’d just emerged. ‘Fine,’ Spinks said. ‘I’ll leave you alone to rest up now then, Agent Whitestone. Even though your recovery has been absolutely amazing, I don’t want you overdoing it.’
Dana’s eyelids flew open again when she felt Spinks’s hand reach behind her head. She bolted up in bed. ‘What in the hell are you doing?’ she snapped.
Spinks pursed his lips and handed her a call button attached to a length of plastic-covered wire. ‘Relax, Agent Whitestone. Just press this button if you need anything.’
Dana’s cheeks warmed. What the fuck was wrong with her? Highly unlikely that a doctor would murder her in her hospital bed five minutes after she’d emerged from a coma. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m still feeling a little shaken up.’
Spinks waved the apology away. ‘Don’t worry about it. Perfectly understandable. Anyway, just press the button if you need anything. I’ll be back to check up on you in a little bit. And Dana?’
Dana looked up at the kindly medical professional, feeling more exhausted than she’d ever felt before in her entire life. ‘Yeah?’
Spinks held her gaze. ‘You’re a very lucky woman, ma’am. Don’t you ever forget that.’
When Spinks had exited the room, Dana let out a deep breath that deflated her chest completely and closed her eyes again, this time for good. Despite the doctor’s encouraging words, though, the plain truth of the matter was that she didn’t feel so goddamn lucky right now. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Then again, life was funny like that sometimes, wasn’t it?
Sure as hell was.
Crying shame there was no humour in it most of time.
CHAPTER 9
Bill Krugman hurried into Dana’s hospital room the following morning, holding his trademark briefcase in his left hand and a bouquet of colourful flowers in his right. ‘Dana,’ he said, rushing to her bedside and laying down the flowers on her table. ‘Thank God you’re finally conscious.’
The Director put a warm hand lightly on the side of Dana’s face and leaned over the metal bedrail to kiss her softly on the top of her head. A grandfatherly look of concern deepened the already impressive menagerie of creases lining his weathered forehead. ‘Thank God,’ he said again, shifting his dark brown eyes back and forth between Dana’s pale blue