"Hey." He smiled, tightening his fingers around hers and bringing them

to his lips. His voice was rough with fatigue. "Good morning."

"How ..." She closed her eye again, impatient with the thin whisper.

"How long?"

"You just slept through the night, that's all. Any pain?"

She had pain, and plenty of it. But she shook her head. It made her

believe she was alive. "It happened, didn't it? All of it?"

"It's over." Wanting the comfort almost as much as he needed to give it,

he kept her hand against his cheek. "I'm going to go get the nurse.

They wanted to know when you woke up."

"Michael. Did I kill him?"

He took a moment. Her face was bruised and bandaged. He'd seen worse,

but not often. Yet her hand held steady on his. She'd been battered,

but she wasn't defeated. "Yes. For the rest of my life I'll regret

that you beat me to it."

Her eye closed, but she kept her hand firm around his. There had to be

something inside her, something besides the thin rivers of pain and

drugged fatigue. "I don't know what to feel. There doesn't seem to be

anything, no grief, no relief, no regret. I only feel hollowed out."

He knew what it was to hold a weapon in your hand, to aim, to fire

at another human being. In the line of duty. In self-defense. Yet no

matter how urgent, how vital the cause, it haunted you.

"You did the only thing you could do. That's all you have to remember.

Don't worry about the rest now."

"He had such a lovely voice. I fell in love with it. I wish I knew why

it had to be this way."

He had no comfort, and no answers.

Michael left her to the nurse and went to the lounge where Marianne was

drowsing against Johnno's shoulder. The room was done in nice pastels,

designed, he supposed, to cheer and relax the friends and family who

could only sit and wait. There was a color television bracketed to the

wall. It was chattering discreetly. A table was set up with pots of

water on hot plates and baskets of instant coffee packets and tea bags.

There were two telephones at either end of the room and a generous

supply of magazines.

"She's awake."

"Awake?" Marianne shot up instantly. "How is she?"

"She's okay." Michael poured another cup of coffee, stirring the instant

powder without interest. "She remembers what happened, and she's

dealing with it. The nurse is with her, and they're paging the doctor.

You should be able to see her pretty soon."

They all fell silent when Emma's picture flashed on the television

screen. The report was brisk and brutally concise, interspersed with

shots of both Emma and Drew. There was a quick stand-up with the desk

clerk of the hotel, and with two of the witnesses who had heard the

disturbance and called security. .

A middle-aged man, baking and flushed with excitement, spoke into the

mike. Michael remembered shoving him aside before he had broken in the

door.

"I only know there was a lot of crashing around. And she was screaming,