looked up into a sea of faces, a blur of color, all unrecognizable. His

stomach clenched, then tried to heave itself Into his throat.

"Call an ambulance," he managed, then bent over her again.

"Don't move her." Bev's face was chalk-white as she knelt beside him. "I

don't think you're supposed to move her. We need a blanket."

Some quick-witted soul was already thrusting a daisy afghan into her

hands. "She'll be all right, Bri." Carefully, Bev smoothed the blanket

over her. "She'll be just fine."

He closed his eyes, shook his head to clear it. But when he opened them

again, Emma was still lying, dead-white, on the floor. There was too

much noise. The music echoing off the ceilings, the voices murmuring,

muttering all around. He felt a hand on his shoulder. A quick,

rea.s.suring squeeze.

"Ambulance is on the way," P.M. told hilooks. "Your wife, Mr. McAvoy,

she found your son?"

"Yes. She went upstairs after we heard the ambulance. She wanted to

check on ... She wanted to be sure, you see, that he hadn't woke

up. I heard her screaming, screaming, screaming. And I ran. When I

got into Darren's room, she was sitting on the floor with him, holding

him. And screaming. They had to give her something to put her out."

"Mr. McAvoy, have there been any threats against you, your wife, or

your children?"

"No."

"Nothing?"

"No. Well, there's some hate mail from time to time. Political stuff

mostly. Pete has it screened."

"We'd like to see everything that's come in for the last six months."

"That's quite a bundle of mail, Lieutenant," Pete told him.

"We'll manage."

Brian ignored them both and rose as the doctor came in. "Emma," was all

he said. All he could say.

"She's sleeping. She has a concussion, a broken arm, and some bruised

ribs, but no internal injuries."

"She's going to be all right."

"She'll need to be watched carefully for the next few days, but yes, the

outlook is very good."

He cried then, as he hadn't been able to when he'd seen his son's

lifeless body, as he'd been incapable of doing when they'd taken his

family from him and left him in the green-walled waiting room. Hot

tears poured through his fingers as he covered his face.

Quietly, Lou closed his notebook and, motioning to the doctor, stepped

into the hall. "I'm Lieutenant Kesselring. Homicide." Again, Lou

flashed his ID. "When will I be able to talk to the little girl?"

"Not for a day, perhaps two."

"I need to question her as soon as possible." He took out a card and

handed it to the doctor. "If you'd call me as soon as she's able to

talk. The wife, Beverly McAvoy?"

"Sedated. Ten or twelve hours before she should come around. Even then

I won't guarantee she'll be able to talk, or that I'll be willing to

allow it."