"He took her ring."
The words snap me back.
"What?"
"Her engagement ring." Fenrir's voice breaks slightly. "He took it. She kept saying—when she was conscious—she was sorry about the ring. Sorry she lost it."
The ring I picked out with her mother.
The ring that belonged to a woman who wore it for fifty years.
The ring I slid onto her finger when I asked her to be my wife.
They took it.
"I'm going to kill him." The words come out quiet. Calm. Absolutely certain. "I'm going to find him and I'm going to kill him."
"Get in line," Fenrir says.
Dr. Reynolds arrives in twelve minutes, but it feels like twelve hours.
He takes over from Gwen, and does a more thorough assessment.
His face is grim when he finishes.
"The ribs are definitely broken. The arm needs sutures, but that's manageable. It's the abdominal trauma I'm worried about. She took significant blows to the torso. Without imaging, I can't rule out internal bleeding."
"Then we get imaging," I say.
"A CT scan means a hospital. A hospital means?—"
"I don't care what it means. If she needs it, she gets it."
Reynolds nods slowly.
"I have a contact at St. Mary's. Radiologist who owes me a favor. I can get her in as a Jane Doe—cash payment, no questions asked, no police notification. But it'll cost."
"Money's not an issue," Fenrir says. "Whatever it takes."
"I'll make the call."
He steps away, phone already to his ear.
I kneel beside Ingrid again.
Take her uninjured hand in mine.
Her fingers are cold.
Too cold.
"I'm here," I tell her, even though she can't hear me. "I'm right here. You're going to be okay. I promise. I promise you're going to be okay."
Her eyelids flutter.
For a second, I think she's waking up.
But she doesn't open her eyes.
