Spinning, Sommer grabbed her procedure table and dragged it to the corner, where she tucked down, one arm protectively circling her head and the other clinging to the metal table leg to hold it in place.
There was a loudspeaker Code Atlas call, then the legs of security officers and police came into view.
Coyote crashed onto the ground, out cold; his bowel had split, and now the smell exponentially filled the room.
Sommer clung in place, dry heaving as the cops slapped handcuffs into place on both men.
She’d file charges on that assault. Right now, she’d hunker in the corner and wait for enough calm and space before she crept out from under the table.
Finally clear, Sommer duck-walked to Coyote, thinking that no one could survive that.
But he blinked.
Then he blinked again.
Sommer was startled as more blue-clad legs came into view.
It was the EMT with their yellow transport gurney. “Is this our patient?” one asked.
Wendy said from behind them. “Given the change in his medical status, we’ll need to come up with an alternative plan.”
“This is Coyote,” Sommer said, coming to her feet, hand cupping her jaw and looking straight at Wendy, “He’s all yours.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gabriel
Tuesday
Gabriel stepped out into a day thick with humidity.
It was too early to call it hot yet, but that was the trajectory.
Washington, D.C. was a swamp, and summers were muggy.
As Whiskey sat at Gabriel’s feet while he locked the door, Gabriel braced as he waited for Whiskey to decide where she wanted to go for her walk.
She trotted down the steps and turned right.
Gabriel exhaled. They were heading in the opposite direction of the graveyard, and Gabriel was relieved. Did he believe that Whiskey was being used as a ventriloquist doll by his dead brother?
It was unnerving even to fathom. But it had been going on for months now.
Not every day. Not even the same time of day—sometimes morning, sometimes night. Full moons. New moons. Gibbous moons. Sunshine or rain.
It was random. But constant.
Walks toward the east and Whiskey would be singing. Walks to the north and she’d be sniffing the fire hydrant, checking on the neighbors.
This was not a walk for exercise. Gabriel just needed Whiskey to piss.
Reaper Hamilton would be swinging by the Hoover Building to pick Whiskey up so she could spend the day doingdog-to-dog mentorship with a new bloodhound they’d begun training. It would put Whiskey on the trail and in her zone.
Gabriel had a lot on his plate. But between Loquisha—the teenager next door with aspirations of becoming a vet one day and thrilled to be Whiskey’s on-call petsitter—and the time Whiskey spent hanging out with Cerberus, Gabriel thought Whiskey was getting the attention and stimulation she needed to be happy.
Gabriel looked down at Whiskey. “You’re doing good work over at Iniquus. I’m proud of you, Beautiful.”
As Gabriel passed by Loquisha’s house, the wind picked up, blowing from the east. Whiskey stuck his nose in the air and turned.
