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"We came in with the Italians tonight," Dern says. "Warrant service on Enzo Basile. We found him, several of his men, two women tied up in separate rooms, and you."

Two women.

Amanda.

Who is the other one?

"Where is she?"

Dern ignores that. "I need to know why you were there. All three of you."

The needle pulls through my back again. I breathe through my nose and keep still because the doctor is the only useful man in the room right now.

"Agent Dern," I say, lifting my head as far as the doctor's hand allows. "It's nice to meet you. Truly. But there's a man sewing my back shut, and I would hate to make his job harder. Leave me alone for an hour."

Dern doesn't smile.

"Sooner or later, Mr. Conti, you'll answer my questions."

"Probably." I try for a dry look, but I'm in no condition to pull it off. "Lawyers love answering questions."

He turns for the door.

"The women," I say.

The act drops out of my voice before I can stop it.

"The blonde one. Is she okay?"

Dern pauses with his hand on the frame. He looks back at me long enough to understand who I'm really asking about.

Then he leaves without answering.

Of course he does.

The doctor keeps working. I put my forehead against the table and breathe through the antiseptic, the pain, the pull of thread through torn skin.

Soft shoes cross the floor.

A nurse leans near my head. Fifties, kind eyes, strong hands. The kind of woman who has rolled grown men onto beds for half her life and never once acted impressed by them.

"I heard you ask," she says.

I turn my head toward her. My neck punishes me for it.

"The blonde woman," I say. "Please."

"Next room." She tips her chin toward the wall. "She came in with you. Scrapes, a bump on the head, nothing serious. She's okay."

I close my eyes.

The nurse pats the mattress near my hand, careful of the IV. "She asked about you too. Thirty times before they made her sit."

Then she's gone, and the doctor keeps stitching.

Amanda is alive.

One room over.