Stephen Knight - White Tiger

He thought about it for all of two seconds. Last thing he needed was Jericho crashing into Spider’s office and biting his ear off about hassling James Lin. Or worse, Chief Hallis crashing into Jericho’s office and performing a rectal biopsy. Ryker was glad Debbie had sense enough to ask him first.

“Thanks but no thanks,” he said. “Let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum. How’s Chee Wei doing?”

“There’s a black-and-white on sentry duty outside, and the older sister is making him dumplings.” Debbie chuckled. “Sounds like a real tough assignment.”

“Yeah, but Fong’s man enough to stick it out to the bitter end. Thanks Debbie, talk to you soon.”

Ryker headed inside, intending to find the hospital cafeteria, but his ringing phone stopped him. Doesn’t anyone know how to send a fucking text message anymore? He resisted the urge to throw the damn thing away, and instead thumbed Accept Call as he turned and exited the building yet again. “Ryker.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“I hope I am not calling at an inconvenient moment, detective sergeant.”

He found a wall and leaned back against it, closing his eyes. Of course, he’d given her his card with his cell phone number. “Not at all, Mrs. Lin. If I sounded a little rude there, I apologize. It’s been an eventful day.”

“I didn’t notice.” She lied beautifully. Her voice was so clear that he expected to see her standing right there in front of him when he opened his eyes again. She wasn’t, much to his disappointment. She said, “You must be wondering why I’m calling you.”

You don’t need an excuse, he thought. “I should imagine you’re curious as to how the investigation is progressing, Mrs. Lin.”

“Yes. Yes, exactly.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “I hesitate to reveal details over the phone. There’s a possibility our call could be monitored.” Actually that was a certainty rather than a possibility, though he didn’t imagine Homeland Security’s ever-vigilant telephone monitoring and voice analysis software would tag them as potential terrorists.

“I understand perfectly. Perhaps, if you have time, you might consider coming over? To my house. Have you eaten?”

Ryker didn’t get it, not at first. It took time to sink in, and by then she was saying, “I apologize for my presumptuousness, detective sergeant. I had no right to suggest such a thing. I will leave you to carry out your duties. Please excuse me-”

“No, I haven’t eaten, not yet,” he said quickly. “Listen, Mrs. Lin. I’m at the hospital. The doctors are checking out one of my colleagues. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but I have to stay with her until she’s discharged. If it’s okay with you… if you have no objections… maybe I can call you when I’m free, and arrange to speak with you then?”

He held his breath while he waited for her response.

“Perhaps that would be unwise,” she said, her voice cold now, distanced from him. He could almost imagine shutters coming down, blocking his view of her. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, detective sergeant. Good day.”

Click. Ryker stared at his phone’s “Menu” message in disbelief. She’d hung up, without leaving her phone number so he could call her back. He spun round and kicked the wall. He’d screwed it! She’d called him and all but invited him to dinner, and he’d screwed it.

On top of that, he hadn’t even had the sense to ask for her father-in-law’s phone number. Ryker threw back his head and laughed at his own stupidity. Two nurses on their way into the hospital looked at him, then exchanged smiles with each other. He wondered if they’d be kind enough to direct him to the psychiatric ward.

Okay, so he’d missed two open goals in a row. His immediate priority was still Sandra Raymond. He went to see how she was doing. He walked past a sign that pointed to the hospital cafeteria. He’d lost his appetite. His anger would sustain him for the rest of the day anyway.

The intern who’d examined Raymond was at the nurse’s station flipping through some charts. He recognized Ryker and beckoned him over. “You’re Detective Raymond’s boss?”

“Hal Ryker. How is she?”

“The good news, no broken bones. Bruising looks bad, but that’s just cosmetic, though it’s going to hurt like mad for a few days. We’ve prescribed a course of pain killers.”

Ryker couldn’t believe how lightly Raymond had got off. “Is there any bad news?”

“There’s a weakness in her left arm that’s likely a result of the blow she received. We’re putting it down to localized nervous shock. The pain killers will reduce discomfort, but she’ll have to exercise the arm, stop it seizing up, keep it flexible. We’ll issue Detective Raymond with an information pack before she leaves the hospital. As to how this affects her job, that’s up to you to decide. She’s left-handed, of course.”

Ryker hadn’t realized, but now that he’d been told he thought back to just before they stormed Amy Wong’s apartment. Raymond had indeed held her gun in her left hand and adopted a southpaw marksman’s stance, wrong foot forward. Like it or not, his team had just been reduced by one. He swallowed his disappointment and said, “I’m just glad it’s nothing too serious. Can I see her?”

“Sure.” The intern pointed along the corridor. “Fifth or sixth door on your right, I’ll talk to the staff nurse, secure her release documents, see the prescription’s ready, and let you both get back to work.”

“Thanks, appreciate it.” Ryker found the room easily enough. Raymond sat in a wheelchair, looking very uncomfortable, her arm in a sling. She smiled when he knocked on the door. “Anyone home?”

“Just us invalids,” she said. “Tell me, doc, will I ever play the trombone again?”

He admired her sense of humor. They both knew things could have gone very differently, in many undesirable ways. “How’s the arm?” he asked.

“A little stiff. Did they tell you they’re throwing me out? I’m a classic hypochondriac. They need the beds for sick people. What kind of hospital is this anyway?”

He pulled a chair up beside her and sat down. “I heard. Is there someone at home?”

Raymond squinted at him suspiciously. “That doesn’t mean what I think it means, does it? Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I need an honest answer, Sandra. If we got into a situation that required you to draw your weapon and take down a suspect, how do you think you’d do?”

She touched her shoulder beneath the sling, feeling the muscle. “I’m confident I could handle it. I know I could.” She drew in a breath. “But I’m not one hundred percent positive. Damn, I hate myself for saying that. The way Guy was talking, it could be worse than it feels.”

“Guy? Oh, your handsome young doctor, you’re on first name terms already? I’m impressed.”

Raymond wrinkled her nose and grinned. “Too handsome, too young,” she said. Ryker grinned too; he knew better than to assume she was serious. “You’re going to report me medically unfit, aren’t you?”

“Personal feelings don’t come into it. I hope you know that.”

“Of course I do. I just feel so lame.”

“The last thing I want to do is expose you to danger on the firing line when you’re not fit for duty. Which brings me back to the question-”

“My sister’s always telling me I should visit more often. I guess now’s the time. Heck, she’ll love having a full-time babysitter.” She craned her neck, looking out into the corridor. “Can you tell someone I need a pay phone? Don’t want to use my cell.”

“Sure.”

“You don’t have to stay. My brother-in-law will come collect me. Hey, you’ll apologize to Sergeant Wallace and Lieutenant Furino for me, won’t you?”