Zero Separation by Philip Donlay Page A

Highway, followed by the image her broken body in a field in Costa Rica, was the price he paid for remembering.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    They were the only people in the small intensive care waiting room. Lauren sat between Susan and William, waiting for word about Michael. All three kids were dozing. Susan was a wreck, and conversation ground to a halt as they fell into their own silent worrying.
    Lauren turned her cell phone over and over in her hand. She kept touching the display, as if willing Donovan to call.
    They’d landed over an hour ago and she’d expected him to be waiting when they’d gotten off the chartered plane. Instead, the police told her that he’d been taken to the station to make a formal statement. William had arranged a limo to whisk them to the hospital, so there had been very little time to ask the police more. Each time she tried to call Donovan, his phone had gone straight to voice mail.
    â€œExcuse me.”
    Lauren, lost in her thoughts of Donovan, was momentarily startled. She looked up and found a woman standing in the doorway. She was tall, her straight blonde hair tied in a ponytail.
    â€œCan I help you?”
    â€œI’m FBI Special Agent Montero.” She flashed her credentials. “I’m looking for Mrs. Susan Ross.”
    â€œI’m Mrs. Ross,” Susan said, rising to her feet.
    â€œMrs. Ross, I know this is a difficult time. But I need to ask you some questions.”
    â€œOkay,” Susan replied.
    â€œIn private,” Montero added.
    â€œI need to stay here. In case the doctor shows up with news about my husband.”
    â€œI understand. Is everyone here with you?” Montero said as she looked around the room.
    â€œYes,” Lauren replied. “We all flew down as soon as we heard what happened.”
    â€œYour name, please?” Montero asked.
    â€œI’m Dr. Lauren McKenna.”
    Montero turned to face William. “And you are?”
    â€œWilliam VanGelder.”
    Lauren saw Montero’s eyes flare momentarily. She wasn’t sure exactly why Montero had reacted to William’s name, but something had registered. There was another voice behind Montero and two people, both wearing scrubs, came into the waiting room.
    â€œHello. I’m Dr. Richardson.” He waited until he had everyone’s attention. “Is everyone here part of the Ross family?”
    â€œEveryone except me, I’m Special Agent Montero, FBI. Do you have news?”
    â€œYes. Mr. Ross is doing very well. He came through surgery without any major problems. All things considered, he’s a lucky man. The bullet was most likely from a small-caliber handgun. Fortunately, the bullet’s angle was such that it didn’t penetrate his skull; instead, it glanced off, slowed down, and then traveled under the skin and lodged in his neck near the cervical spine. When we got in there to retrieve the bullet, we discovered tissue damage, but no permanent injury. We’re watching closely for any further brain swelling, but I think we’ve seen the worst. He’s in the recovery room right now. We’re still being cautious and we’ll know more in the next twelve to twenty-four hours.”
    â€œI’m his wife. When can I see him?” Susan asked, brushing away tears of joy and relief.
    â€œThe nurse will be happy to take you now. But I’m afraid the rest of you will have to wait.”
    â€œI’ll stay here with the boys,” Lauren said to Susan. “Take all the time you need.”
    â€œRight this way,” the nurse said, ushering Susan from the room.
    â€œDoctor, how long do you think it might be until Mr. Ross will be able to give a statement?” Montero asked. “Will he be able to remember the attack?”
    â€œThat depends on Mr. Ross,” Richardson replied. “In about half of these cases there will be no memory of the actual traumatic event. It can be days or even months before