been the nurse on duty when he was placed on the ward following emergency surgery. She’d pulled another double shift, tonight, this time because two nurses were down sick and they were shorthanded. The gang shooting victim on her ward was only ten, a painful reminder that gangs didn’t care about the age of anybody they targeted.
Odd child, to be so young and sound so mature when he talked in his sleep. He had tattoos. Wolf tattoos. It didn’t bode well that this was the third gang shooting in recent days. And it was the second shooting of a member of Los Diablos Lobitos.
The detective spoke to the nurse in charge of the shift, who indicated Sunny and motioned to her. She went to the desk, her coat over her arm, her purse strap over her shoulder.
The man was tall and blond and drop-dead gorgeous. He’d have turned heads anywhere. There were all sorts of rumors about him. The most persistent one was that he’d been with a group of mercenaries in Africa some years ago. That was before he joined the San Antonio Police Department and worked his way up through the ranks to Captain, the position he held now.
Sunny knew him, because he’d been a lieutenant when her family was killed and he’d worked the case. Cal Hollister was a good man, with a kind heart. If Sunny had liked fair men, he’d have been at the top of her Christmas list. But she had a gnawing yen for an olive-skinned man with black dancing eyes.
“Hi, Captain Hollister,” she greeted him, smiling.
“Hi, Sunny. How’ve you been?” he asked gently.
“Life is hard, then you die?” she teased.
He grinned. “So it is. Can I buy you a cup of coffee in the canteen so you can stay awake while we talk?” he asked. It was morning. She’d been up all night and she was tired. He knew it without being told.
“Sure you can,” she said, stifling a yawn.
* * *
He led her into the canteen and purchased two cups of black coffee from the machine. He placed one in front of Sunny as he dropped his tall frame into the chair. There were only a couple of people in the canteen so far, an elderly couple she recognized from the cancer ward; they had a grandchild there, in serious condition.
She forced her attention back to Hollister. “Are things so bad that the brass has to work cases now?” she teased.
He laughed shortly. “I ducked out of a meeting and said I’d promised to help Lt. Marquez interview a witness. I hate administration. I miss working cases.”
“You were good at it,” she said, smiling. “How can I help?” she asked.
“It will be hearsay, and not worth beans,” he began. “But I wondered if your young patient said anything after he went on the ward?”
She hesitated. This was a slippery slope. Anything a patient told her wasn’t supposed to be shared with anyone without permission from the administrator. It was to protect the hospital from lawsuits, that modern pastime that so many people seemed to love.
He chuckled. He produced a signed paper and handed it over. “I always go through channels when I have to. Recognize that signature?”
She did. She’d seen it on memos often enough. It was the hospital administrator’s.
“Okay, then,” she said, relaxing. “He hasn’t said much. He hasn’t had visitors, either. But he did say something, last night,” she confessed. “Although, it was an odd sort of comment, and I’m not sure he was completely out from under the anesthesia at the time. You know that it can make you goofy for a few days after surgery?”
“I know it all too well,” he said somberly. “I’m carrying about three ounces of lead in my carcass that they could never remove.” His face hardened, as if he was remembering how he collected that lead.
She cocked her head.
“Give it up,” he said with faint amusement. “I don’t talk about my past, ever. Well, maybe to a local priest, but he’s an old friend.”
She pursed her lips. She knew a priest downtown who was a former merc. He did a lot of outreach work. “I wonder if we could possibly be thinking of the same priest?”
He glowered at her.
She held up both hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I’m done. Honest.”
He shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Some people!” he scoffed.
She grinned at him. He’d been so kind when she was living through her own tragedy.
“Okay. What did he say?”
She sipped black coffee. It was at least strong enough to keep her awake, if badly brewed. She made a face.
“Listen, if you’d ever had coffee made over a campfire with the grounds still in it,” he began.
She sighed. “Good point. At least it’s not that bad.” She lifted her eyes to his pale ones. “He said that he loved wolves, and that his boss was getting ready to poison a few snakes.”
Hollister whistled softly. “Oh, boy.”
“Like I said, it could have been the aftereffects of the anesthesia.”
“Or it could be code for what’s really happening.” His eyes narrowed. “You know what’s going on. Your hospital got the last two victims...the dead kid who was in Los Serpientes, and the wounded Lobitos member who skipped out before police could question him.”
She nodded. She was thinking of Tonio and the treatment he’d had at the hands of Rado and his friends. She worried for him.
“There’s a gang war starting,” Cal told her. “I don’t want a gang war in San Antonio. I still remember the last one and it makes me sick at my stomach.”
“I remember it, too.” It was the one that had resulted in her family’s death.
“I’m going to set up a task force,” he said. “We have a Texas Ranger here with a good knowledge of gangs and gang activities. I’m going to ask him to join.”
“Does he know about this latest shooting?”
He smiled secretively and glanced past her. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
She half turned in her chair, and there was John Ruiz, staring at the two of them with narrow black eyes. And he wasn’t smiling.
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