CHAPTER EIGHT
Rylie sat in a stark waiting room in the basement of the Sheridan Medical Center, where Dr. Fred Barnes set up shop. A small television was droning in the corner, talking politics, something she had no interest in.
“Just another day of squabbling in D.C., huh?” Brisbane said. He’d been pacing the floor, pausing every so often to take a slurp from the Coke bottle he’d bought from the vending machine, but when he turned, he must’ve noticed her eyes on the television.
She rubbed her eyelid tiredly. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”
“You don’t?” He laughed. “I don’t know. I’m not a junkie or anything, but every so often I like to see what’s going on, considering they sign our paychecks, you know?”
That was the last thing she wanted to think a
