I got out, keyed the fob to lock the car and slid it into the pocket of my tux, and headed for the emergency department.
Quinn and his mother were nowhere in sight, but before I could grab any of the men and women hurrying past and ask where they were, I heard him.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Mother. Do you hear me?”
I went toward the curtained area and pulled aside the heavy beige material. A male nurse taking vitals frowned at me. I frowned right back and dismissed him.
Portia Mann was lying on a stretcher, as pale as the sheet that covered her except for the bruise that bloomed on her shoulder, probably caused by her seat belt. There was a swelling on her left temple. A tube ran from beneath the sheet at her side to a bottle that was partially filled with drainage.
Jesus, this felt
