THIRTY-TWO
Tooms and Lloyd arrived at Manhattan Hospital. Its long sterile corridors shone with cleanliness, and overhead lighting made everything brighter, but the smell of disinfectant hung in the air like invisible smog. Tooms did not care for hospitals; he had lost too many friends in them, but then a lot had also pulled through. It only seemed like yesterday that he and Tony had rushed in with the medical team with McCall on a gurney. He’d been surprised that so much blood could flow from one wound.
That was their first case with Steel: a serial killer and a weapons-smuggling organization. McCall had taken a bullet in the shoulder after a firefight. A year had passed since that day, and he had never forgotten that day in the hospital – in fact, it was this same hospital.
The injure
