start. It wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. Lilly spoke before I could get a word out.
“I know who you are,” she said. Her voice was just above a whisper; her tone, somewhere between pain and anger. “Why did you lie to me?”
I could have played dumb. Lying in an ER bed, I could have turned it right back on her and demanded an explanation of all that had happened since she’d shown up and dragged me into Puffy’s Tavern. But the look on her face left me powerless to do anything but put aside the last forty-eight hours and say what I’d wanted to say for months.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She stood there, silent, just looking at me. I wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but an I’m sorry, too would have been nice.
She breathed in and out, then said, “I don’t even know why I’m helping you.”
Not exactly the mutual exchange of apologies I had hoped for. “Helping me? What do you mean, help —”
She shushed me, gathered my shoes from a chair in the corner, and told me to put them on. “We need to get out of here,” she said, her tone urgent.
“Do you know what happened to me?”
“You’re fine. They did a CT scan two hours ago.”
“How do you know?”
“I read your chart when the nurse was away from the desk. Trust me, they wouldn’t have you lie here by yourself sleeping if they thought you had a serious head injury.”
“Hold on a second,” I said.
“No, we need to get going before the nurse comes by to check on you again.”
I took her hand. “Just wait , okay?”
She stopped, and our eyes met. If we were going to embrace, this would have been the moment. But things had gotten way too complicated, and it didn’t feel right—not to me, and, I sensed, not to her, either. I let go of her hand.
“Three days ago I would have given anything to see you again,” I said. “You’ve shown up twice since then, which coincides exactly with the number of times someone has tried to kill me.”
“Please, Patrick—or should I call you Peter?”
The dig triggered another pang of guilt. “How did you find out?”
“Don’t turn this around and make it about me,” she said. “When did you intend to stop lying?”
“Lilly, do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”
“All I can tell you is that it wasn’t the people who are after the Cushman money who did this to you.”
“How do you know that?”
She pulled on my shoe, no time to waste. “It’s like I told you at Puffy’s: when they had you in the back of that SUV in Times Square, I promised to deliver their money in one week, instead of two, if they didn’t hurt you. It would make no sense for them to put you in the ER after cutting a deal like that. They’d already made their point.”
That made sense, I supposed. But there was still one major problem. “So, are you any closer to meeting the one-week deadline?”
“Nope.”
“Then how do you plan to keep your promise?”
She stopped and looked me in the eye. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ll figure that out once I get you out of here.”
“I don’t understand. You still have time to get their money. What are we running from?”
“We aren’t running. You are.”
“Me? No. Forget it. I’m not going on the run from some thug who jumped me in the park.”
Lilly peeked out the curtain, then glanced back at me. “You’re talking like Patrick Lloyd. It’s Peter Mandretti who needs to run.”
Her expression was deadly serious, and the fact that we were even having this conversation chilled me.
“How much do you know?” I asked.
“More than I want to. We need to go. Now. ” She handed me my coat. “We’re going to walk out of here, turn left— away from the main desk—and follow the hallway to the exit doors on the other side of the ER. Got it?”
“Sure.”
“Just walk like you’re a visitor and stay with me.”
Lilly stepped out first, and I did exactly as told. We passed several cubicles. Some had the curtains drawn for privacy.
“I know who you are,” she said. Her voice was just above a whisper; her tone, somewhere between pain and anger. “Why did you lie to me?”
I could have played dumb. Lying in an ER bed, I could have turned it right back on her and demanded an explanation of all that had happened since she’d shown up and dragged me into Puffy’s Tavern. But the look on her face left me powerless to do anything but put aside the last forty-eight hours and say what I’d wanted to say for months.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She stood there, silent, just looking at me. I wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but an I’m sorry, too would have been nice.
She breathed in and out, then said, “I don’t even know why I’m helping you.”
Not exactly the mutual exchange of apologies I had hoped for. “Helping me? What do you mean, help —”
She shushed me, gathered my shoes from a chair in the corner, and told me to put them on. “We need to get out of here,” she said, her tone urgent.
“Do you know what happened to me?”
“You’re fine. They did a CT scan two hours ago.”
“How do you know?”
“I read your chart when the nurse was away from the desk. Trust me, they wouldn’t have you lie here by yourself sleeping if they thought you had a serious head injury.”
“Hold on a second,” I said.
“No, we need to get going before the nurse comes by to check on you again.”
I took her hand. “Just wait , okay?”
She stopped, and our eyes met. If we were going to embrace, this would have been the moment. But things had gotten way too complicated, and it didn’t feel right—not to me, and, I sensed, not to her, either. I let go of her hand.
“Three days ago I would have given anything to see you again,” I said. “You’ve shown up twice since then, which coincides exactly with the number of times someone has tried to kill me.”
“Please, Patrick—or should I call you Peter?”
The dig triggered another pang of guilt. “How did you find out?”
“Don’t turn this around and make it about me,” she said. “When did you intend to stop lying?”
“Lilly, do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”
“All I can tell you is that it wasn’t the people who are after the Cushman money who did this to you.”
“How do you know that?”
She pulled on my shoe, no time to waste. “It’s like I told you at Puffy’s: when they had you in the back of that SUV in Times Square, I promised to deliver their money in one week, instead of two, if they didn’t hurt you. It would make no sense for them to put you in the ER after cutting a deal like that. They’d already made their point.”
That made sense, I supposed. But there was still one major problem. “So, are you any closer to meeting the one-week deadline?”
“Nope.”
“Then how do you plan to keep your promise?”
She stopped and looked me in the eye. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ll figure that out once I get you out of here.”
“I don’t understand. You still have time to get their money. What are we running from?”
“We aren’t running. You are.”
“Me? No. Forget it. I’m not going on the run from some thug who jumped me in the park.”
Lilly peeked out the curtain, then glanced back at me. “You’re talking like Patrick Lloyd. It’s Peter Mandretti who needs to run.”
Her expression was deadly serious, and the fact that we were even having this conversation chilled me.
“How much do you know?” I asked.
“More than I want to. We need to go. Now. ” She handed me my coat. “We’re going to walk out of here, turn left— away from the main desk—and follow the hallway to the exit doors on the other side of the ER. Got it?”
“Sure.”
“Just walk like you’re a visitor and stay with me.”
Lilly stepped out first, and I did exactly as told. We passed several cubicles. Some had the curtains drawn for privacy.
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