An IV poked out of her arm—the better to fight pneumonia with, the health service technician had told her. But what was going to chase away those faces—the masks, the patterns—from her mind? Pushing the images away, she opened her eyes again, turning her head to the side and training her gaze on the curtain that separated her from the rest of the room. She told herself everything would be okay: her roommate, Tracy, had already been contacted. Her best friend, the closest thing that Kat had to family, was waiting for her in San Diego, and she’d probably fuss over Kat endlessly. Yeah, everything was fine now, she kept telling herself. Nestor was in isolation, and the ship’s commanding officer had promised that he, himself, would see that the last Delacroix would be delivered ashore to face the music for his attempted shark-cage murder of Chris. Dr. Janelle Hopkins had been separated from everyone else, too, seeing as the CO considered her association with Nestor suspect. And, of course, Chris was under strict watch.
