He couldn’t go in, but he could look around outside. He could try to find out something from reporters who would be covering the story. Gene Adams might be there as well. Jake touched the gun in the bag beside him. He resisted the impulse to speed. Not with a gun in the car. Let her be all right. Damn it all, don’t let someone else die because of me. Two of his men had died under his leadership. Two men who were owed some justice. It took him ten minutes to find a parking place at the hospital, then he hurried to the emergency entrance. As he figured, there was a gaggle of print and electronic press outside. The sniper attempt on paramedics was big news. It was an attack on everyone who needed help, reminiscent of a war zone, not an American city. He didn’t see Sam. He went up to one of the reporters. “What’s the word?” The reporter was concentrating on the door, apparently waiting for a hospital spokesman to come out. “A paramedic said one’s critical, one’s not.” The newsman took a look at his clothes and raised an eyebrow.
