Cabin fever set in two hours later. For seventy-two more hours, Jill enforced a no talk, no stress, no ill effects moratorium Tripp called torture. He hated every minute of it. Being confined to a sling left Tripp limited to computer work, but at least the return to the office gave him an opportunity to talk with Ian. “How the fuck did this happen?” Ian paced from one end of the room to the other. “I don’t know.” Tripp shook his head. “I was at my car, getting ready to … well, you know … and heard my name. I turned, got hit in the arm first and then a second time. My head hit the car door, and the next thing I remember, I woke up in the hospital.” “And Jill showed up just hours later?” “Eight hours apparently.” “What about … you know who?” Ian shrugged one shoulder. “She was there, but she left before I could talk to her.
