From any window facing northeast, patients have a pleasing view of the Botanical Gardens, the zoo, and the Buen Retiro Park. I turned away from a fourth-story window and looked down at Eva Ryker. Except for the slight up-and-down sighing of the sheets covering her, she could have been dead. The white bandages taped around her wrists closely matched the color of her skin. Eva’s eyes opened without any demure fluttering and began their survey of the room. The dilated pupils swiveled my way. “What the …” A broken smile. “It’s you.” “How do you feel?” Eva blinked dully at the bed. “God. How did I get here?” I took one wrist and held it up for her to see. She crouched down in the covers at the sight of the bandages. “What the hell are you doing here?” “I heard you were in trouble.” “From who? Daddy?” My head shook. “Mike Rogers, then?” She laughed feebly. “Mr. Clean’s been around, you know. Tidying up. He came last night to pay his respects. Kicked him the hell out.
