Los Angeles streets were of a different breed at two in the morning; there was little traffic and I actually sped the sports car along the deserted roads. Not the brightest idea given that my ID was still in F.B.I. hands, but I wasn’t about to a let a policeman stop me now. I had to see that Cory was okay if I were to have any peace. He was there. He knows. I don’t have to explain anything. I can just tell him I feel all mixed up inside and he’ll know why. I realized that he wasn’t likely to be in any shape for talking, but it didn’t matter. It would be enough just to sit with him. The hospital, even this late, wasn’t quiet or calm. Machines beeped constantly while nurses, doctors, and orderlies moved in and out of the rooms. The two nurses behind the desk on Cory’s floor gave me strange looks as I approached. “I’m here to see Cory Bishop.” “Ma’am, evening visiting hours are from six to eight,”
