“Shh, don’t try to talk. You’re safe, now. You’ve just come out of surgery, Bergitta. Rachel says you’re going to be all right, but you need to rest, save your strength.” Moving gingerly, he took her hand. Heavy bandages covered raw cuts from the wire. Her elbow trailed IV lines.
“Thank you,” she whispered anyway, throat working to swallow past hideous bruises from more of their damned wire.
“Don’t thank me,” he insisted quietly. “Thank the kids. They spotted you, when those animals dragged you out of the bathroom. If it hadn’t been for the kids . . .” He forced a smile. “But they did see you, didn’t they? And sounded the alarm. So we got you out of there, thanks to the little ones. And some who aren’t so little,” he added with a watery smile. “Eigil Bjarneson sent a few to the gods, today.”
Her fingers tightened around Skeeter’s.
“Listen, you get some rest, okay? Nobody’s going to hurt you again, I promise. The ones who aren’t dead are under arrest. They’ll be kicked off station in handcuffs and tried for attempted murder and ties to the Ansar Majlis. You’re safe, Bergitta, I promise you are. And Molly wants you to move in with her, when you’re stronger, so you won’t have to live alone any more.” Over at the doorway, a nurse high-signed him. “I have to go now, the nurse says you need to sleep. Close your eyes, I’ll come back and see you when you’re feeling a little better.”
By the time Skeeter extricated his fingers from hers, tucked her hand beneath the blankets, and reached the door, she was sound asleep. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, just watching her, then turned on his heel and headed out into the Commons once again. Bergitta was alive, thank all the Yakka gods of the upper air, and with a little luck, the Ansar Majlis wouldn’t ever threaten anybody again.