The Last Widow. Karin Slaughter

man’s eyelids had slit open, but he wasn’t responding.

      “Dash? Come on, bro. Wake up.”

      Sara looked at the clock.

      2:08 p.m.

      Cathy would take care of Will. Make sure that he was taken to the hospital. Question the doctors. Be there when he woke up from surgery. She would advocate for him the same way she had for Jeffrey.

       Wouldn’t she?

      “Doctor?”

      Sara looked into the mirror. Michelle was talking to her.

      “Help him,” Michelle said. “Dash isn’t—he’s bad, but not like—”

      “Shut your fucking mouth,” Carter warned. The only thing keeping him from jumping over the seat was the knife in his leg.

      Look on your right, Sara silently begged the woman. Open the black bag.

      Michelle stared at Sara’s reflection. She shook her head once. She knew about the bag. She wasn’t going to do anything.

      Sara’s heart sank. She was completely alone.

      “Hey.” Carter slapped Dash again, hard enough for the smack to fill the car. “Bitch, tell me what to do.”

      Sara had to swallow past her grief. “He needs a stimulus.”

      Carter slapped him again. “I’m fucking stimulating him.”

      “Stick your finger in the bullet hole in his shoulder.”

      “Yeah, that’s working out great for him.”

      Sara studied Vale with a cold eye. His wheezing had turned sporadic. His lips were tinged blue. His nostrils collapsed and expanded as he desperately tried to bring air into his deflating lungs.

      “Hey,” Carter said. “I think he’s waking up.”

      Dash’s eyelids began to flutter. A rumble came from deep inside his throat. He raised his hands, the right higher than the left, fingers spread, like a marionette doll.

      “What’s he doing?” Carter was alarmed.

      Sara kept her silence. She tried to find Michelle again, but the woman had returned to her cowered position.

      Carter demanded, “What’s wrong with him?”

      Dash’s eyes had opened. The rumble in his throat turned into a murmur. He blinked once. Twice. Slowly, he took in the passengers around him. Michelle. Carter. Vale. He looked at Sara, confused.

      “Who fhee?” His words slurred. “She. Who if—”

      “We p-picked up a doctor,” Carter stammered. He was clearly scared, which meant that Dash was important. “We lost Hurley and Morgan.”

      “What—” Dash tried. “Wha—”

      “We took a doctor.” Carter didn’t answer the implied question. “I got a fucking knife in my crotch. Vale’s not sounding so good.”

      Dash blinked again. He was still disoriented, but coming around.

      Sara lied, “His pupils are fixed. He’s probably bleeding into his skull. An aneurysm or—”

      “Fuck.” Carter wiped sweat off his face. He scanned the side of the road.

      Dash cleared his throat. “What happened?” He looked at Sara. “Who is she?”

      “I told you—” Carter gave up. He asked Sara, “What’s wrong with him?”

      “Post-traumatic amnesia.” She tried to think of a way to scare him into dropping Dash by the side of the road. “It’s a sign of a deep brain injury. We need to leave him at a hospital.”

      “Fuck-fuck-fuck.”

      Dash’s hand went up to his face. He touched his cheek with his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut. He would be feeling nauseous, disoriented. But he was coming back into himself. She could tell by the controlled movements. The way his eyes were focusing on fixed points.

      “Dammit.” Carter was looking out the front windshield. “Don’t even think about waving this guy down.”

      There was a lone squad car coming from the opposite direction. Sara held her breath, waiting for the cop to recognize the BMW from a system-wide alert.

      Dash reached clumsily between the seats and rested his hand on her arm. “Stay cool, miss.”

      His voice was soft, but his authority was clear. Vale was the whiner. Carter was the hothead. Dash was the man they all obeyed.

      Sara watched the cruiser disappear in the side mirror. No brake lights. He wasn’t slowing down. There was a license-plate scanner mounted to the front and rear of his car. The system would’ve pinged her plate.

      Which meant that the BMW was not in the system.

      “Carter.” Dash winced as he leaned back. He looked older now that he was awake. Fine lines wrinkled from his eyes. “That bullet still in my shoulder?”

      “Yeah,” Carter said. “Blood ain’t flowing as much.”

      “Well, that could be a good thing or a bad thing.” He carefully enunciated each word. He wasn’t 100 percent, but he was trying to make them think that he was. “Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

      Sara did not answer. The shoulder was mostly bone and cartilage. The bullet would’ve been white-hot going in, cauterizing the tissue.

      Bad for Sara. Good for Dash.

      He groaned as he crossed his leg over his knee. “Carter, use my shoelace to strap the knife to your leg. You don’t want it to do any more damage. Paracord snake knot lanyard.”

      Carter started unlacing the boot.

      Dash said, “Doctor, we need medical attention. All of us.”

      “I’m a pediatrician,” Sara said, which was technically true. She was also a board-certified medical examiner and crime scene investigator. “I’m not a surgeon. These are serious medical issues.”

      “They are in-geed.” Dash was losing control of his words again. His eyes were watering. The sunlight was too much stimulus. He was clearly concussed. Sara had no idea how badly. Every brain reacted to trauma in its own way.

      Dash cleared his throat. He rubbed his fingers into his eyes. “Carter, has it occurred to you that we’re in a stolen, traceable vehicle with a GPS system?”

      Carter was focused on tying the lanyard. “We didn’t have a lot of options. We had to get out of there. Right, Vale?”

      Vale mumbled a non-answer. His index finger was still deep in the hole in his side. His other hand gripped the grab bar. Sara studied the revolver trapped underneath the seat belt. Carter’s hands were busy tying down the knife. Dash’s reflexes were compromised. She could—

      “Miss.” Dash put his hand on Sara’s shoulder. He said, “Follow that van, please.”

      A white van was turning into a strip club off of Moreland. The sign outside showed a scantily clad woman beside the words Club Shady Lady. Work trucks filled the parking spaces. The white van braked, then took a right turn behind the building. There was a Lay’s Potato Chip logo on the side.

      Dash said, “Ah, that’s lucky. Keep following.”

      Sara drove slowly into the narrow alley. She took another turn. The building was on the right, a thick stand of trees on the left. There was no way she could reach over, unlock the glove box and retrieve Will’s gun without being shot. She could open the door, roll out. Carter couldn’t chase her with the knife in his leg. Vale was too terrified to move. Dash was in no condition to pursue her.

      Would Michelle help? Or would she just wait for the