“"Smiling! I could see their teeth." Leaning against the far wall, Frank didn't bother to answer. They were in the hallway by surgery where the trauma team was trying to stem the damage done by a twelve-inch fishing knife and a set of expert knuckles. Joseph had been typed in as Mr. M, just another bit of flotsam in the night's stream of wounded. Molly could have told them what his real name was. She should have. By the time she reached the hospital, though, he'd already been on his way down to ...OR. When she'd called Frank to tell him what happened, he'd begged her not to let anybody else know. So she'd followed the circus down toward surgery and waited outside, where she wouldn't get in the way. Frank had found her there no more than five minutes earlier. "Smiling," Molly said again, shaking her head. "I can't believe it." "I'm not really wild about it either," Frank admitted. Molly didn't even bother to look over at him. Pulled from a sound sleep at three in the morning, he still looked as if he were headed to the tennis club for brunch, all chinos and polo shirt and tasseled loafers.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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