“How is she?” a gentle, caring male voice said from the door. Patricia hunched as if she’d been stabbed between the shoulder blades. Slick’s eyes widened. Patricia turned, and there was no mistaking the eyes above the mask or the shape beneath the paper gown. “I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” James Harris said through his mask, moving across the room. “Poor Slick. What’s happened to you?” Patricia stood and put herself between James Harris and Slick’s bed. He stopped in front of her and placed one large hand on her shoulder. It took everything she had not to flinch.
