Mae Hong, who lived across the street, came over to take care of Toby.  Her husband was a cop too, though not in the same division as Jack.  Because the Hongs had no children of their own yet, Mae was free to stay as late as necessary, in the event Heather needed to put in a long vigil at the hospital.

While Louie Silverman and Mae remained in the kitchen, Heather lowered the sound on the television and told Toby what had happened.  She sat on the footstool, and after tossing the blankets aside, he perched on the edge of the chair.  She held his small hands in hers.

She didn't share the grimmest details with him, in part because she didn't know all of them herself but also because an eight-year-old could handle only so much.  On the other hand, she couldn't gloss over the situation, either, because they were a police family.  They lived with the repressed expectation of just such a disaster as had struck that morning, and even a child had the need and the right to know when his father had been seriously wounded.

"Can I go to the hospital with you?" Toby asked, Holding more tightly to her hands than he probably realized.

"It's best for you to stay here right now, honey."

"I'm not sick any more."

"Yes, you are."

"I feel good."

"You don't want to give your germs to your dad."

"He'll be all right, won't he?"

She could give him only one answer even if she couldn't be certain it would prove to be correct.  "Yes, baby, he's going to be all right."

His gaze was direct.  He wanted the truth.  Right at that moment he seemed to be far older than eight.  Maybe cops' kids grew up faster than others, faster than they should.

"You're sure?" he said.

"Yes.  I'm sure."

"W-where was he shot?"

"In the leg."

Not a lie.  It was one of the places he was shot.  In the leg and two hits in the torso, Crawford had said.  Two hits in the torso.  Jesus.  What did that mean?  Take out a lung?  Gutshot?  The heart?  At least he hadn't sustained head wounds.  Tommy Fernandez had been shot in the head, no chance.

She felt a sob of anguish rising in her, and she strained to force it down, didn't dare give voice to it, not in front of Toby.

"That's not so bad, in the leg," Toby said, but his lower lip was trembling.  "What about the bad guy?"

"He's dead."