"Do we practice in Florida?" Evan asked in disbelief, "You are aware of how medical licensing laws work?"

Hank waited for his brother to finish his phone conversation.

"I know you're on retainer but…"

Evan paused, listened.

"How much of an emergency is it that you can wait two days but you can't go to a normal doctor?"

He paused again.

"Okay. We'll be at JFK tomorrow at 8:00."

Evan hung up.

"What was that?" Hank asked.

"You know that retainer we have who winters in Miami?"

Hank nodded.

"She said her boyfriend needs a doctor with some background in field wound care."

"But she doesn't need us now and she's not going to the ER?"

"Nope. She said to get on a plane at JFK tomorrow at 8:00 and we'd be there in plenty of time."

"This is the weirdest call yet."

"Probably."

"And they want you to come?"

"She said she wanted someone to and I quote, manage who heard about what happened, which in her mind means me."

"What did you sign us up for?"

Michael's shoulder was healing well. It was a ricochet and it had lodged in his deltoid. He was still sore, but he'd be fine in a week. It was pouring rain and he was home alone when Max pulled up in his government issue Crown Vic, and by himself when his CIA contact placed Fiona's feverish body in his arms.

"Is she…"

"On ketamine but no morphine. Didn't want to start narcotics without physician's supervision. Wound's infected but bandaged…acceptably. She was incredibly helpful Michael. Saved a lot of people's lives and helped us stop a bomb threat. You should be proud. But you should also get her some help right away."

Max started to get back into the car.

"Wait…I still can't take her to a hospital can I?"

"No. The FBI's been doing a lot more digging than they should and they're tracking her. She goes to a hospital she ends up handcuffed to a bed in a prison infirmary."

"Thanks Max."

"Thank her."