The Watcher asc-3

by Jeanne C. Stein

He's looking in at David now. He nods. "You're right. I'll wait. I think I deserve some answers, though."

  "And you'll get them. I promise. Can we go in?"

  He lets his hand drop. I take that as a "yes" and push at the door.

  I make sure Max's chair clears the door before rushing around him to do something I've only done once before in our acquaintance. I hug David. A hug meant to convey relief, apology and remorse.

  Not that David realizes any of that.

  He merely accepts the hug as a gesture from a friend without comment before extricating himself gingerly from my clinging arms.

  "Careful," he warns. He points in the direction of his left shoulder. "Stitches."

  I jump back. "God. Sorry. What happened? What's with the cop outside?"

  But David is looking at Max. "The better question is what happened to you two? Max, you look worse than I feel."

  Max waves the comment off with the back of his hand. "Long story. Anna has been worried sick since we heard about you. Better fill her in."

  I pull a chair up to David's bedside and sit my butt down. "Tell us."

  David frowns down at me. "First, I owe you an apology"

  "An apology?"

  He nods. "I should have told you something days ago. I don't know why I didn't. It's not like you can't take care of yourself."

  My brief flirtation with patience comes to a screeching halt. "Damn it—" I almost say his name. I have to bite it off at the last minute. "Get on with it. What happened?"

  He smiles at the outburst. "Glad to see you aren't treating me with kid gloves just because I happen to be in the hospital with a gunshot wound."

  I start to jump up and he waves me back down. "Okay, okay. I got shot. Two days ago. High-powered rifle. Another inch to the left and I'd be dead. But I must have a guardian angel because nothing vital was hit and I woke up to find myself here. The docs say I'll be fine."

  "You're sure?"

  He nods.

  "Then why all the subterfuge?"

  "Williams' idea," he says. "Before the shooting, I'd been getting calls. Somebody threatening to do me bodily harm. But after each call, the guy would say, 'tell your girlfriend.' "

  My shoulders jump.

  David sees it. Again, he misunderstands. "I know. I should have told you. But I thought he was referring to Gloria. So naturally, I assumed it was some kind of publicity stunt. Especially with the opening of the restaurant and all. I even made Gloria double the security for that night. But then I got shot before the opening." He lifts his good shoulder in a half shrug. "I'm no closer to figuring out what it's all about now than I was before. But I should have told you what was happening. You could have been with me when I was shot. Hell, you might have taken the bullet instead of me. I had no right to keep something so important from you."

  Max is looking at me. I feel it. He's waiting for me to take that cue. When I don't right away, he makes a sound in his throat. "I'm going to leave you two," he says. "I think it's time I get this ankle tended to." He reaches out a hand and David takes it. "Glad it's not more serious," he says. His gaze fixes on me. "See you later, Anna?"

  I avoid his eyes but nod. I'm not anxious to admit to David that I, too, have been keeping secrets. Lots of them.

  Max wheels himself out of the room. When the door has swished to a close behind him, David says quietly, "I really am sorry, Anna. I jumped on you for the way things have been between us, and I'm the one who hasn't been honest."

  Again, my cue to jump in. Again, I find myself holding back. Why?

  I reach up and smooth a bit of the sheet. A delaying tactic.

  To declare David dead is pretty dramatic. How is Williams going to explain when David miraculously reappears? I can't help but feel he did it not to protect David but to protect me. There's one way to find out.

  "So Williams has you here because he thinks the guy might take another shot at you?"

  "Or you."

  I hate being right about this.

  "Must have made a big splash in the papers, though. Local jock killed. How was it handled? Was there a funeral?"

  He shakes his head. "Small private service. I'm not the headliner you seem to think."

  "No, but Gloria sure is. I assume she knows you're alive."

  I expect a big smile and some lame explanation that she's spent the last two days fretting and crying at his bedside.

  Instead, he frowns and his shoulders bunch.

  "She knows. But she hasn't been here since the shooting."

  That reply is so unexpected, my hand freezes on the sheet. I'm ready to yell, good riddance, but the expression on his face is too full of pain for me to actually say it out loud.

  Doesn't mean I'm about to let the opportunity slip by without some comment, though.

  I resume my sheet fluffing. “That's a surprise. Is she in protective custody? I can't imagine she'd pass off a photo op as juicy as mourning at your graveside."

  David grabs my hand. "You can stop now. For whatever reason, Gloria isn't here. I don't expect her to show up anytime soon. Can we get back to the important topic? Someone was out to get me and if Gloria isn't the 'girlfriend' this guy is referring to, there's only one other woman I spend any time with."

  "Me."

  He nods. "You."

  This is like an echo of the conversation I had with Max. But it also triggers a memory, a bad memory. The incident that landed me in Palm Canyon to begin with. I blow out a breath. "Is that why you said what you did after the Guzman thing?"

  He looks glum.

  "You wanted me out of the way in case that guy came after you." I let a beat go by before asking, "You weren't really planning a move to L.A., were you?"

  He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. Jesus. I hitch my chair closer to the bed. It's time I replaced some of his guilt with a much healthier emotion—anger. "You are probably going to want to shoot me when you hear what I have to say."

  He gives me an inquisitive half smile and gestures for me to go on.

  "I've been getting calls, too."

  The smile morphs into an incredulous frown.

  "I know. I know. I should have told you. But I thought it was someone trying to trick me into leading him to Max. It wasn't until—" I stop myself. Do I want to get into the witch thing and Foley and Martinez and all that happened in Mexico?

  No. I backtrack with a sharp intake of breath. "Anyway, I realized that wasn't the case. And when Max and I were talking about it, the same thing dawned on us that dawned on you. Whoever is doing this thought you were my boyfriend. It wasn't about Max at all."

  He leans his head back against the headboard. "Anyone take a shot at you?"

  I think back to what happened in the desert. Another subject best kept for later. "No."

  David drums his fingers on the bedclothes. "What about that incident in Palm Canyon?"

  So much for that. "You saw the paper." Not a question.

  He nods and adds sharply, "Right before you disappeared. Called you a hero for going to the aid of that woman when her maniac husband attacked her. The big mystery, though, was who shot that maniac husband."

  He pauses, waits for me to say something. When I don't, he continues, sounding peeved. "I must have called Williams a dozen times when I heard what you'd been involved in. All he would say was you were all right and needed a little time away. He made it sound like it was my fault."

  He stops suddenly, inhales deeply, as if struck by a sharp pain.

  I touch his arm. "Are you okay?"

  He lets the breath out through his nose, inhales again. His right hand reaches for his shoulder.

  "David?" I whisper it, realize my mistake, flinch. I glance around the room like an idiot. Who the hell could be eavesdropping on us here?

  He shakes his head. "I'm all right. Chest gets tight when I get…"

  He doesn't complete the thought. I can fill in any number of words: exasperated, angry, frustrated, confused. I know because I can see it all on his face
.

  I start to stand up. "Maybe I should go."

  He grabs my hand. "Sit down."

  I don't want to upset him any more than I already have so I do.

  When his face clears of the pain, I ask, "Did forensics compare the bullets?"

  He nods. And his next words confirm what I already suspect.

  "The bullet that killed that guy in Palm Canyon is a match to the one they took out of me."

  CHAPTER 58

  IT WAS SO MUCH EASIER WHEN I THOUGHT MY stalker was Foley.

  "Has Williams been any help?"

  David nods. "He's been here every day. He has his men running the bullets through every database in the country hoping something pops up. Whoever this guy is, it's doubtful this is his first foray into criminal activity."

  The door opens and the same nurse who insisted Max use a wheelchair approaches the bed. "Time to rest, Mr. Smith." She turns that steely gaze on me. "Your visitor can come back tomorrow."

  She says it in a tone that brooks no argument. She even holds out an arm as if to usher me from the room. I bend close. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, Dick."

  He shakes his head, smiling.

  The nurse follows me out. "You are Ms. Long?" she asks.

  I almost say no until I remember. That was the name on the phony ID Williams gave me when he sent me to Beso de la Muerte. "Yes."

  She walks back to her desk and picks up a piece of paper. "There's a message for you."

  A message? For Anita Long? It can only be from one person.

  Williams. He's booked me a room at the Kona Kai Resort on Shelter Island. He says he'll meet me there in an hour.

  I glance at the time stamp on the message. It came in thirty minutes ago.

  I thank the nurse and ask about Max. She tells me he's been admitted. The doctors want to keep him under observation. Make sure there are no complications from his untreated broken ankle. She offers to get his room number for me, but I think it best if I leave Max alone, at least for the night.

  The Kona Kai. Obviously, Williams doesn't think it safe for me to go home. Frankly, I'm too tired to argue. I could jog to Shelter Island from here. It's downhill all the way. But again, fatigue, emotional and physical, is taking its toll. The last few days have been hell.

  When I ask where I can get a cab, the nurse directs me to the concierge desk in the lobby downstairs.

  Hospitals have concierge desks?

  Who knew? A rack of pamphlets offering services for everything from theater tickets to maid service almost obscures the tiny, white-haired volunteer seated behind the desk. She's dressed in a candy-striper smock and her pink-tinted glasses make her look like a Kewpie doll. She's so cute, I can't help but smile.

  She's as efficient as she is cute. But it's not until she's secured the cab and it's pulling up in front that I realize, I have no money to pay for it.

  She seems to read something on my face because she turns the telephone on the counter to face me. "Feel free," she says.

  I thank her and dial Williams cell. He picks up.

  "I'll meet you in front of the hotel," he replies when I explain my predicament. His voice is tentative, as if he expected something different from me than a request for cash.

  He has a right to be cautious. He has a lot to answer for.

  Beso de la Muerte, and all that happened after.

  CHAPTER 59

  THE KONA KAI RESORT IS PRIVATE, PRICEY AND EXclusive. The compound consists of a yacht club, a restaurant, a nightclub and a hotel. Figures Williams would be a member.

  He is standing under the portico in front of the hotel when we pull up. He's leaning against a raised flowerbed, smoking a cigar, dressed in khaki slacks and a dark blue designer polo shirt. He has brown loafers on his feet that look like they might be Gucci. No uniform, no cop car in sight so he's here in an unofficial capacity. He looks like he fits right in with the yachting crowd. And he looks relaxed.

  At least until he sees me getting out of the cab.

  He tosses the cigar into the flowerbed and hurries to pay the driver. He doesn't say a thing to me until the car has pulled away.

  Then Williams does something he's never done before.

  He hugs me.

  The gesture is unexpected. My body stiffens and my shoulders actually jump at the contact. He lets me go almost immediately and stands back.

  "I am glad to see that you are well," he says.

  I make it a point to look around. "Are you talking to me?"

  He isn't letting me read his thoughts but I do get a flash that he doesn't appreciate the humor. He takes a card key out of his pocket. "Let's go up to your room. You must be tired."

  I am, so I agree with a bob of my head. He leads the way through the lobby and directly to the elevators. Obviously he has taken care of registering. He uses the key to access the top floor of the hotel. The top floor.

  When the doors slide open, he gestures to the left. A few steps down the hall, he stops in front of a set of double wooden doors with a brass placard that reads, "Presidential Suite."

  He uses the card key to open the door and stands back to let me pass in first.

  Instead, I take a step back. “The Presidential Suite? What is this?"

  "You've been through a lot," he says. "I thought you could use a little pampering."

  I push by him and stop right inside the door. There is a huge living room with a fireplace, fresh flowers on every surface, and three connecting doors leading off to what I assume are the bedrooms. There is a sliding glass door that overlooks the yacht club basin. It's open. In the late afternoon haze, the lights of the city across the bay are beginning to wink on.

  "How many people are you expecting?" I ask, more than a little peeved. "If this is your idea of an apology for what happened with Max and Culebra, they should be the ones staying here, not me."

  Williams' face gives nothing away. He is a very old vampire, who I doubt has ever apologized for anything. He isn't about to say the words even if an apology is what this elaborate gesture is all about.

  I'm too tired to call him on it. Right now, a bath and a bed are all I want. It's been a long thirty-six hours since we parted company in Beso de la Muerte. I let him pick that out of my weary brain and he places the hotel key on a glass coffee table the size of Montana.

  Do you require sustenance? He asks. I have someone on call.

  His formality with me is foreign and strange. If I had more energy, I might care why.

  As it is, I simply shake my head.

  He leaves me without another thought or word. Once he's gone, I check out the bedrooms and pick out the one I like best. It has a huge round bed with about a hundred silk throw pillows scattered at the head. When I sweep them off and pull back the comforter, I find black satin sheets.

  I wonder which president inspired this decor.

  CHAPTER 60

  I SLEEP FOR TWELVE HOURS. AT LEAST, THAT'S WHAT the clock tells me when I open my eyes. Then I panic because I don't remember where I am. The slick sheets, the smell of roses, the sun pouring through unfamiliar windows. I'm disoriented. The last time I opened my eyes after sleeping in an unfamiliar room, a blood splattered Marta was standing over me.

  I sit straight up in bed, heart pounding. I'm alone this time. In a much nicer room. A huge bed. Furniture polished and gleaming. A vase of red roses on the nightstand beside me.

  Slowly, awareness creeps back. I remember. The hospital. David. Williams.

  I sink back onto the pillow. In the last week I've awakened almost every morning hungover, drugged or disoriented. It's a wonder I have a healthy brain cell left.

  The message light is flashing on the bedside phone.

  I don't have to guess who it is. I listen to Williams' voice, asking that I meet him at the hospital at ten. It's eight thirty now. I have time for another soak in that Jacuzzi tub.

  I DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT CAB FARE. WILLIAMS left me money as well as my purse and clothes—outfits to hold me at least a week.
I found both last night as I was preparing for bed. This time, I have no doubt that Williams did the shopping. Instead of jeans, tailored linen slacks, silk blouses and a blazer were hung on padded hangers in the closet. Even a pair of leather loafers that are butter soft and my size. I guess he didn't want my lack of style to embarrass him in front of his yacht club friends.

  I fill the oversized tub to the brim and pour in bath salts. Like last night, soaking in a tub of perfumed water and lavishly applying the spa products set out on the bathroom counter, help to soothe away the horrors of Martinez and his mother. I won't soon forget what happened, but with these simple luxuries, I'm getting more comfortable again in my own skin.

  When I appear at the door to David's room at ten, I'm surprised to see Max there. He's in a wheelchair, his ankle elevated. It's in a cast, but in spite of that, he looks rested and healthy. He's clean shaven and dressed in a hospital gown. There are two nurses in the room, too. Laughing and fluffing blankets and pillows as if that alone will guarantee quick recovery. I can't blame them. Between Max and David, the nurses must think they've died and gone to heaven to have two such handsome men to fuss over.

  I'm glad I'm not a patient on this floor.

  There's a break in the frivolity when I ease the door open. The nurses excuse themselves and leave. Max and David don't seem as excited to see me as they are disappointed to be losing their groupies.

  I decide to take the high road and pretend I don't notice.

  "Williams isn't here yet?"

  David gestures toward the phone. "He called a few minutes ago. Said he'd be a little late."

  I turn to Max. "You look good this morning."

  He gives me a once-over. "So do you. Real clothes. Have I ever seen you in anything but jeans before?"

  I smile. "How's the ankle?"

  He lifts it a little off the elevated platform. "Good. The break was clean. It's going to take time to heal; ankles evidently do. But the doctor commented on the fact that it had been properly set and splinted. He sends his regards to you."

  David looks surprised. "Anna, you set his ankle?"