The Alibi

by Sandra Brown

  “Hammond, are you okay?”

  Alex’s voice seemed to drift toward him from far away. “I’m fine.”

  “Can you drive the rest of the way?”

  “Hmm.”

  “I don’t think so. Stop here. Let me drive.”

  He tried to tell her that he was all right, but he couldn’t separate his words, so they came out garbled and unintelligible.

  “Hammond? Hammond? You need to turn here. The emergency room—”

  “No.”

  “You’re losing a lot of blood.”

  “You’re a doctor.” God, his tongue had grown thick.

  “Not the kind you need,” she exclaimed. “You need a hospital. A tetanus shot. Maybe even blood.”

  Shaking his head, he mumbled, “My place.”

  “Please be reasonable.”

  “Two ’f us…” He looked across at her and shook his head. “We’ b’screwed.”

  She grappled with indecision for several seconds, but apparently came to the same conclusion. Reaching across the console, she took control of the steering wheel, which was slick with his blood.

  “All right, but I’m driving.”

  * * *

  She managed to steer the car to the curb and put it in park. It took some effort, and some gentle but forceful urging, to get Hammond to switch places with her. She got out and went around, opened his door, and assisted him out. He was wobbly on his feet. She tucked him into the passenger seat and secured the seat belt. As soon as he was settled, he laid his head back and closed his eyes.

  She couldn’t have him pass out on her. “Hammond, what’s your address?” She reached for his cell phone and began to dial. “Hammond!”

  He mumbled a street address. “ ’Cross from marina. Just…”

  He angled his chin in the right direction. Thankfully Alex knew the street. It was only blocks away. She could have him there within minutes.

  Convincing Dr. Douglas Mann to make a house call was another matter.

  Miraculously, she had memorized his home phone number. He answered on the second ring. “Doug, Alex. Thank God I reached you.” She explained the situation as she drove, but omitted telling him that it hadn’t been a random attack.

  “Sounds to me like he needs a hospital.”

  “Doug. Please. I’m calling in that favor.”

  Reluctantly, he asked for the address. She was giving it to him as she pulled onto the street. “We’re here now. Come as soon as you can.” The remote opener for Hammond’s garage was clipped to the sun visor. She opened the garage door, then closed it behind them as soon as she killed the engine.

  Getting out, she ran around the hood of the car to the passenger side. Hammond’s eyes were still closed. He was pale. When she tried to rouse him, he groaned. “It’s not going to be easy, but I’ve got to get you inside. Can you swing your legs out?”

  He moved as though he weighed a thousand pounds, but he managed. She slipped her hands into his armpits. “Stand up, darling, and lean against me.”

  He did so. But the movement hurt his right arm and he yelped in pain. “I’m sorry,” she said earnestly.

  It was like handling a hundred-eighty-five-pound rag doll. His coordination was shot. But he followed her instructions, and she managed to get him out of the car and on his feet. She supported him as they shuffled toward the back door. “Is the door locked? Will we set off an alarm?”

  He shook his head.

  She got him into the kitchen. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”

  He pointed with his left hand. The half bath was located in a short hallway between the kitchen and what she could see was the living room. She eased him down onto the commode lid and flipped on the wall switch. For the first time, she got a well-lit look at his wounds.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No, no you’re not.”

  The skin of his arm had been laid open. It was hard to tell how deep the gash was because it was leaking blood all along the cut. She went straight to work. First she removed his jacket, then ripped the sleeve of his shirt up to the shoulder seam. Yanking towels and washcloths off the decorative bars, she wrapped them around his forearm, pulling them tight to form compresses which would hopefully stanch the bleeding.

  Kneeling in front of him, she tried to rip his pants leg, but the fabric was too strong, so she impatiently shoved it over his knee. The cut along his shin wasn’t as deep as the one on his arm, but it was just as bloody. His sock had absorbed a lot of it. She upturned the empty wastebasket and propped his foot on it, then wrapped his shin in towels as she had his arm.

  She stood up, pushed back her hair with a bloody hand, and consulted her wristwatch. “Where is he? He should be here by now.”

  Hammond reached for her hand. “Alex?”

  She stopped fretting and looked down at him.

  “He could’ve killed you,” he rasped.

  “But he didn’t. I’m here.” She squeezed his hand.

  “Why didn’t you tell them?”

  “That you were with Pettijohn?”

  He nodded.

  “Because when they first questioned me, I thought you had killed him.”

  His face went a shade more pale. “You thought—”

  “I can’t explain it all now, Hammond. It’s too involved. In the state you’re in, it’s doubtful you would even remember it later. Suffice it to say that at first I lied in order to protect myself. But when I learned that Pettijohn had died of gunshot, I continued lying to protect…”

  He blinked, looked at her quizzically.

  “You.”

  The doorbell rang. She pulled her hand free. “The doctor’s here.”

  * * *

  He woke up, startled, her name on his lips. There was something he must tell her, something urgent they must talk about. “Alex.” His voice was a croak, alarming him. He moved to get up. The stiffness in his arm caused him to remember.

  He opened his eyes. He was lying in his own bed. The room was dark except for a small night-light that had been moved from the hallway and plugged into a wall socket in the bedroom.

  “I’m here.”

  She materialized at his bedside, bent over him, and laid her hand on his shoulder. While he’d been sleeping she had showered and washed her hair. She was no longer covered in his blood, and her clothes had been replaced with one of his oldest and softest T-shirts. Just like at the cabin.

  “It’s time for another pain pill if you want one.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Would you like some water?”

  He told her no.

  “Then go back to sleep.”

  She adjusted the sheet over his bare chest, but when she tried to move away, he covered her hand with his, keeping it trapped against his chest. “What time is it?”

  “A little after two. You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours.”

  “Who was the doctor?”

  “A friend of mine. A good friend. We can trust him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Let’s just say we’ve swapped professional favors. He strongly advised me to take you to an emergency room, but I prevailed upon him.”

  “Saying what?”

  “That you didn’t want to go through the rigmarole of filing a crime report.”

  “He was okay with that?”

  “No, because he saw Smilow and gang at my house this morning. He knows something’s amiss. But I left him no room to argue. If your wounds had warranted it, I would have insisted on the hospital myself, no matter what. But once they were cleaned, I was convinced he could treat them here. Actually, you probably got better treatment here than you might have received at the hospital. Much more quickly, too.”

  “My memory of him is foggy.”

  “He gave you a shot that more or less knocked you out, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember much. You suffered quite a trauma. It exhausted you, and the blood loss made you weak.” Smiling, she stroked
his forehead. “We had a heck of a time getting you up the stairs. Wish we had it on video. We could send it to America’s Funniest.”

  “Will I keep my arm?”

  Playing upon his joke, she replied solemnly. “He wanted to take it, but I wouldn’t let him. I threw my body across it to protect it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Truthfully, the wound was only skin deep. Several layers of skin, but no muscle or nerve damage was done, thank God. Your leg didn’t need to be stitched. He said it would close on its own within a few days. He gave you a tetanus shot and a huge injection of antibiotics. Your butt’s going to be sore. He left some oral antibiotics and Darvocet tablets for pain, which you can take every four hours.”

  His bandaged right arm was propped on a pillow. “It feels like lead, but it doesn’t hurt.”

  “It’s full of local anesthetic. As that wears off, the soreness will set in. Tomorrow you’ll be glad you have the pain pills. Next week you can have the stitches removed. Until then, you’re to keep it in a sling, elevate it when you can, and avoid getting it wet.”

  “I was covered with blood.”

  “I gave you a bed bath.”

  “Sorry I missed that.” He grinned, but it was a struggle to keep his eyelids open.

  “I also cleaned up your car and the bathroom. They’re spotless.”

  “You’re an angel of mercy.”

  “Only to a point. I should be downstairs now laundering the towels.”

  “Just throw them away.”

  “I guessed that’s what you would say, so that’s what I did. Besides, I would rather be up here watching over you.” Tenderly, she combed her fingers through his hair.

  He shifted slightly, looking for a more comfortable position. But even that much movement caused him to wince.

  “I’m giving you another pill.”

  This time he didn’t argue. He was almost asleep again when she pressed a tablet into his mouth, then cradled his head in the crook of her elbow and eased him up. She tilted a glass of water to his lips. He swallowed the pill.

  As she was lowering his head back onto the pillow, he resisted, and nuzzled her breasts instead. They felt full and inviting beneath the soft cloth of his T-shirt. His lips closed around a nipple.

  “You need to sleep,” she whispered, gently easing him away and back onto the pillow.

  He sighed a protest, but his eyes automatically closed. He felt her light kiss on his brow. And something else, too. Opening his eyes again, he saw her tears. Even as he watched, another splashed onto his face.

  Remorsefully he said, “Are you crying because of that goddamn report? And because of the way I acted about it? Jesus, Alex, I’m sorry.” And he was. For everything. For the horror of her childhood and adolescence and his sanctimonious reaction to it. “I acted like a bastard.”

  She shook her head. “You saved my life. You were hurt because of me. If I hadn’t been there—”

  “Shh.” Reaching across his body with his left hand, he touched her cheek. She clasped his hand and clutched it to her chest, bending over it and repeatedly kissing the ridge of knuckles.

  “I was so afraid, Hammond.” Her lips moved against his hand. She pressed the back of it to her cheek, which was moist with tears. “You have been so hurt because of me. And you will continue to be hurt.”

  He struggled to stay awake because this was important. “Alex… I love you.”

  She let go of his hand as though it had burned her. “What?”

  “I love—”

  “No, you don’t, Hammond,” she exclaimed, softly but adamantly. “Don’t say that. You don’t even know me.”

  “I know you.” He closed his eyes for a few precious seconds of rest and tried to work up the energy to say what he wanted to say. “I’ve loved you from…”… from the night I met you. When I saw you across the dance floor, I knew you immediately.

  He thought the words, but wasn’t sure whether or not he actually spoke them out loud. Opening his eyes and focusing on her face, he smiled sadly. “Why did it have to be such a fucking mess?”

  She licked a tear from the corner of her lips. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. It must have been as puzzling to her as it was to him that the first time in his life he was truly in love, it couldn’t be more wrong.

  He patted the bed on his left side.

  She shook her head no. “I could hurt you.”

  “Lie down.”

  Hesitating only a moment longer, she came around to the far side of the bed and slipped in beside him. She didn’t touch him except for laying her hand on his chest. “I can’t get any closer or I might bump your leg.”

  There was more he wanted to say, and much they needed to talk about, but the drug was taking effect. Having her close was some consolation. He wanted to enjoy it. But against his will, he slipped into oblivion.

  * * *

  Some time later he awakened. Partially. Not completely. He didn’t want to awaken completely. He wasn’t in pain. In fact, he was in a sublime state. Good stuff, those painkillers.

  Beside him, Alex stirred. He felt her sit up. “Hammond, are you awake?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  He mumbled something that she must have taken as a no because she lay back down. However, a few moments later he muttered something that even he couldn’t distinguish.

  “Pardon?” Her head came back up. At least he thought so. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Hammond?” Concerned, she placed her hand on his chest. “Are you in pain? Do you want some water?”

  Covering her hand with his, he guided it down beneath the sheet.

  Then he floated backward into a semiconscious state that was better than the best of dirty dreams. As in an erotic fantasy, his participation was unnecessary. All he had to do was give over control and submit to the sensations. Let it happen. Go with the flow. Rock adrift on the gentle swells of feeling.

  The buildup was deliciously slow. They were on no timetable, under no deadline. There was no pressure or recrimination. Dreams were blissfully void of consequences.

  He was aware of her repositioning herself, but a few preliminary, delicate kisses didn’t quite prepare him for the wet heat that sheathed him. The sensuous stroking was unlike any other. He held his breath and let the sensations saturate him. His entire body settled heavily into the mattress, as into a warm bath, and soaked in sexual lassitude.

  Instinctively he moved his hand. Stretched. Sought. Found. Softness. Silkiness. Mystery deep. Center of the universe. Heartbeat of Man. Pathway to Life.

  He had to move his fingers but slightly to elicit little jumps of excitement. The ball of his thumb was possessed of an ancient knowledge. Gifted with a special touch that drew from her soft moans. Not sounds exactly. Vibrations inside her mouth that were transmitted back to him.

  This living dream, this oblivion, was so sweet, he didn’t leave it, not even after a slow, undulating climax that left him feeling as though he had dissolved.

  On the fringes of his consciousness lurked something threatening and ugly, but he refused to acknowledge it. Not now. Not tonight. Tomorrow.

  * * *

  Hammond’s tomorrow started three hours later with an explosive “Jesus Christ!”

  Thursday

  Chapter 27

  Steffi continued shouting as she bounded up the stairs. Reaching Hammond’s bedroom, she barged in to find him sitting bolt upright in bed, holding his head between his hands, and looking like he was only one heartbeat away from cardiac arrest.

  “I thought you’d been murdered. I saw the bloody towels—”

  “Goddammit, Steffi. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “You? Myself! Are you all right?”

  He glanced anxiously around the room as though looking for something. “What time is it? What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”

  “I still have a key. Never mind that. What happened to you?�
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  “Uh…” He glanced at his bandaged arm as though seeing it for the first time. “I, uh, got mugged last night.” He motioned toward the bureau. “Get me a pair of underwear, will you?”

  “Mugged? Where?” His boxers were kept in the second drawer from the top. She brought him a pair. He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Your leg is hurt, too?”

  “Yeah. Not as bad as the arm.” He bent from the waist and stepped into the shorts, then worked them up his legs to his thighs. Before standing up, he gave her a pointed look.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hammond. I’ve seen it.”

  Whisking back the sheet, he stood up and pulled on the shorts, then reached for a bottle of water on the nightstand and drained it.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened or not?”

  “I told you I got—”

  “Mugged. I got that part. What about your arm?”

  “Slashed. My leg, too.”

  “My God, you could’ve been killed. Where were you?” When he told her, she said, “Well no bloody wonder. What were you doing in that part of town?”

  “Remember Loretta Boothe?”

  “The lush?”

  He frowned, but nodded. “She’s sober, wanting to do some P.I. work again. She asked me to meet her at one of her hangouts. On the way back to my car, this guy jumped me. I resisted. He got slaphappy with his switchblade. I fought him off long enough to get away in my car. I drove home and called a doctor. He stitched my arm.”

  “Did you notify the police?”

  “I didn’t want the third degree. Which I’m getting anyway. From you.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

  “Same reason.” He hobbled toward the bathroom, favoring his left leg. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Not that bad! Hammond, there’s a trash bag of blood-soaked towels downstairs.”

  “It looks a whole lot worse than it is. I only needed two pain pills all night. Do you mind?” She had followed him into the bathroom.

  She went out and he closed the door. Through it, she hollered, “I’ve seen you peeing before, too.”

  Returning to the bed, she sat down where he had been sitting moments earlier. Along with the now-empty bottle of springwater and a drinking glass on the nightstand were a standard-issue cloth sling and a plastic bottle of pills. It was a pharmaceutical sample; the doctor’s name wasn’t on it.