by LENA DIAZ,
Buresh’s hands fisted against the sheets. “You heard about Daniels?”
“I heard he was killed, yes.”
A look of pain flashed across Buresh’s face. “It’s my fault. I didn’t post enough officers here at the hospital. I figured the bomber would go to ground, that he wouldn’t risk showing himself again so soon with half the police force searching for him.”
Having gone through his own blame game for the past year, Rafe understood his boss’s guilt all too well. Nothing Rafe could say would make him feel better. Only time would do that. And even then, there would still be moments when the past would slam into him so hard it would steal his breath. He’d relive every agonizing moment of what had happened. Fear would twist his gut, make him wake up in a cold sweat. Rage would pulse through him, making him clench his fists so hard his nails cut into his hands and made him bleed. But no matter how many times he replayed the past in his mind, the result was still the same.
Because no one can change the past.
No matter how desperately they wished they could.
“You want me to come back later?” Rafe asked.
Buresh shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “Waiting won’t change anything. Might as well tell you the details while they’re still fresh.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Apparently the bomber stole a lab coat from a doctor’s car in the parking lot. When a couple of ambulances pulled up to the E.R., he walked right in. In the confusion, no one noticed an extra doctor walking around.”
He absently toyed with the IV tubing by his hand. “After I left your room, I headed to the elevator. As soon as I stepped through the double doors at the end of the hall, he grabbed me from behind, held a knife to my throat. He dragged me into a storage closet, handcuffed me and gagged me. He left for about five minutes. I figure that’s when he got Daniels and the nurse, poor woman.”
A cold, sick feeling twisted Rafe’s stomach. “He killed a woman?”
“No, no, he didn’t hurt her. He grabbed her when she left the desk to go to the bathroom. Gagged her, tied her up and left her in one of the patient’s rooms near the elevator. No one knows for sure what happened to Daniels. Maybe he left his station outside your door to check on the nurse when she didn’t return. Or maybe the killer used his disguise as a doctor to lure Daniels down the hall. Regardless, a few minutes after the nurse was tied up, the killer put Daniels in with her. He was unconscious when the killer dragged him into the room. He finished the job, stabbed him, right in front of the nurse.”
Rafe replayed Buresh’s words in his mind, trying to piece everything together. Something was missing, because the pieces didn’t fit. He shook his head. “I don’t get the timeline.”
Buresh dropped the tubing and gave Rafe his full attention. “What do you mean?”
“When you left my room, Daniels was still outside?”
“Right.”
“And the nurse? Was she at the desk?”
Buresh frowned and thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t remember seeing anyone there when I walked by. Maybe that’s when she stepped out to go to the restroom.”
“It all had to happen fast,” Rafe said, “because there was only about a six minute lag after you left to when the transformer blew. And another couple of minutes before you called my room.”
“Right,” Buresh said. “The nurse must have been first. Then the killer tied me up, left to get Daniels. He obviously used a timer for the bomb, because the transformer blew while I was in the closet. The killer came back and made me call you. Then he stabbed me, for no reason. I wasn’t resisting.” He cursed and shook his head. “You did get my SOP reference, right? You got that I was trying to tell you to get out of there?”
“Of course. That was quick thinking, probably saved Darby’s life.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I imagine you would have figured out something was up pretty soon and would have gotten her out of there anyhow.” Buresh waved his hand in the air. “As for the timeline, seems straightforward to me. What’s the problem?”
“I called 9-1-1 right after I talked to you,” Rafe said. “Immediately after that call, I got Darby out of the room. We were in the hall about five seconds before I heard someone pushing open the double doors. I pulled Darby into one of the patient rooms, and we hid there while a gunman crept through the hallway, searching every room.” He tightened his hands against the top of the chair. “I thought he was the bomber, which is why Darby and I ended up in the ceiling to get away. But it wasn’t the bomber. It was Jake.”
Buresh blinked in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense. How could Jake have gotten up there so fast? You’d just called 9-1-1. And where did the bomber go after stabbing me?”
“Exactly my point. That’s the problem with the timeline.”
Buresh swore. “Are you trying to imply Jake’s the bomber? If that’s the case, just show a picture of Jake to Dr. Steele and we can settle this right now.” He snorted and shook his head. “You and I both know there are holes all over that theory. He was with me in the warehouse when the bomber kidnapped Dr. Steele. And even if he wasn’t, he’s a cop. Hell, you grew up together. He’s your best friend.”
“Was,” Rafe said. “Was my best friend. Not anymore. You know he blames me for Shelby’s death.”
“I’m sure that’s just grief talking.”
“That might explain his actions right after Shelby died. But a year? No, there’s something else going on. Regardless, I’m not making any assumptions. And I’m not ruling anyone out. We don’t know that Jake isn’t the bomber. All we know for sure is that he’s not the man who kidnapped Darby. The bomber and the kidnapper could be two different people.”
Buresh’s eyes widened and he started coughing violently. Rafe grabbed the cup of ice chips sitting on the table next to the bed and handed them to his boss.
After swallowing a mouthful of ice, Buresh glared at Rafe. “Detective Jake Young,” he said, “is one of us. No way is he involved in this mess. As soon as Dr. Steele is discharged, you get her out of here. I don’t want any arguments. You’re both banged up and need the rest, so you might as well keep her close so you can protect her. Leave the investigating to someone else. When you’re all rested up, get your butt back into the station to work with a sketch artist. And after that, I want you—and Jake—in my office. We’ll get to the bottom of this timeline problem. And I guaran-freaking-tee he’s not involved.”
“You don’t really believe you’ll be back in the office anytime soon, do you?”
“I may look like hell, and feel like hell, but other than losing some blood, I’m fine. The bomber didn’t cut anything vital. Whether the doctors want to let me go tomorrow or not, I’m going.” His mouth flattened into a hard line. “I need to be a part of this investigation. I have to look at Daniels’s widow and tell her I did everything I could to find her husband’s killer.”
* * *
“WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD.”
Darby frowned at the deep voice intruding into her sleep. She mumbled a protest and threw her arm over her eyes to block out the bright light that flickered on overhead.
“I let you sleep as long as I could.” A hand gently shook her.
She slapped the hand off her shoulder and blinked her eyes open.
When she saw who was bothering her, she groaned and closed her eyes again. Detective Rafe Morgan. She hadn’t seen him since waking up from her so-called trance in an examining room in the E.R. He’d insisted on a psychiatric consult, in spite of her embarrassed pleading with him to just let it go. She didn’t need another mental health professional to tell her what she already knew.
Dark, tight places terrified her.
“Nap time is over.” Rafe shook her shoulder, his touch gentle in spite of the way he’d barked out his order.
Darby let out an exasperated breath and opened her eyes again. The clock on the wall behind him showed her how late, or rather early, it was. “Good grief. It’s five in the morning.”
“We should have left an hour ago.” He plopped a small suitcase on the foot of the bed and pitched a tan plastic bag next to it, one of those disposable bags with the name of a local grocery store written across it.
Realizing her tormentor wasn’t going to leave her alone, she sat up, grabbed the plastic bag and looked inside. White cotton slacks, a dark button-up blouse...a bra and panties. Her face flushed hot. “What’s this?”
“I had your assistant go to your house and pack you some things. She said the grocery bag has what you need to change here in the hospital. Everything else is in the suitcase. You’ve got five minutes.”
He turned to go, and she realized he’d already changed his clothes. His hospital gown was gone. In its place was a pair of faded jeans and a muscle-hugging forest-green T-shirt. And he was sporting another ominous-looking gun again, holstered against his hip.
“Wait,” she called out as he pulled the door open.
He paused and looked at her expectantly.
She pressed the buttons on the bed, raising herself into a sitting position. “What’s going on?” She glanced toward the door, her body tensing. “Is...is there someone out there? Is that why we have to leave right now?”
The look on his face softened. He let the door close and strode back to her bed. “You’re safe. Plenty of cops this time. But I want you out of here before the sun comes up, just in case the bomber’s watching the hospital. I’m betting he might be asleep right now, so this is the best time to go.”
Hearing the bomber might be watching the hospital had her pulse leaping in her throat. The selfish part of her wanted to jump up right now and get as far away as she could. But that wasn’t right, not when she could tell Rafe wasn’t anywhere near recovered from their ordeal in the marsh.
The corners of his eyes were tight with strain, and his face seemed pale beneath his tan. Even though the stubborn man was obviously trying to hide that he was in pain, his head must be throbbing. Because every now and then he winced.
“You have a concussion. You can’t leave. You should be lying in bed, being monitored by a doctor. And I’m sure you need some pain medication.”
He tilted her chin up. “I can handle a little headache. What I can’t handle is you getting hurt. You’re far too intelligent not to realize it makes sense to get out of here. Now.”
Intelligent or not, all the arguments in her head fled the moment his warm hand touched her. “All right, give me a few minutes.”
He nodded and headed out the door.
Determined not to dwell on why Rafe Morgan, of all people, could send shivers of delight shooting through her just by touching her chin, she grabbed the grocery bag and went into the bathroom. After taking care of her needs and using the toiletries Mindy had—bless her heart—included in the bag, she hurriedly changed out of the hospital gown into the slacks and shirt. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping on her shoes when Rafe came back into the room.
“Let’s go.” He grabbed her suitcase and her hand and towed her toward the door.
That inexplicable tingle of pleasure shot through Darby again. Irritated both with herself for reacting to his touch, and with him for constantly trying to haul her around everywhere, she tugged her hand out of his grasp.
He stopped and looked at her in question.
“I’ll walk beside you, or in front of you, but I refuse to be pulled behind you like a toy on a string.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t try to take her hand again. He opened the door, spoke to the officer visible through the glass wall and motioned for her to join him.
They hurried down the long hallway toward the brightly lit entrance. He stopped beside one of the two police officers standing near the double sliding glass doors. They spoke in low tones, before Rafe put his hand on the small of Darby’s back, guiding her through the doors out to the parking lot. She could feel the tension radiating off him. He continually glanced around. The policemen stood at the doors, watching them, but Darby still felt uneasy.
When they reached the driver’s side of a black, four-wheel drive pickup, Rafe tossed her suitcase in the back and pulled a set of keys out of his jeans pocket. He used the clicker to unlock his door and yanked it open.
Darby wasn’t sure how she was going to climb into the massive truck. There was no way her short legs could reach that high. Rafe must have realized the same thing, because he suddenly put his hands around her waist. She let out a surprised squeal when he lifted her up into the driver’s seat. It was a bench seat, and she had to quickly scoot over to avoid him sitting on her lap when he climbed inside.
“Seat belt,” he ordered, clicking his into place and starting the engine.
Darby shot him an irritated glance because of his latest order, but her efforts were wasted because he didn’t bother to look at her. Instead, he kept looking in his mirrors, and studying every car in the parking lot. As soon as her seat belt was on, he pulled out of the parking space.
He started forward, just as a man stepped out from beside another car and stood in the lane about fifty feet ahead of them. He motioned for them to stop. But instead of slowing, Rafe hit the accelerator, making the truck leap forward. The man had to jump out of the way to avoid being run down.
Darby gasped in shock and turned in her seat to look behind them. The man was standing in the middle of the lane again, his hands fisted beside him. Even in the dim parking lot lights, Darby could see the mask of fury on his face.
“Who was that?”
Rafe glanced in his rearview mirror before answering. “That was Jake.” He didn’t pause at the stop sign onto the main road. The truck’s tires squealed as he turned south.
“Who’s Jake?”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Jake Young is a detective, and a bomb tech. He’s the man with the gun we were hiding from at the hospital. You probably don’t remember seeing him in the stairwell since you were basically catatonic at the time.”
She rolled her eyes at his “catatonic” comment. “The one who was trying to help us, right? He was searching for the bomber?”
He grunted noncommittally.
“Why didn’t you stop back there?”
When he finally looked at her, she sucked in her breath, shocked at the raw pain and bitterness stamped across his face.
“Jake was my wife’s brother. He blames me for her death.”
Chapter Six
The two double beds in Darby’s motel room boasted neon green coverlets with palm fronds and brightly colored parrots. Beach-scene prints decorated the walls. The carpet was a faded royal blue. The room screamed “cheap,” but thankfully, when Darby stepped into the tiny bathroom to take a look, it was blessedly clean. Bright white subway tiles reflected the overhead light without a hint of mildew or grime.
She stepped back into the main room. “Which room will you be in?”
The corner of his mouth tilted up. “You thought I was staying in a separate room?”
She folded her arms. “Yes, of course. It’s not like we’re...you know...courting.”
“‘Courting’?” His grin widened. “Do people really say that in this century?”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
His smile faded, and in four long strides he was standing in front of her, his usual serious expression firmly in place. “I can’t protect you from another room. Like it or not, we’re stuck together until the bomber is caught.”
The thought of him sleeping in a bed a few feet away had her belly tightening. A memory flashed through her mind...his hard lips molding to hers, his warm hand caressing her bottom as he pulled her close, his body hardening against her. Her breath caught in her throat.
He cocked his head, studying her. “The psychiatrist said you didn’t remember what happened when you were in the trance. Is it starting to come back?”
Come back? She’d never forgotten. She’d been frozen, unable to move or respond, but she’d been aware of everything around her. And
she hadn’t forgotten. She’d just been too embarrassed to admit it.
She remembered everything.
He took a step toward her, then another. “In the ceiling, when we heard the gunman below us, you whimpered. I had to kiss you, to silence you. And then I—”
“Stop,” she whispered.
He gently lifted her chin. “You do remember.”
“I don’t... I don’t want to...” She licked her lips, her gaze falling to his mouth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
His hands moved to her shoulders. He braced his legs on each side of her, surrounding her with his heat. “When I...touched you...”
She leaned toward him. “Yes?”
His thumbs traced small patterns on her shoulders, making her shiver with longing.
“I need you to understand,” he said, his voice rough, raspy. He cleared his throat. “I was only trying to shock you into moving. You realize that, right? I was trying to protect you. I wasn’t...” He rested his forehead against hers.
Darby slid her hands up his chest. “You weren’t...what?” she whispered.
He shuddered and took a step back, then another. “I wasn’t trying to take advantage. I apologize.”
Darby blinked. Rafe stood two feet in front of her, looking chagrined. What had just happened? He’d caressed her shoulders. His voice had thickened when he spoke to her.
Had she imagined that?
Apparently she had. But she certainly hadn’t imagined her own reaction. She’d wanted, needed, to touch him, and had desperately wanted him to touch her in return. She twisted her fingers together. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Lack of sleep had muddled her mind. She had actually convinced herself that Detective Rafe Morgan, a man who’d never made any pretense at even liking her, was attracted to her—and that she was attracted to him.
How humiliating.
If the floor had opened up beneath her right now she would have gladly jumped in the hole.