by Lyn Stone
“You shot him!” Robin accused. Though it didn’t seem likely, she hoped to God someone was observing the way they did on the cop shows she watched on television. She prayed for it. “You shot Mitch Winton, and he saw you do it. I saw you do it. I’ll scream it to everyone who will listen. You shot him and threw the empty gun at me knowing I would catch it without thinking,” she accused.
“Ranting this way is pointless,” he muttered.
“You were working for Somers. You knew about the disk and you stole my computer thinking the information was on it. You killed my husband. How much did Somers pay you?”
He had his back to the observation glass as he leaned his hands against the table across from her. “You better lawyer up, Ms. Andrews. You might even get bail.” He mouthed the next words, “I hope you do.” His gaze burned into hers. “Where is it, Robin?”
She didn’t have to ask what he wanted. “Go to hell,” she rasped, her voice hoarse now. “That disk is gone and the information’s in my head where you will never get to it.”
Taylor pushed away from the table and headed for the door. “They’ll take you to a holding cell now. Rot there for all I care.”
“That will take a while,” she snapped. “And the more people I see, the more I’ll acquaint with the facts. I told the officers who brought me in. I told Officer Aiken and I told Damien Perry. If you kill Mitch Winton now, someone will be looking into his cause of death very carefully, Taylor. If you go near him, they’ll know you were responsible.”
He turned, his manner too confident, too cocky and too relieved. “What makes you think he’s still alive?”
Grief swept over her in a crushing wave. She could barely breathe. Her entire body felt boneless and her mind blank except for the overwhelming realization that it was too late. Too late for Mitch and too late for her.
Robin waited, knowing she had done all she could do. Mitch must be dead. Why else would Kick Taylor have come here instead of going to the hospital to await the chance to kill him? Still, she couldn’t make herself accept that he was gone. Surely she would feel it inside her if that large a part of her world was gone forever.
The metal of the handcuff lay cold against the skin of her wrist. She sat up at the sound of the doorknob turning.
“Ms. Andrews.” The voice was gravelly. The presence of the man she saw, a godsend.
“Captain Hunford!” Forbidding as he looked, Robin could have hugged him.
“I was informed you wanted to see me,” he said. “Something about organized crime, I believe.”
“Is Mitch dead?” she demanded, trying to search his eyes for the truth.
But he avoided looking directly at her as he ambled toward one of the chairs opposite her and sat down wearily. “Let’s hear what you have to say.”
“Is he dead?” she repeated, desperate to know.
He looked at her then, his gaze assessing her. “Not yet.”
Robin exhaled sharply and pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle a sob of profound relief.
“What’s this about a disk?” he asked.
“You heard? You were listening to Taylor when he was in here?” She knew he had been. How else would he know about the disk? Hope swelled within her.
The captain nodded once to confirm that he had heard. “I want to know what this is all about.”
She reached toward him even though she knew he was too far away to touch. “Listen to me, sir. Please. Kick Taylor shot Mitch. Kick’s somehow mixed up with Somers, and Mitch knows about it. If you don’t put someone in that hospital to prevent it, I think Kick will try to kill him.”
The captain gave her no assurance. “Tell me about the disk. Why is it hidden and what does it contain?”
Robin rolled her eyes. “God help me, I want you to have it! But I won’t tell you a thing until you arrange protection for Mitch.”
Hunford regarded her for a few seconds, then reached over and picked up the phone. She watched as he punched in numbers. His eyes never left hers as he spoke into the handset. “Put a guard on Mitch Winton at the hospital. No one but his parents and hospital staff allowed in to see him. I mean no one. Understood?” He hung up. “Satisfied now?” he asked.
Robin nodded, her shoulders slumping with that weight lifted off. “Thank you.”
“I’m waiting,” he said, drumming the fingers of one hand on the tabletop.
“The disk is at Kick Taylor’s house. Mitch stuck it in with Kick’s CD collection. It’s in a case that says ‘Classical Interludes.’ On it is a list, including Somers, four other men who are now dead, and the numbers of their accounts set up in the Caymans which we think James arranged. There’s more information on the disk that we couldn’t decipher. It might say how they got the money. That’s only a guess, but Somers was afraid it did, I think. They must have demanded the disk and when James wouldn’t turn it over to them, they shot him. What Somers revealed to me while he was questioning me indicates that’s what happened.”
“Who shot Somers?”
Robin took a deep breath. “I did.” She quickly explained the events leading up to it. Her kidnapping, the interrogation she endured, then Mitch’s and Taylor’s arrival and the shootout.
“And you?” the captain asked. “How were you involved?”
“James asked me to bring the disk to him. He had left it in our safety deposit box, but I don’t know when he put it there. Somers and his people have been after it since the night James was killed. He must have promised them I was on my way with it.”
“And the organized crime aspect of all this?” Hunford asked.
Robin hesitated, then shrugged. “I figured Somers must be up to his neck in something like that. How else would he have gotten a cop on his payroll?” She avoided his hawklike glare. “And…I thought that might be the fastest way to get you to talk to me.”
Hunford got up and walked to the door.
“Wait!” Robin cried, leaping out of her chair, but the handcuffs wouldn’t allow her to stand fully upright. “Don’t you believe me?”
“I’ll check it out.”
“You’re going to leave me here?”
“Ms. Andrews,” he said patiently, “you have admitted shooting Somers. He has friends in this town who might love a little retribution when they find out. This is about the safest place you could be at the moment.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. His features sagged and his eyes looked tired. “And, too, this is one of my detectives you’re accusing, Ms. Andrews. But I am taking your accusations seriously. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“What will you do? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the hospital,” he told her.
Robin blinked hard, trying not to cry with relief as she sat down. “Thank you, Captain Hunford. I can never thank you enough.”
There was no answer but the quiet closing of the door. Spending the night in jail seemed nothing compared to what poor Mitch must be going through. Or what he might have experienced if Kick Taylor had been allowed to see him alone.
Officer Aiken came back eventually, took the cuffs off her and moved her down the hall to a barred enclosure set in one corner of a room.
“Captain said to give you this,” Aiken said as she handed Robin an ice pack. “For your face,” she explained curtly. Robin took the small plastic bag of ice wrapped in a coarse hand towel and stepped inside the cage the officer had opened.
Outside the cell was another metal table and several chairs. Inside was a lidless toilet and a cot with a thin foam mattress and blanket. The entire place looked clean but bleak. Incredibly bleak.
Robin arranged the ice pack on her swollen face and lay down on the cot. She closed her eyes to block out the horror of her surroundings and tried to sleep.
She awoke with a start when someone shook her shoulder.
“Ms. Andrews? Wake up.”
Robin blinked awake and tried to move. Every muscle in her body felt like it had been beaten with a mallet. “
Who…?”
“Damien Perry. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but I tried to determine where things stood before coming over.”
Robin sat up slowly, swinging her legs off the cot.
The handsome blond man had crouched in front of her. He reached out and raked her hair off the side of her face where it had stuck to the residue of blood. Her nose must have bled a bit more after she’d gone to sleep. With the fabric flap on the ice pack, she wiped at it. “How is Mitch?” she asked.
“Holding his own,” Perry said. “He’ll make it. How are you?”
Robin wiggled her lower jaw and winced. She felt her nose and wondered if it was broken. “All right. Have you seen him?”
“No, but I spoke with his sister twice tonight. The surgery’s over, and he was conscious for a few minutes. The prognosis is good.”
Tears rushed up and out before Robin could stop them. The stranger enfolded her in his arms and held her while she wept. She shouldn’t allow it, Robin thought, even as she clung to him.
“There, there,” he said, crooning to her as if she were a child. “Everything will be fine.” He pressed a handkerchief into her hand. “I’ve spoken with the captain. He and I had a long conversation with the D.A. You’re being released into my custody for the time being.”
Robin stilled. “Then he no longer believes I’m guilty?”
Perry moved back and looked into her eyes. His were Arctic blue, yet his expression was warm. “He’s inclined to think you shot Somers in self-defense, since it’s obvious to him you were struck more than once. He noticed the tape residue on your wrists, which bears out your version of what happened. And Mitch would hardly be asking for you if you were the one who shot him.”
“He asked for me?” Robin felt almost hysterical with relief. “Then he’s well enough to talk?”
The stranger smiled. “Apparently. Hunford recounted all that you said to the D.A. The murder charge concerning Somers and that of the attempted murder of Mitch that Detective Taylor leveled against you when you were booked are being regarded as premature, to say the least.”
Robin shook her head as she raked her fingers through her matted hair. “But Mitch was bringing me in for James’s murder when all this started. What about that?”
Perry smiled as he stood and offered his hand. “Your prints were on the murder weapon, but the few they found were not located in a position where you could have pulled the trigger. The paraffin test proved you had not fired a weapon that night, Ms. Andrews. Even if you’d worn gloves, as Taylor suggested, you would have had traces on your arms or sleeves. Also, no gloves were found at or near the scene. There were no blood spatters on you, consistent with shooting someone at such a close range. Mitch included that in his report. Taylor suppressed it.”
“But they had enough other evidence….”
Perry frowned. “Yes. It seems some of the facts reported to the D.A.’s office were doctored a bit. Details left out, that sort of thing.”
Robin’s breath caught as she stifled another wave of tears.
Perry’s brow creased with concern. “I’m sorry. I’ve upset you further, haven’t I?”
“No, no,” Robin protested, shaking her head vehemently. “It’s just that I didn’t expect anyone would go to so much trouble…for me.”
“Mitch must have told you I’m a friend of his. And I have a suspicion that you are perhaps a bit more than his friend. Am I right?”
Robin nodded, feeling her face heat. “Yes. A bit more.”
“Good for him. So,” he said, taking both her hands in his, “shall we get you out of here and over to the hospital where you belong? Susan has sworn to beat me about the head and shoulders if I delay. Come on. The paperwork’s done. All we have to do is get your things.”
“They only took my watch and ring. Leave them.” Robin left the cell as fast as she could. Damien Perry didn’t argue. He swept her out with a haste that made her wonder whether Mitch’s condition might not be more serious than he’d led her to believe.
Her continued questioning on the way to the hospital never shook Perry’s adamant assurances that Mitch would recover in no time at all. The man proved maddeningly patient with her.
She couldn’t help but notice, however, that he drove his Jag as if it were the lead car in the Grand Prix.
Chapter 15
The waiting room outside the Intensive Care Unit was packed. Mitch’s entire family filled half of it. Then there was the captain, two other detectives and a tall, attractive redhead Perry introduced as his wife, Molly.
Mitch’s mother rushed forward and took Robin’s hands. “Oh, you poor baby! Look at your face! I’m so glad you’re here now. He was asking for you.”
“He’s conscious?” Relief flooded through her. “How is he?”
“Groggy. In and out.” Patricia Winton’s red-rimmed eyes betrayed her worry. “Dr. Fleming said the surgery went well. There was only one bullet still in there, but they got it out. No permanent damage that they can tell yet. His vital signs are improving right along, but he lost an awful a lot of blood.”
“I’m type Opositive,” Robin declared in a rush.
Patricia patted her hand. “All taken care of for now, but we’ll tell them in case he needs more.” She reached out to Damien and squeezed his arm. “Thank you so much for bringing Robin. And I don’t know what we would have done without your sweet Molly. She’s kept us sane.”
Damien smiled serenely and leaned to kiss Patricia’s cheek. “Mitch will be fine, Pat. He’s tough as nails.”
She held on to him. “They’re moving him to a private room as soon as his blood pressure stabilizes,” she said hopefully. “The nurses have been trying to clear us out of here.”
Mitch’s father put his arm around his wife and led her back to one of the chairs. “Come on, Patty. Sit down and take it easy. You’re lookin’ a little peaked.” He tossed Robin a smile. “When you go in there, you tell Mitch he’d better perk up or else.”
Susan joined them, looking Robin over with a frown. “God, you’re a mess! Come on, let’s fix you up a little before you see him.” She grabbed her purse off one of the end tables.
Robin looked to Damien Perry for permission. She was in his custody, after all.
He gave her a little nod, then raised his voice to speak to the others in the room. “Now that Mitch is past crisis, why not go down to the cafeteria and have something to eat? I’ll stay here and page you there the moment there’s any further word.”
Everyone agreed and began filing out of the crowded room.
When she and Susan reached the rest room down the hall and Robin looked in the mirror, she almost fainted. Her nose was swollen and the skin around her eyes was bruised. Dried blood caked her nostrils, the corner of her mouth and the bottom edges of her hair on one side.
“Wash your face and hands,” Susan ordered as she dug around in her bag for something. “Use some soap and get that blood out of your hair. You can stick your head under the hand dryer.”
She plunked a hairbrush on the sink and fished again. “Here’s some powder base. Not your color, but it’ll do. Maybe help conceal those shiners. Daub on this lipstick. Smudge some on your cheeks while you’re at it. You look like a corpse.”
“Thanks.” Robin said and began scrubbing.
“So who worked you over?” Susan asked, her keen gaze narrow and intense.
“Somers. I feel like hamburger meat.”
“You look like it, too, not that Mitch would mind how you look. Well, he would, but only because you were hurt. I just don’t want him to leap up off that bed and go try to kill somebody.” She grinned. “Time for that later when he’s healed a little.”
“Somers is already dead,” Robin told her, halting in her attempt to disguise the signs of her ordeal, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I shot him.”
Susan’s worried frown melted into an expression of compassion. She rested a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Oh…honey, I’m sorry you had to— No! I
’m not sorry,” she admitted suddenly, the fierce light shining in her eyes again. “Good for you. Now, get that face fixed and go see your man!”
Robin rushed through the ritual application and swept the brush through her hair. “Not much improvement,” she commented as she tucked the tail of her blouse into the belt of her jeans. There were drips of blood on the fabric that covered her chest.
Susan quickly shed her long-sleeved T-shirt and handed it over. “Here, switch. He doesn’t need to see that blood on you.”
Robin changed hurriedly, pushing up the sleeves as she glanced in the mirror again. “I won’t win any contests, but at least I won’t scare him to death. Thanks so much, Susan.”
“What are sisters for?” she said with a grin. “You’ll owe me. Name your first kid Susie.”
Impulsively Robin hugged her. She couldn’t ever remember being moved to do that to another woman. A little unsettled by her unaccustomed effusiveness, she laughed and shrugged. She wanted Susan for a sister. Could that possibly happen?
“He’ll be okay, Robin,” Susan assured her. “You’ll see.”
Together they hurried back to the waiting room. It was now empty except for a couple who had not been there before and Damien Perry, who sat thumbing through a dog-eared copy of People Weekly. He stood immediately when they entered. “No news yet.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, sit back down, Damien,” Susan said with a roll of her eyes. She nudged Robin with her elbow. “He must have been raised in a palace. Royal manners, you know.” Her attempt at a British accent was atrocious.
Damien sighed. He also remained standing.
“Do you think I could see Mitch?” Robin asked hopefully.
“I know Stevens fairly well. I’ll ask,” he said, seeming glad to have something to do besides sit and wait. In a few moments he returned. “I’m sorry, Robin. Stevens says Captain Hunford left strict orders. No one but his parents and the staff. It’s for Mitch’s protection, he says.”
Robin kept an eye on the door to ICU, noting the unimpeded entry of a man who appeared to be a doctor. He was wearing green scrubs and a mask and seemed in a hurry.