by Robin Caroll
Simpson’s hesitation was so slight, anyone with lesser powers of observation would have missed it. Rafe, however, was a master at observing and interpreting reactions. With his emphasis on the word father, he’d scored a direct hit.
“I think it’s best if you talk to Bella directly.”
“By all means, yes. Would you like to escort me to the hospital, or would you prefer I follow in my own car?”
“I need to check in with a couple of my men and get things wrapped up here. It might be a while.”
Rafe reached for the door handle. “Then I’ll just wait in my car.”
Once alone in his car, his anger defused. He turned on the dome light, withdrew the copy of the file he kept in the car, and flipped through it. The photograph in Tate’s home office. He considered Bella’s knowing about Tate and Simpson. He stopped on the picture of Remington Wyatt and Tate. The tilt of her head as she smiled at him. The sharpness of those unique blue eyes.
Rafe’s body jumped. He closed his eyes and conjured up the image of Bella tonight . . . so angry with him she could’ve laid him out with a look from her unique eyes.
He studied the photo. Closed his eyes and imagined Bella.
The picture on Tate’s wall . . . the pictures in the motel and Simpson’s office.
Bella. Remington.
She knew about Tate being Simpson’s father.
Bella. Remington. Bella . . . Remington.
They were one and the same.
Boy-hidey, did she ever feel woozy.
Bella stared at the IV bag hanging next to her hospital bed. Whatever stuff they were giving her had to be a controlled substance. If street drugs had the same effect, no wonder there were so many users out there. This was the best feeling ever.
Ever.
A nurse swept into the room, leaving the door ajar. Bella could make out a man in uniform in the hall. Police uniform. She smiled.
“How’re you feeling?” the perky, blonde nurse asked.
“Groovy.” She lifted a hand—it looked like it had a tail with the movement—and pointed to the officer. “He loves me and keeps me safe.”
The nurse chuckled and patted Bella’s right shoulder. “You’re going to be just fine, Ms. Miller.” She typed on the computer at Bella’s bedside, then gave her a final pat. “The doctor will be in to talk with you shortly. Buzz me if you need anything.”
Bella smiled, watching the white tail follow the nurse from the room. Contentedness filled her chest.
Hey, God. Thanks for saving my butt back there. Wait a minute, should she say butt when talking to God? Probably not. I really am sorry for being so pissy toward You. I guess You understand, right? She probably shouldn’t use the word pissy either. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks and let You know I wasn’t calling on You just so You’d save me. I really am sorry.
She rolled her head to the left and stared at her shoulder. It was so much bigger than her right one. Wasn’t it? She turned her head back to the right, inspected her shoulder, then compared it to her left. Yep, left one definitely bigger.
And whiter.
Snorting back a chuckle, she grinned. She’d been shot in the left shoulder, so there were bandages covering that. Lots of bandages. Made her kinda look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. She’d always hated that story. Was creepy.
The door swung open and a man in a white, flapping coat drifted to her bedside. “How’re you feeling, Miss Miller?”
“Just groovy.” She smiled wide at the blonde nurse who’d followed the doctor into her room.
He chuckled. “Good. I’m Dr. Benton.” He clicked the mouse on the computer beside her. “Your stats all look great. The bullet did nominal damage to your shoulder. We’ve got you packed and stitched up, so you should heal with minimal scarring. You shouldn’t have any issues from this at all in the future, except maybe a little scar tissue. But that won’t be for five or ten years down the road.”
Did she care about anything he was saying? Nope. As long as the dope stayed in the bag and dripped into her veins, she could care less.
Wow, so this was how addicts felt. No wonder children were abandoned, places robbed, others hurt. To keep this feeling, well, Bella would do just about anything.
“I’ll check on you in the morning, but if you need anything, Nurse Cheryl will be here all night. Just push the call button on your remote.” As quickly as he’d entered, Dr. Whatever-his-name-was whooshed out of the room.
The nurse typed on the computer. The tapping of the keys sounded like tiny hammers. Bella grinned as she imagined itty-bitty elves tapping away on little toys.
“I’ll be back to check on you later.” Nurse Cheryl nodded. “You get some rest.” She turned off the light as she left the room.
Yeah. Rest. Bella’s eyelids were getting heavy, now that she thought about it. She closed her eyes. Kaleidoscopes of reds, blues, purples, and oranges dotted in her mind’s eye, floating around with no rhyme or reason. No specific pattern, just a hodgepodge smorgasbord of colors and designs. She floated on clouds. Weightless.
Her eyes shot open. What was that?
Bella lay very still. What had woken her up? A sound? She concentrated on nothing but the sounds around her.
The hum of the computer’s fan. The faint buzz of the IV machine. Voices in the hall. Male voices. One she recognized clearly.
“I understand . . . Officer.” Muffled voices. “. . . fifteen-minute break.” Shifting. Phones ringing. Female voices in the background. “Just fifteen minutes, though.” Hospital public address system paging some doctor. “I have to report back in, so don’t be late.”
Her tongue grew double in size. What was Hartlock doing in the hall? Who was he talking to about a break?
The door creaked open. Bella blinked, fighting to focus. Her heartbeat drowned out the buzzing and hum as a silhouette squeezed through the crack in the door.
Rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the waxed floors as the shadowed figure made his way to her bed.
She clenched her hands, her right thumb pressing the call button. Pain shot out from her left shoulder down her arm.
Hartlock stood over her bed. “It’s been a long time, Remington. You should’ve stayed hidden.”
A buzz boomed in the room from a speaker on the wall. “Yes, Miss. Miller?”
Nurse Cheryl!
“Help! Help me!”
Hartlock grabbed the pillow and shoved it over her face. She twisted her head right, then left. Shook. Kicked. Used her right hand to claw at him.
He kept pressure on the pillow.
She couldn’t breathe. Oh-my-stars, he was going to kill her right here in the hospital!
“Who are you? What are you doing?” Nurse Cheryl’s voice reached Bella just as darkness threatened to welcome her. “Security!”
The pressure disappeared.
“Oomph.” Thump. Thud.
Bella shoved the pillow aside just in time to catch a white-coated Hartlock shoving out of the room. Nurse Cheryl lay sprawled on the floor.
“Oh-my-stars, are you okay?” Bella tried to sit up. Dizziness swayed her.
The nurse wobbled to her feet. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
The room swarmed with people before Bella could reply. Lights flooded. Bella squinted against the brightness. All at once, people talked, asked questions—the ruckus hurt her head.
“What happened?”
“Who was that?”
“Page Dr. Benton.”
“Why did you leave your post?”
“Did he mess with her IV?”
People coming and going. Footsteps. Movements. All crowding her.
“Was he trying to suffocate her?”
“The policeman guarding the door . . . he just collapsed. We need a doctor, st
at.”
Bella covered her eyes with her right forearm. People poked and prodded her. The activity around her pressed on her as tangible as Hartlock had held the pillow over her face. She couldn’t take any more. She screamed.
The room went silent.
She let out a slow breath.
“What’s going on in here?” Hayden’s soothing voice filled the room.
She opened her eyes and locked gazes with her best friend. Only then did the tears come. Sobs shook her as Hayden rushed to sit on the edge of the bed and pull her into his arms. Like a father comforting a child after a bad dream, he petted her head and rocked her.
Bella didn’t care. She was scared, plain and simple. Hartlock had made three attempts on her life now. She had to do something, or he’d kill her.
Looking over Hayden’s shoulder, she spied Rafe Baxter in the doorway. His expression was soft yet concerned. Intense.
Her heart leapt into the back of her throat. She didn’t have a choice anymore. Hartlock wouldn’t stop until she was dead. She had to trust him. Had to take the chance.
She pulled back from Hayden and rested against the pillows he situated behind her.
“Everybody, out.” Hayden turned from her to address everyone still hovering in the room. “I said, everyone out of here.”
Bella licked her lips and held Rafe’s gaze. “Agent Baxter, I think it’s time I answered your questions.”
He slowly approached. “I think that’s a very good idea, Ms. Wyatt. Or would you prefer I call you Remington?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Character is higher than intellect. A great soul will be strong to live as well as think.”
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
“And I haven’t a clue how deep the corruption goes, but to get away with murdering a federal judge, I’d say whoever’s calling the shots with Hartlock and Devane has to be pretty high on the food chain.” She finished telling him the whole story and laid her head back against the pillows.
Rafe could only stare at her, a bit in awe. This woman had single-handedly evaded not only a very cunning ASAC, but also a bureau-wide search. Her story was incredible, which made it hard to believe, but because it was so, that’s why he did.
“She’s not making this up,” Hayden interjected.
“I know.”
The hospital had calmed down after the excitement. Barely any sounds infiltrated the double-guarded room. Only the nurses’ hourly checks interrupted the wee hours. Rafe didn’t like hospitals. They reminded him of when his parents died, when Georgia died, and every time little Savannah had another heart surgery.
“We figured out which case links Daniel to Hartlock and Devane. We just didn’t have the resources to follow up and see who else was involved.” Considering what she’d been through tonight, Remington’s voice came out surprisingly steady.
“I can.” He’d have to be discreet. Maybe he could get Darren to help. Scratch that—Savannah’s surgery was scheduled for Friday. Rafe would have to go it alone.
“If we could just find the witnesses that came forward to Daniel, confessing Hartlock and Devane had made them lie . . .”
Hayden stood. “I’m going to interview the nurses and check on my officer.” He kissed Remington’s forehead. “I’ll get that file for you and be back in a bit.” He met Rafe’s stare. “Don’t leave her alone. Wait until I come back.”
Rafe nodded.
“I’m sorry for being such a snot earlier tonight. I just didn’t know if I could trust you or not.” She smiled.
“And you know now?”
“Not really, but I don’t have much of a choice, now do I?”
At least she was honest. He chuckled, then sobered. “You’ve put me in quite a sticky situation.” If he played this wrong, any chance he ever had of promotion would be gone. Possibly, even his job as an agent could be in jeopardy.
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“You realize you can’t stay hidden now, right? You can’t pretend to be Bella Miller any longer. You have to come back to Little Rock and tell the truth.”
“Who do you think will believe me, Rafe? If we can’t find those witnesses, it’s my word against Hartlock’s and Devane’s. I fled a murder scene. And if Jackson’s in on this, he’ll make sure no one believes a word I say. I have no proof.” She hit her hospital bed with her fist. “Don’t you think if I had proof I would’ve given it up to see my godfather’s murderer punished? I hated walking away and letting Hartlock and Devane and whoever their boss is get away with Daniel’s murder.”
“I don’t think Jackson’s in on it. He sent me an e-mail today that Hartlock would be here tomorrow. If he was involved, I don’t think he’d have sent me the message.”
“Unless he was setting the groundwork to cover for his agents. So it would be documented that Hartlock didn’t arrive until Monday, so my murder would be unrelated.”
That was a reach, but considering everything that’d happened, it was possible. “We have to do something.” But what, he didn’t know. He could protect her, of that he was certain. He’d keep her safe.
“We?” She shook her head. “It’s still my word against theirs.” She held up her hand. “Even if you speak up for me, you weren’t there. They were. They were the agents handling the case.”
But Hartlock had made a mistake tonight. “It’s not just your word anymore. Hartlock spoke to the officer on duty here. That officer can recognize him.”
“That officer might not live. I heard the nurses talking while the doctor was working on him. They think he’s been given something. Even if he lives, he’ll probably be in a coma. Not able to confirm anything.”
“We won’t know that until Simpson gets back.” But what if she was right? “Security cameras.”
“What about them?”
“Hospitals have them. We can probably find Hartlock on one. That would back up your story.”
She slumped back against the pillows. “Or he could say he’d found me and was coming to arrest me.”
He let out a sigh.
“Look, I’ve had three years to run every possible scenario—they can twist and turn almost anything to their advantage. Without any proof at all, I’m the one who ran. I won’t be believed, and you know it.”
She was right, of course, which made him all the more irritated. “The bullets recovered from your house. They can be matched to Hartlock’s gun.”
She laughed. “Do you really think he’d be stupid enough to use his service firearm? He had to use a throwaway.”
He hated this.
“As long as Jackson’s still the SAC, I can’t risk coming in.” She took a sip of water from the cup on the tray beside the bed.
Nick. “How about coming in to a different SAC? Mine in Memphis? I can assure you, Nick Hagar is as clean as they come.”
“Will he believe me?” Her eyes were wide.
“If you’re with me, yes. He trusts my judgment and instincts.”
Her gaze flitted over his face, as if she was searching, debating. “Okay.”
He didn’t know if the emotion rolling through his gut was relief or not, but his heart skidded as he realized she’d at last put her trust in him. “Once I get the file you and Simpson dug up, I can get a couple of agents from Memphis to start looking into things.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Don’t worry. These are guys I trust with my life.”
“It’s just going to take me a while to really trust agents. No slight against you or anything.”
“I understand.” He’d be leery too.
“Nurse Cheryl!” She sat upright.
“Who? What?”
“Hartlock knocked her down when he ran from my room. Maybe she can identify him. We need to let Hayden know so he’ll be su
re to question her.”
“I will. You just sit tight.”
“Rafe! Don’t leave me.” Panic hung in her expression as well as her voice. The way she said his name . . . like a breath. Well, it did some mighty odd things to his insides.
“I’m not. Just sticking my head out the door to talk with the officers there. Okay?”
She nodded. He told the officer to tell Simpson about a nurse named Cheryl, then returned to Remington’s bedside. “Any idea when they’ll release you?”
“Doctor said he’d see me in the morning. Guess I’ll know more then.” She shifted on the bed. “It doesn’t really hurt.”
“It will. Tomorrow, it’ll be sore as all get-out.”
“You’ve been shot?”
“Twice.” And neither time had been a walk in the park. “Want to compare scars?” He grinned, hoping the teasing would break some of the tension.
“I think you’d win.” She yawned. “Sorry.”
“Am I boring you?” He laughed.
“I’m just so tired.”
That was his cue. He stood. “You need to get some rest.”
She bolted upright in the bed and grabbed his arm. “You can’t leave me alone.” The terror in her voice came through loud and clear.
He held her hand. “I wasn’t. I was just going to sit outside the door.” He squeezed her knuckles. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Never again.”
She flashed him a weak smile. “Just stay in here. Do you mind?”
He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat. “Not at all. I’ll be right here. You get some shut-eye.”
“Thanks.” Already sleep thickened her voice. She snuggled down in the hospital bed.
Rafe stood and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. She murmured softly. Strange sensations shivered in his gut. He stared down at her, taking in her delicate features.
With her eyes closed, her lashes looked longer and darker. He could make out little freckles across the bridge of her nose, just like Riley had. “A dusting of fairy kisses,” his mother used to say.