by Sandra Brown
“No boo-hoos for me, thank you.”
“That’s my point. You rode it out. Finished growing up without any serious missteps and turned out okay. Your life was on track, and things seemed to be fine between you and The Major. Till you left the ATF. Y’all had more than a falling out. It was a severance.”
“As you said, it tore him up. He couldn’t forgive my failure.”
“What did you fail at? What were you working on?”
“That’s classified, Glenn. I can’t talk about it.”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay, I won’t talk about it.”
Glenn stared at him hard, not with a friend’s or surrogate dad’s eyes, but with those of a lawman seeking truth behind a lie. “Your quarrel with The Major was over you leaving the bureau. That’s it?”
Trapper tried to keep his expression unreadable. “That’s it.”
Glenn still looked like he didn’t believe him, but eventually he stood and put his hat on. “I’m gonna check in with the office. You staying?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna hang around until they let me see him.”
Glenn placed a firm hand on Trapper’s shoulder. “The hell of it is, you love him.”
Trapper didn’t say anything. Glenn nodded understanding, removed his hand, and left him.
When he was out of earshot, Trapper murmured, “That is the hell of it.”
Kerra had hoped the dawn would bring some relief from the terrible night.
But the day began with the discovery that her shoulder bag had been misplaced and no one seemed to know what had happened to it.
Using the hospital phone on her nightstand, she called Gracie and explained the situation. An hour later, Gracie Lambert walked into her hospital room, carrying a shopping bag in each hand.
She was a familiar and welcome sight with her nimbus of salt-and-pepper hair and eyeglasses with bright orange frames. Her demeanor could be either maternal or martial, and she could switch between the two in a heartbeat, a skill that made her an excellent producer. This morning she was in motherly mode.
“God, it’s good to see you,” she said. “We’ve been so worried. The others wanted to come with me, but I didn’t think you needed a mob scene.”
“Not this morning,” Kerra said. “But I appreciate their concern. Did you ask them about my bag?”
“Yes, and it was unanimous. After the interview was finished, we packed up all the gear and loaded it into the van. You kept your bag with you.”
Kerra had known that to be the case, but she’d clung to the faint hope that she wasn’t remembering correctly. Now, with the crew members’ verification that she’d had the bag with her, she was both disturbed and desolate.
Gracie asked, “Are you sure the hospital staff hasn’t stashed it somewhere?”
“Everything I had on me was collected in the ER and put into a plastic bag. The bag accompanied me to this room and was placed in the closet. I buzzed a nurse first thing this morning. My lips were dry, and I asked her to fetch the lip salve out of my makeup kit. No makeup kit, no shoulder bag. Everything else was there, even my ruined clothes and shoes.”
“The police must have it.”
“Two detectives from the sheriff’s office were here earlier. They questioned me for an hour, until the doctor stopped by on his rounds and ran them out. They’re coming back after lunch. In the meantime, they promised to check with the first responders, but they didn’t hold out hope that my bag would turn up. They have a log of the evidence collected from The Major’s house, and the only thing belonging to me is my coat, which was on a living room chair.”
“No Louis Vuitton.”
Kerra shook her head.
“It’s not like that thing could be easily overlooked, either,” Gracie said. “It’s huge. How much cash were you carrying?”
“Not enough to cry over.”
“Anything of real value?”
“The bag is more valuable than anything in it.”
“At least you have this.” Gracie passed Kerra her laptop. “You did leave it in the van while we were doing the interview. I gather you’ve got passwords stored for credit cards and such.”
Kerra nodded absently. Canceling the cards would be a tedious project, but far more worrisome was that if the perpetrators had her bag, they had access to her: personal things that she used every day, her calendar, phone, key ring, driver’s license and all the information on it. In essence they’d have an open gateway into her life.
“Here’s your new phone.” Gracie handed her one of the shopping bags from a local supermarket. “Not as high tech as what you’re used to, but it’ll get you through the next few days. The number showed up in the LED, so I have it. Give it an hour or more to fully charge. I also picked up some toiletries.”
“Thank you.” Kerra placed the sacks aside, too upset over the missing shoulder bag to be distracted by either the new phone or personal hygiene.
“Have you talked to your aunt?”
“Twice.” Kerra motioned toward the hospital telephone on the nightstand. “She offered to come down, but my uncle is recovering from a knee replacement. He needs her more than I do. I couldn’t ask her to abandon him just to sit here and pat my hand. I assured her that I was surrounded by caring people and that I would be fine.”
Gracie gave her a critical once-over and sat down on the corner of the bed. “Okay, enough with the brave face. How are you really? Pain meds not adequate? Or is it something in addition to your injuries that has you upset?”
Trapper. He upset her. The way he studied her without moving or speaking was upsetting. What was he looking for? It was upsetting to her that he’d come back without the sheriff’s knowledge, demanding to know if she’d seen the assailants. Her chest grew tight with foreboding each time she remembered his parting words.
But she didn’t want to share any of that with Gracie, who still didn’t know that she’d been in contact—close contact—with The Major’s son. The producer hadn’t fully forgiven her for keeping it a secret until hours before the broadcast that she was the girl in the iconic photo. Of course Gracie had been elated over the new dimension it would give the interview. If she knew about Kerra’s interaction with Trapper, she’d jump on it.
Kerra shuddered to think what his reaction would be to a media blitz with him as its topic.
In response to Gracie’s question, she confessed to feeling overwhelmed. “I’m rarely daunted by anything, but this is my second life-threatening experience.”
“That would give one pause.”
“Not just that. I get ill when I think of what could have happened to you and the crew.” She reached for the other woman’s hand and squeezed. “If you had returned for me five minutes sooner, one minute sooner, and walked in on them, you could have all been killed.”
“I won’t kid you, we talked about that among ourselves. Last night I slept in Troy’s room on the extra bed. Silly, but I didn’t want to be by myself.”
Remembering her panic attack and nightmare, Kerra said softly, “Not silly at all.”
Gracie said, “We’ve given our statements and have been cleared to leave.”
“So I was told.”
The detectives had informed her that the five had been questioned separately. Their accounts were in such accord that they’d freed them to return to Dallas, but had stipulated that they could be subpoenaed later, depending on the progression of the investigation and resultant arrests and trials.
“What time are you leaving?”
Gracie repositioned her eyeglasses and took a deep, bolstering breath. “Our news director made me swear I’d ask you one more time.”
Without hesitation, Kerra said, “No. I won’t even consider giving an interview now. It would be insensitive, exploitative, and in the poorest possible taste.”
“When has the media been sensitive? And the industry thrives on exploitation and poor taste.”
“Well, I don’t. I esteem The Major. He’s fighting fo
r his life. I’m not about to cash in on that.”
In a leading tone, Gracie said, “You know he has a son.”
Kerra gave a noncommittal nod. “The Major put him off limits.”
“Well, The Major is currently comatose. This son is his only family, and in light of Sunday’s interview, you have an inroad to him.”
“Which I wouldn’t dream of abusing.”
“I told the news director you’d stick to your guns, but you know him. There’s a Nielsen rating where his heart is supposed to be. Besides, this time he’s only the mouthpiece. The request is coming from the network. It would be an extraordinary follow-up, Kerra.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” the producer said. “But out-of-the-stratosphere ratings aside, it would be the honorable thing to do.”
Kerra gave her a look. “This I’ve got to hear.”
“Don’t you owe it to the public to share what The Major said in those last few minutes with you? If he doesn’t pull through, and it’s looking like he won’t, you’ll have been the last person on earth who talked to him.”
“It was a personal conversation, Gracie. He wasn’t in his public persona, and neither was I. Nothing we said would enlighten or edify the ‘public.’”
Gracie hesitated, then said, “Promise you won’t throw a bedpan at me for saying this.”
“But?”
“Are you sure you want to pass on this career leg-up? It’s unprecedented. A journalist’s fantasy scenario. Some might think you’d be crazy not to take advantage of it.”
“Some? What do you think?”
“You’ve been traumatized. You’re still reeling from it. Today you’re battered and bruised and grateful merely to be alive. But in a week, you’ll be recovered, back in the swing of things, business as usual. This could launch you straight to the network, but if you don’t seize the opportunity, it’s unlikely you’ll get another.”
“That sounds almost like a warning.”
“Not a warning, honey. A reality. I’m just telling it like it is. You can’t be squeamish or nice and become a star in this industry.”
Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Kerra laid her head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
Gracie patted her hand before releasing it. “The crew and I have checked back into the motel. The station sent another reporter to cover updates on The Major’s condition and the pomp and circumstance of the funeral if he dies. But we’re standing by, waiting on a call from you, ready to roll whenever you are. Think it over.”
Kerra did little else for the rest of the day except for the time spent being questioned by the sheriff’s office detectives.
In late afternoon she was brought a dinner tray, but the food was unappetizing, and she wasn’t hungry anyway.
She watched the evening network news. Being the subject of the story rather than the reporter gave her a far different perspective. She felt a surge of compassion for all the individuals she had placed in the spotlight while they were in the vortex of a life crisis.
The Dallas–Fort Worth stations covered the story even more extensively, some recapping the Pegasus Hotel bombing. A spokesperson for the sheriff’s office assured that the attempted assassins would be identified, captured, and brought to justice. Several reports were broadcast live from outside the hospital, where a candlelight vigil was being held for The Major.
The evening wore on until it neared what she considered to be bedtime.
She’d been given a sponge bath that morning in her hospital bed, but she went into the bathroom to give herself another using the toiletries Gracie had brought her. She cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair.
The harsh bathroom light was unforgiving. She had countless scratches, abrasions, and bruises all over, including her face. A large bruise extended down from the corner of her mouth to beneath her chin, as though she’d taken an uppercut to the jaw. Another spread upward from her eyebrow and into her hairline. Both were tender to the touch, and she could count on days of discoloration. But the damage was minimal considering what it could’ve been.
She could be dead.
She pulled on a pair of plain white socks and a fresh hospital gown, tying it at the neck. She switched out the light and opened the door, but drew up short on the threshold.
Trapper was here.
Chapter 9
Her heart tripped, but she couldn’t have specified why. Fear? Or something entirely different?
However, exhibiting anything except annoyance would be a mistake. “Why do you feel at liberty to keep sneaking into my room?”
“Only twice now.”
“Kindly leave.”
“I don’t do anything kindly.”
“That I can certify.”
He eyed her up and down, making her uncomfortably aware of how short and insubstantial the hospital gown was and also of how defenseless she was. “Are you going to leave or force me to create a scene?”
“Tonight’s deputy on guard? He—”
“I have a guard?” She shot a glance toward the door.
“Yes, Kerra, you have a guard.” He said it as though he couldn’t fathom her not knowing that or grasping the necessity of it. “He’s Sheriff Addison’s man and knows how thick Glenn and I are, didn’t even question me coming in, so I doubt he’ll kick me out.” He gestured toward her. “No more IV.”
The sudden switch in topics threw her for a moment, then she followed his gaze down to her right hand. A bandage covered the spot where the shunt had been. “They took it out this afternoon.”
“Then you must be doing okay.”
“Okay” was going to take more than a single day, but she pretended to agree. “Have you seen The Major?”
“Twice today.”
“And?”
“No better, but no worse. Holding steady. Which at this point is good.”
“That’s what was reported on the evening news. I’m happy to have it confirmed.”
“The weather has taken a turn. It started sleeting about an hour ago.”
“The nurses have been talking about it. They’re worried about getting home after their shifts. But I’m told the weather hasn’t kept the media away.”
“No, they’re here. Like vultures circling a wounded animal, waiting for it to die.”
“That’s a distressing analogy.”
“But fitting.”
She had to agree and guiltily acknowledged that if she weren’t inside here, she would be out there competing with her colleagues for a scoop. “Did you have any trouble getting past the throng?”
“No, I have an avoidance technique.”
“Which is?”
“I tell them to fuck off.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
He was about to say something but changed his mind, disappointing her. She would have liked knowing what it was. Instead he asked how much longer she would remain in the hospital.
“Barring any setbacks, I’ll be released tomorrow.”
“Hmm. You still look puny, though. Here.” He rolled aside the table bridging the bed and motioned her toward it. “Climb in.”
She stayed where she was.
“Come on,” he said. “You look like you’re about to faint. If you do, I’ll have to scoop you up in that bare-assed gown and call for help. Talk about creating a scene.”
This had been the longest stretch of time that she’d been out of bed and, damn him for the accurate observation, she was feeling weak and light-headed. With what dignity she could muster, she reached around to her backside and held the gown together as she minced over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it.
“Need help getting in?”
He reached out to assist her, but she shrank from him. “I’ll sit.” She tugged a corner of the sheet out from under her hip and arranged it over her lap and thighs. “Why’d you come back tonight?”
“Your interview with The Major is on YouTube. I finally got around to watching it. You did
a good job.”
“Thank you.”
“I brought you those.” He called her attention to a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of wilted carnations tied with a garish glitter bow. He’d stuck it into a vase of elegant long-stemmed roses sent by the network.
“Thank you.”
“Not that you need more flowers.”
The room had been filling up throughout the day. “People have been very thoughtful.”
“Who’s Mark?”
She looked at him with incredulity. “You read the enclosure cards?”
“Just that one.”
She glanced at the elaborate arrangement of calla lilies and white hydrangeas. “Why that one?”
“It’s the fanciest bunch. I figured the sender must be someone special.”
“He is. He’s a very special friend.”
“Yeah?” His gaze dropped to her lap, and when it reconnected with hers, he said, “A friend with benefits?”
That split-second glance, coupled with the insinuation, brought heat to her cheeks, which only minutes ago had been abnormally pale in the bathroom mirror. His audacity was insufferable, but her embarrassed reaction to it was even more so. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”
He didn’t smile but there was amusement in his eyes. Maybe he was remembering that when he had kissed her, she’d done nothing to discourage or stop him. He’d ended it before she had.
However, the memory of that swift but potent kiss was immediately elbowed aside by ones of him demanding to know what or who she’d seen before barely escaping The Major’s house.
The space around her seemed to shrink, mostly due to Trapper’s large presence and his cocky stance: feet apart, jacket spread open because he’d slid his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans. And those damn blue eyes, penetrating and intimidating.
Panic swooped toward her like a bird of prey, blocking out the light with its wide wings, stealing her breath with their noisy flapping. Her hand moved to her throat. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Are you going to throw up?”
Immediately he was there, bending over her, holding a plastic basin under her chin with one hand. His other he placed in the center of her back, where the gown was open. Against her hot skin, she felt the cool imprint of each fingertip, the pressure of his wide palm.