by Sandra Brown
“I bother you?”
She responded with a sound that could have gone either way, but he took it as a yes.
“Good,” he said in a near growl as he used his knee to nudge hers apart. “’Cause you sure as hell have kept me bothered.”
His inner thigh rubbed against hers, creating a different kind of achiness that made her forget all her other twinges and pains. This ache was a feverish yearning that felt good, that made pleasure points throb.
He moved his hand up from her nape to cup the back of her head and held it in place while their mouths opened to each other. During the deep and greedy kiss he worked his free hand under her top and into the elastic waistband of the baggy pants. He lightly ground the heel of his hand against her hipbone while his fingers curved around the slope below her waist. He drew her hips forward. She gladly went along with his subtle invitation, and their parts fit together perfectly on the first attempted connection.
He groaned, “Christ, Kerra. Please tell me I’m gonna get to fuck you.”
The knock sounded loudly directly behind her head.
Her body, bowing tautly against his, went slack. Trapper blistered the wall paint with his raspy swearing as he dropped his hand from the back of her head and pulled the other from her waistband.
She smoothed her hair, turned, and opened the door.
Sheriff Addison was standing just the other side of the threshold, scowling, not at her but looking above her head at Trapper.
Trapper scowled back. “What now? You’re missing a spoon from the family silver chest?”
“It’s The Major.”
Chapter 12
Major Franklin Trapper listened to them discussing his condition.
He couldn’t have picked the doctor out of a crowd, because he’d never actually seen him, but he recognized his voice from having heard him talking to the nurses earlier. He was saying, “He’s been responding to commands. Wiggle your toes. Raise your index finger. I realize that doesn’t sound like much, but believe me, it is.”
John asked, “Can he hear us now?”
“Major Trapper,” the doctor said, raising his volume a notch. “If you can hear us, open your eyes.”
The Major did as commanded, and you would have thought he’d summited Everest without supplemental oxygen. The doctor was a blur in a white lab coat, his face a smudge of flesh with nostrils and eyeholes, but The Major made out his wide smile. He even chuckled. “Welcome back. Your son is here and anxious to see you.”
He stepped aside, and John moved into view. He dwarfed the doctor by half a foot. He was wearing a shearling coat that added breadth to his shoulders and blocked everything else from The Major’s field of vision.
“Hey. It’s good to see you awake. You had everybody worried sick.”
The Major didn’t so much note what John had said as the way he’d said it: like he meant it. His usual insolence was missing.
“You’ve had a rough go,” he continued, then turned his head aside to address the doctor. “Will he have any memory of it?”
“With head injuries, the patient rarely remembers the event itself. He may be able to tell you what he ate for breakfast that morning, but—”
“Oatmeal,” The Major croaked.
That was the first time he’d spoken. It surprised John and the doctor, who shuttled John aside and asked, “You ate oatmeal that morning?”
“Every morning.”
“Oh, I see,” the doctor said. “What year is it?”
He answered.
“Can you tell me your birthday?”
He mumbled the date. The doctor looked to John for verification, and when he gave a curt nod, the doctor beamed again. “Excellent.”
John asked, “How’s he doing with the chest wound?”
“No complications from the surgery. He’s breathing on his own, so we were able to take out the tube. It’s remarkable, really.”
“We’re lucky you were on call in the ER that night,” John said. “If it’d been someone without your experience and know-how, he wouldn’t have made it. You saved his life.” John extended his hand to the doctor, and they shook.
“Thank you, but I believe your dad had something to do with it. He has an indomitable life force. Good karma. A guardian angel, maybe.”
“He bleeds like everybody else,” John said in his blunt manner of speaking. “And he almost bled out.”
“All I know is, in his lifetime he’s had two close calls and survived both. He’ll be even more of a legend now than before, and it’ll start as soon as I address them downstairs.”
“Address who?”
“Media. I’ve been holding them off until I had something to report, good or bad. A hospital spokesperson alerted them that there’d been a development. They’re assembling in a conference room, waiting for me. You’re welcome to join me. In fact, it would be quite special to have you there.”
“No thanks,” John replied, seeming not to have to think twice. “It’s your show.”
The doctor returned his attention to The Major, gave him an encouraging smile, told him that he would be checking on him later, then said to John, “Take a minute or two, but don’t pressure him to answer questions. His anxiety level should be kept to a minimum.”
“Of course. Thanks again.”
The doctor went out, leaving him and his son looking at each other. The moment stretched out until it became awkward, especially for John, who slid off his coat and folded it over his arm. “We’re in the thick of an ice storm.”
The Major didn’t want to talk about the weather. “How long have I…?”
“Been here? Going on forty-eight hours. It’s been touch and go. Glenn and Linda, Hank and Emma, they’re out in the waiting room. Rushed here as soon as word got around that you’d regained consciousness.”
“What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Vaguely. Kerra…”
“Escaped the men who shot you. She fell into the creek bed and suffered some injuries. None too serious. She’s already out of the hospital. Doing okay.” The Major exhaled a long breath as he processed that.
John shifted his weight, moved his coat from one arm to the other, glanced at the row of blipping, blinking machines, and finally came back to him. “I should go and let you rest. You had a close call. Hang in there, all right?”
But even after having said that, he stayed where he was, looking down on him with his all too familiar cut-you-to-the-quick eyes and expression of consternation. His son pretended to approach each of life’s roadblocks with a blasé attitude, indifferent as to whether or not he would clear the hurdle.
His feigned apathy fooled many. But in truth, even as a boy, John never could leave something unfinished, incomplete, or unanswered. If an article got lost, he searched until he found it. He couldn’t put away a broken toy until he’d repaired it. He would stick with a puzzle until he’d solved it. He would push a boulder up a mountainside with his nose if that was the only way he could get it there.
Now, he leaned down until their faces were only inches apart and whispered, “I warned you, didn’t I? Because you didn’t listen, you almost got yourself killed, and Kerra along with you.”
He had just surfaced from a coma, and John wanted to play “I told you so”? How like him. But he had neither the stamina nor the desire to wrangle with John’s stubborn streak just now. He shut him out by closing his eyes.
“Major?” John repeated his name until he gave in and opened his eyes. John looked madder and meaner than he’d ever seen him. “Did you see the sons o’ bitches? Could you identify them?”
He mouthed, No, then held his son’s unwavering stare for several seconds until closing his eyes again, and this time resolutely kept them shut until John stalked out.
Trapper pushed the large red button on the wall, and the pneumatic double doors opened. As expected, the moment he cleared them, he was surrounded by at least two dozen people. Along with Glenn, Hank, and th
eir wives, also there were the lady who cleaned house for The Major, and the crusty old rancher with whom he shared a property line.
The others were strangers to Trapper. He supposed several were from Hank’s congregation, and some were acquaintances of The Major’s that he’d never met. All were eager to hear the update.
“He’s awake, he’s moving on command, and he talked,” he said up front, then recapped what the doctor had said about The Major’s progress, omitting the part about good karma and guardian angels, neither of which Trapper believed in.
Following several outbursts of happy relief, a lady on the fringe of the group stated that The Major’s recovery was nothing short of a miracle, and there were murmurs of agreement. Hank’s wife, Emma, invited anyone who wished to pray to join her in the seating area. Several did. Others drifted toward the elevator bank but not before either hugging Trapper or shaking hands and asking him to pass along their regards to The Major, which he promised to do.
Soon only he, Hank, and Glenn remained huddled.
Hank eyed him with concern. “You okay? You look a little unsteady.”
“Post-traumatic relief. I’m good.”
“What would be good is if you left your goddamn cell phone on from now on,” Glenn grumbled. “Instead of me having to drive all over town in a blizzard looking for you.”
Trapper squared off with him. “I told you. I silenced my phone and slipped it into my coat pocket while you and those Texas Rangers were trying to decide between waterboarding or the rack. Kerra’s room was like a frickin’ greenhouse, so I took off my coat, which is why I didn’t feel my phone vibrate.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Are those hanging offenses?”
Hank divided a look between the two. “Am I missing something?”
“Tin Star here hauled me in for questioning.”
Hank turned to his dad and looked at him with surprise and perplexity.
Glenn was quick to defend himself. “After Kerra told me about the earring, what was I supposed to think?” he demanded of Trapper.
“I’ve already been asked that question once tonight, and I’m not going to honor it again. Think whatever you damn well want to.”
“What were you doing in Kerra’s motel room?”
“Giving her a piece of my mind for going behind my back with incriminating allegations.”
“Not what it looked like to me.”
Trapper didn’t respond to that.
Glenn continued. “She gave us relevant information, otherwise known as cooperating with a criminal investigation. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“Ask me anything.”
“Already did. You told me to screw off and walked out. It was all I could do to keep those Rangers from slapping you in lockup.”
Trapper put his hands on his hips, looked over at Hank, then came back to Glenn. “The Major and I haven’t spoken in years, and the animosity runs both ways, but do you seriously think I went out to his house, hid in the dark, and then shot him?”
“Of course not.”
“Well then, why the third degree?”
In an attempt to mediate, Hank, who by now had caught the gist of what was going on, held up his hand. “Dad was only doing his job, Trapper.”
“I know,” he muttered. “It still sucked.”
“I couldn’t play favorites with you just ’cause we’re friends,” Glenn argued. “It had to be official.”
“Agreed. But you could have called and asked me to come in. You didn’t have to send deputies to fetch me.”
Glenn, red-faced, cussed under his breath as he rhythmically tapped his cowboy hat against the outside of his thigh, but finally he took a breath and relaxed his stance. “I admit that it came off a little more official than I meant for it to.”
Not quite ready to forgive, Trapper held his silence again.
Glenn asked, “When do you think they’ll let me talk to The Major?”
“Not my department. Ask the doctor.”
“Was he lucid?”
“In his right mind, but groggy.”
“Did he see who shot him?”
“I asked; he said no. He asked about Kerra. Eased him to know that she was all right.” He paused before asking, “Are you going to allow her to do that interview tomorrow evening?”
“I’ve mulled it over. Discussed it with key people. We’ve decided it could actually be beneficial. Nervous suspects do stupid things. We’ll have someone standing just outside camera range to signal Kerra not to answer any questions that could impede or compromise the investigation.”
“What about her personal safety?”
“The place will be saturated with uniforms. Plainclothes, too. She’s already got a guard on her, twenty-four–seven.”
“Yeah, about that,” Trapper said, “I blew right past him when I went into her motel room, ready to throttle her.”
“That deputy knows you. Besides, he said she ‘admitted’ you into her room.”
“But he didn’t follow up. He didn’t come to check on her. In the amount of time I was with her before you came banging on the door, I could’ve strangled her a dozen times over.”
“You’d never do that. Not with a cop car out front and all those witnesses who saw you go in.”
Glenn’s tongue-in-cheek response to his serious observation frustrated Trapper and made him want to shake the older man until he saw sense. “Glenn—”
“Hold on.” The sheriff reached for his cell phone, barked his name into it, listened, then said, “Be right down.” As he clicked off, he said to Trapper and Hank, “Press conference. They’re asking to hear directly from me about the crime scene. Hank, give your mother a lift home, please. Tell her I’ll check in when I can. Trapper, keep your damn phone on and…Aw, hell.”
He left them for the elevators, and one arrived just as he punched the down button, which was a good thing because he looked ready to boil over.
“I’m the one with the right to be pissed,” Trapper said to Hank as they watched the elevator doors close. “His best friend is off the critical list. He ought to be dancing a jig. Why’s he so steamed?”
“It’s a culmination of things,” Hank said. “The investigation is going nowhere. They don’t have any solid leads. No suspects. The Rangers are flexing muscle. The FBI has offered their services should they be needed, implying that they are.”
Sensing that Hank had stopped before he was through, Trapper said, “And?”
“And,” Hank said, stretching out the word, “he’s afraid that your intentions toward Ms. Bailey aren’t exactly honorable.”
“He thinks I want to, uh, in preacher speak, have carnal knowledge of her?”
Hank’s expression formed a question mark.
“It’s crossed my mind,” Trapper said. About a thousand times. In his fantasies, he’d had carnal knowledge of her in every way it was to be had, and if Glenn hadn’t interrupted them at the motel, they might be indulging in one of those ways right now.
“Well,” Hank said, “please wait until she’s safely back in Dallas and no longer in Dad’s jurisdiction.”
“What business is it of his?”
“He’s scared something bad will happen to her on his watch, while the whole world is looking on.”
“Something bad has already happened to her.”
“Something worse.”
“I’m worse than falling over a cliff while escaping would-be murderers?”
Hank winced. “Don’t be mad.”
“Mad, hell. I’m flattered.”
Just then Trapper noticed that Emma’s prayer group was breaking up and members of it were moving toward the elevators, giving him an ideal opportunity to split. He reached out and clasped Hank’s right hand. “Thanks for being here. You and the flock grab the elevators. I’ll take the stairs.”
Before Hank could detain him, Trapper headed for the fire stairs, jogged down to the ground floor, and pushed open the door into the lobby just as Kerra came through th
e automatic doors at the main entrance.
She was wearing a coat over the unflattering tracksuit. There was sleet in her hair. Her cheeks and nose were red with cold. Spotting Trapper, she hurried over. “I was coming to look for you.”
“I was coming to find you.”
“The Major?”
“Against all odds, it looks like he’s going to make it.” Talking over the questions he saw forming on her lips, he said, “Your car’s an icicle. How’d you get here?”
“I hitched a ride in the van with the crew. They were deployed to help cover the press conference. I had them drop me here in front, and they drove around.”
“I thought you had a deputy guarding you.”
“He followed us in his patrol car.” She pointed through the glass doors. Parked at the curb was a sheriff’s unit, engine running, lights flashing. “He’s going to wait there. I told him I wouldn’t be long.”
Trapper hooked his hand around her elbow and steered her down a corridor. “You weren’t invited to the press conference?”
“Another reporter is covering it. Besides, I have an exclusive with the son. How is The Major?”
“I told you.”
She pulled up and brought him around to face her. “I want details.”
He gave her the summary and answered a dozen questions. When she was satisfied that he’d told her everything he knew, she said in wonderment, “I can’t believe it. It’s a miracle.”
“No miracle. Good trauma surgeon.” Trapper took her arm again and propelled her to the end of the wide hall, where he shoved open a heavy metal door, an employee exit, and ushered her through.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ll give you a ride back to the motel.”
“I hoped to see The Major.”
“They won’t let you tonight.”
“Just long enough to say hello and tell him—”
“They won’t let you.”