by Joanna Wayne
Chapter Two
“They’ll be awhile. Would you like to see your aunt now?”
Pam’s question jerked Durk back to the situation that had brought him to the hospital in the first place. He nodded his agreement and followed her back down the hall, though his concern for Meghan didn’t let up.
“How qualified is the trauma unit to handle head injuries?”
“We have one of the best in Dallas. Your friend is in good hands.”
“Is there a neurologist on duty?”
“There is and several others they can call in if your friend’s condition warrants it.”
“Good.”
“You seem very concerned. The patient must be a very close friend.”
He let Pam’s comment go without a response while he tried to deal with the emotions bucking inside him. It had been two years since he’d seen Meghan. But he doubted there had been a day since then that he hadn’t thought about her. Not a night that he hadn’t ached to hold her in his arms again.
He heard Sybil’s voice even before they reached her curtained cubicle. She sounded a bit croaky, but her words were distinct.
Pam shoved the curtain back enough to peek inside. “You have a visitor, Mrs. Ratcliff.”
“Who is it?”
“Your nephew, Durk Lambert.”
“Durk. Really? My sister-in-law must be calling the whole family.”
“He can come in,” another female voice said.
Pam pushed back the curtain and ushered Durk inside. “I’ll be back to check on you and your aunt in a bit,” she said. “But don’t leave before the trauma team can talk to you.”
“No, I won’t.” That was a definite.
A female in a white doctor’s coat looked up from the chart she was reading. “I’m Dr. Preston. And this is Bill Henley,” she said, motioning to the nurse who was adjusting a blood pressure cuff on his aunt’s arm. “We’ll be looking after your aunt.”
“Except that I don’t need looking after,” Sybil protested. “What I need is to go home.”
“If you keep saying that, you’re going to hurt my feelings,” Bill teased.
“It’s not you. In fact, you should go home with me,” Sybil said. “A few days on the ranch and away from all these sick people would do you good.”
“Amen to that,” Bill agreed. “Where do I sign up?”
“As you can tell, she’s feeling better,” Dr. Preston said. “The good news is she didn’t have a heart attack.”
“That’s a relief,” Durk agreed.
“I never thought it was a heart attack,” Sybil said. “But when I told Bessie I was having chest pains, she insisted on calling for an ambulance.”
“Always better to err on the side of caution,” Dr. Preston said. “Chest pains are nothing to fool around with.”
Sybil nodded. “I lost my husband to a heart attack almost eleven years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Dr. Preston handed the chart to Bill. “But that means you know how important cardiac care is.”
Bill took the chart and left the room.
Durk stepped to the side of the bed, leaned over and gave his aunt a peck on the cheek. She looked a bit frail and her thick black wig had twisted on her head so that it looked as if it were trying to crawl away.
“When did the pains start?” Durk asked.
“About an hour ago.”
“And you were feeling okay before that?”
“I haven’t been feeling great the last few days, but I haven’t really been sick, either—just tired and out of breath easily. Then, like I just explained to Dr. Preston, Bessie and I were walking to my car in the parking lot outside Neiman Marcus when all of a sudden I had stabbing pains in my chest. I told Bessie what was going on, and she called 911.”
Durk turned to the doctor. “But you’re sure that wasn’t her heart?”
“No. I’m only sure she wasn’t having a heart attack. The symptoms could have been caused by any number of things. We won’t know for certain until we run some tests. Bill’s arranging for those now.”
“Pshaw. It was just indigestion,” Sybil said. “I don’t need any tests.”
Durk took her hand in his. “I think we should leave that decision to Dr. Preston.”
“A good plan,” the doctor agreed.
“What kind of tests are we talking about?” Durk asked.
“I’ve ordered a chest X-ray and some blood work for starters. Then we’ll work from there until we can pinpoint the problem.”
“I’m already feeling much better,” Sybil insisted. She tried to sit up, but winced in pain and let her head fall back to the thin pillow.
“I won’t have to stay the night, will I?” Sybil asked, though her tone was less argumentative than before.
“Why don’t we decide that after I see the initial test results?”
Sybil nodded in agreement but she looked worried and her breathing seemed shallow even to Durk. Someone should probably stay with her, but he doubted it would be him. Any other time, he’d easily be up to the task, but seeing Meghan in that condition had him so shaken it was difficult to focus on anyone else.
“I’m going to step outside and call Mom,” he said. “She made me promise to let her know how you were the second I saw you.”
“Tell Carolina there’s no use in her rushing up here. I’m fine,” Sybil said. “And there’s no reason for you to stay, either. I’m sure I can drive home.”
“I’ll give Mom that message.” Which she’d immediately ignore. And then she’d question him about why his plans had changed and he wouldn’t be coming to the ranch—at least not tonight.
Once he’d made the call to his mother and she’d declared she was on her way to the hospital, he walked back to the area where they’d taken Meghan. One of the nurses approached him.
“Are you here with the patient who was assaulted?”
“Meghan Sinclair?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t come in with her, but she’s a friend and I’m greatly concerned about her.”
“Good. Hopefully you can help us. It’s urgent that we get in touch with a family member.”
Panic swept through him. “How serious is this?”
“Her condition is still being assessed, but she’s unable to give us any medical history. We need to talk to someone who’ll know if she has any allergies or other medical conditions we should be aware of. And we need a next of kin to make medical decisions until she is able to do that for herself. Do you know how to reach Ms. Sinclair’s parents?”
“Her parents are dead.”
“What about siblings?”
“She has a sister who lived in Connecticut,” he said. “I assume she still lives there.”
“Can you give us the sister’s name and phone number?”
“Meghan called her Lucy. She’s married, and I don’t know her last name or her phone number. I’m sure Meghan’s assistant, Ben Conroe, can give you everything you need.”
“Do you have his phone number?”
“Not off hand, but I can get it. In fact, he needs to be notified. I know he’d want to be here.”
“Would he also have her medical insurance information?”
“He’ll at least know who holds the policy.”
“Then have him contact us at this number ASAP.” She handed him a business card for the trauma unit. “Tell him to ask for Jane. I’ll be here until midnight.”
“I’ll get in touch with Ben,” Durk said, “as soon as you give me the honest truth about Meghan’s medical condition.”
“I’m sorry, but since you’re not a family member, the only information I can give you is that she’s being treated.”
Durk understood rules, but he’d never been too keen on following them. “I’m the only one here to make sure she’s taken care of. You want me to cooperate, then do the same,” he said.
It was a bluff. He’d cooperate and do what was best for Meghan no matter what they did or didn’t tell hi
m.
“Wait here,” the nurse said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
A couple of minutes later, she returned with a man in a white physician’s lab coat. The apprehension on the man’s face as he stuck out his hand was anything but reassuring.
His handshake was firm as he introduced himself as Dr. Levy.
“I’m Durk Lambert, and I appreciate you talking to me.”
“I understand you’re a close friend of Ms. Sinclair,” the doctor said, his voice matter-of-fact.
“Yes,” Durk agreed even though it was an exaggeration. “How serious are her injuries? I mean, are we talking critical?”
“All I can tell you now is that her condition is being assessed.”
“Exactly what does that entail?”
“Examination, routine neurological tests and a CAT scan.”
“Is she conscious?”
“She’s alert, but exhibiting altered mental status.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s confused. That frequently goes along with a concussion. But we do need to contact a family member. That’s the one thing you can do at this point to help your friend.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Durk said. “In the meantime, I want to make certain that Meghan receives the best care possible, even if that means airlifting her to a different facility.”
The doctor’s brows arched. “At your expense?”
“Yes. I can sign whatever is needed.”
“That’s a very generous offer, Mr. Lambert, but there’s no reason to move her at this time.”
“In that case, when can I see her?”
“That depends on her progress and the test results, but likely within the next several hours. It will be good for her to hear a familiar voice—unless there’s some reason why seeing you would upset her. There isn’t, is there?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll let you know when you can see her.”
Durk reconsidered his answer to that last question as he walked away. He and Meghan hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Not that she’d made a scene. Meghan Sinclair was not one to lose control. But she’d clearly dumped him.
That had been two years ago. When he’d recommended her professional services to his brother Tague just months ago she’d accepted and done a bang-up job.
She’d moved on. For all he knew, she was in a serious romantic relationship. The thought bothered him, though it shouldn’t. He’d bow out quickly enough if he found out that was true.
It wouldn’t change the fact that he planned to make damn sure that whoever did this to Meghan would not get off scot-free.
But the first order of business was contacting Ben Conroe. He searched for a quiet space. When he found none, he walked outside and into the gathering twilight. The siren of an incoming ambulance punctuated the brisk air as he called Meghan’s office.
He got a busy signal instead of the answering machine, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, that meant Ben was still at work. The office was on the second floor of a three-story office building across the street from a strip mall only a few blocks away.
Durk jogged to his truck and a few seconds later was heading out of the parking lot. He dialed the number again as he sped toward her office. The line remained busy.
He glanced at his watch as he parked in the mostly empty lot. It was ten before six. He entered and raced up the stairs to the second floor. He tapped on the closed door to her office. When no one answered, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
Ben was there, but he was not on the phone. He wouldn’t be talking—not now and not ever again. A bullet had apparently ripped through his brain.
Durk went into defensive mode instantly, reaching for the pistol that lay near Ben’s body, listening and looking for any sign the killer was still on the premises.
The office remained as quiet as death.
Feeling a bit more confident that he was alone, Durk stepped closer to the body. Ben’s eyes were open, staring and lifeless. Durk stooped and checked Ben’s pulse, knowing there wouldn’t be one. The body was still warm. He’d missed the killer by mere minutes.
Reality burned in the pit of his stomach as he tried to assess the situation with some degree of clarity. Ben was dead. And whoever had killed him had probably planned the same fate for Meghan. Something had apparently stopped him before he could finish the job on her—possibly the neighbor who’d called the ambulance.
Fury and determination strained every muscle as Durk took out his phone and dialed 911. He gave the operator the information. She asked a few questions, assured him the cops were on their way and warned him not to touch anything before they arrived.
A little late for that since he was likely already holding the murder weapon. Survival topped crime scene protocol any day. Too bad he hadn’t thought to grab his own pistol from the car, but then he hadn’t expected to crash a murder scene.
He let his gaze roam the small outer office. File cabinet drawers were open, loose papers strewn about the floor and across what had been Ben’s desk.
Gun still in hand, he crossed the room and, using the tips of his fingers to hopefully keep from destroying possible fingerprints, he cautiously turned the knob and opened the door to Meghan’s office. The usually neat space was a total wreck.
Whatever the murderous bastard had wanted, Durk assumed he’d found it. Otherwise, he’d have still been here when Durk showed up.
When the cops arrived, they’d take over. From that point on, everything in the office would be in their possession and Durk would be the outsider—or possibly even a suspect since his prints would be all over the Smith & Wesson still clutched in his right hand.
He’d deal with the suspicions, but the idea of losing control disturbed him to the max. The least he could do was locate the insurance information for the doctor so that they could check for a history of allergies.
He made his way to the ravaged file cabinet, stepping over scattered files and loose papers as best he could. Before he could locate the insurance file, the office phone rang. Durk answered quickly.
“Hello,” the female voice responded. “Is Meghan around?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Lucy. Who is this?”
Durk’s mouth went dry. Exactly who he needed to talk to, but he hated the news he had to deliver. “I’m a friend of Meghan’s,” he explained, working to keep his voice steady. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Lucy. There’s been an incident.”
“What kind of incident?”
“Meghan was attacked in her apartment this afternoon. She’s in the hospital.”
He heard the gasp and then the tremble in the voice. “Oh, no. How bad is she hurt?”
“They’re running tests now to determine the seriousness of her condition.”
“What hospital? I want to talk to her.”
“Grantland, but she can’t talk just yet. Her doctor is eager to hear from you, though. He needs to know if Meghan has any drug allergies that he should be aware of.”
“Where’s Ben? Is he with Meghan?”
Durk considered his answer. He hated to throw even more at Lucy when he knew so few facts. “Ben’s not available, but I’ll be with Meghan until she’s out of danger.”
“Who are you?”
“Durk Lambert. We’ve never met, but I’m a friend of Meghan’s.”
“Yes. I know who you are.” Her tone told him she’d not only heard of him, but that he had at least two strikes against him in her book.
“How are you involved in this?” she demanded.
“By chance. I was at the emergency room checking on my aunt when Meghan was brought in. And it doesn’t really matter what you think of me right now, Lucy. The only thing that matters is Meghan, and I promise you that I will see that she has the best of care. Right now you need to call Dr. Levy. Do you have a pen or pencil handy?”
“Wait.”
He could hear her muffled voice talking to someone els
e. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone. A few seconds later a male voice addressed him. “This is Johnny Delmar, Lucy’s husband. Give me the doctor’s phone number.”
Durk did and then gave Johnny his number, as well. “I’d like permission to hire a private nurse around the clock if that seems warranted.”
“I don’t see any problems with that,” Johnny said. “Except I’m sure Ben Conroe will see that Meghan has whatever she needs.”
“That won’t be possible.”
“Why not? Doesn’t Ben still work for Meghan?”
Durk hesitated, hating to get into a drawn-out explanation when the cops would arrive any second. But better that Johnny be there when Lucy heard about the murder. “You may as well know now as later. Ben’s dead. He was shot in the head.”
A few seconds of silence followed that pronouncement. “Were Ben and Meghan together?”
“No.”
“What the hell is going on down there in Dallas?”
“I’ve told you all I know. I’m expecting the cops any second, but right now Meghan’s medical concerns top the priority list.”
“Absolutely. We have a problem here, as well,” Johnny said. “Lucy is going to want to catch the next flight to Texas, but she’s eight months pregnant. She’s having some complications and her obstetrician has ordered total bed rest until the delivery.”
“Keep Lucy in Connecticut,” Durk encouraged. “When I leave here, I’m going straight back to the hospital and I’ll be there as long as Meghan is at risk. Count on it. I’ll keep Lucy informed of everything.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not sure how much faith Lucy has in you.”
“I understand that. But I still consider Meghan a friend. Nothing that happened between us changed that. I’ll make certain Meghan gets the best of care.”
Durk heard footsteps in the hallway. “I’ve got to go now. The cops are here.”
He hung up the phone and walked into the outer office, leaving the murder weapon behind him on Meghan’s desk.
“Hands over your head and face the wall,” one of the cops demanded. All weapons were drawn and pointed straight at him.
For once in his life, Durk followed orders without as much as a blink.