Big Shot

by Joanna Wayne

  Chapter Three

  Bearing a family name well-known in Dallas’s social, business and philanthropic circles frequently offered significant perks and dismaying pitfalls. In this situation, it definitely worked to Durk’s advantage.

  The cops were actually giving him a chance to explain the circumstances instead of just hauling him off in a squad car to be interrogated at the local precinct.

  He detailed every move he’d made since he’d first spotted Meghan at the hospital, giving particular attention to his actions at the crime scene. But even though they listened to his account, he wasn’t sure they were convinced of his innocence.

  “Check it out for yourselves,” Durk said. “Talk to the cops who answered the 911 call to Meghan Sinclair’s apartment. Talk to the E.R. staff at Grantland. They’ll tell you I was there to see my aunt when they brought Meghan in and that Dr. Levy specifically requested that I help them gather needed medical and insurance information.”

  “And so you rushed to the office of a woman you admittedly hadn’t seen for two years?”

  “I figured her assistant was the best source of the information they needed. Like I said, I remembered she didn’t have any family in the area.”

  One of the cops scratched a craggy jaw that was sporting a five o’clock shadow. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to call the assistant instead of rushing over here?”

  “I did, but the line was busy. Besides, I figured this was the kind of news better delivered in person.”

  “How long has Mr. Conroe worked for Ms. Sinclair?”

  “At least two years,” Durk said. “Probably longer.”

  “Did Meghan mention any problems between her and Ben?”

  “No, they appeared to be very close, but like I said, I haven’t actually talked to Meghan in a couple of years.”

  “Yet here you are,” one of the cops noted. “A busy executive like you, rushing in to help an ex-girlfriend.”

  The sarcasm didn’t warrant a response.

  “Were Meghan and Ben romantically involved?” another cop asked.

  “Not to my knowledge.” At least they hadn’t been two years ago. “As far as I know they were just coworkers and friends,” he added, though he couldn’t imagine what relevance a relationship between them would have to the case. It wasn’t as if Meghan had shot him and then beat herself up.

  But Meghan was going to take the news of Ben’s murder hard. And knowing her, she’d be out looking for the killer the second she was released from the hospital—if not before.

  A middle-aged cop with salt-and-pepper hair, a nose that showed signs of being broken more than once and a spare tire that hid his belt had asked most of the questions. His was the only name Durk had caught in the noisy confusion that accompanied their arrival. Officer Jordon.

  Durk addressed his next question to him. “Do I need to contact my attorney or are you going to release me to return to the hospital and check on Meghan Sinclair?”

  “First off, I need to request a crime scene unit. Then I’ll make a few calls to verify your story. If everything checks out, you’re free to go—for the time being. However, I expect you’ll be contacted shortly by a detective. Are you staying in town for the Thanksgiving holiday?”

  “Yes, I’ll either be at my home or at the hospital. And you can assure the detective I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. If he thinks a reward will help flush out the perpetrator, I’ll supply the funds.”

  Durk waited while Officer Jordon made the calls, his mind struggling to make sense of the attack and murder. Had the killer come to the office first, killed Ben and then gone after Meghan?

  Had he gone to both places looking for something in particular—like files on one of her cases? Had he found them, or had Bill Mackey frightened him away before he could fully search her condo?

  Or was this someone Meghan had helped put away coming back to exact revenge?

  At this point, those were all merely theories. Hopefully when Meghan was talking again, she’d be able to explain everything and identify the man who’d assaulted her and killed Ben.

  Assuming they were one and the same.

  Fortunately, the officer’s calls backed up everything Durk had told them. Once released, Durk made a quick exit before the CSU team arrived.

  On his way to the car, he called the number the nurse named Jane had given him. As soon as he identified himself, she thanked him for having Lucy call them but still refused to release any information on Meghan.

  He figured Pam might be more accommodating, but when he got her on the phone, all she could tell him was that his aunt was being admitted to the hospital for observation and further tests.

  Which meant Durk would undoubtedly run into his mother before the night was over. She’d be a much tougher interrogator than the cops had been as to his involvement with Meghan.

  One thing you could always count on as a Lambert: your secrets never stayed that way for long. Not that he had any reason to hide his past relationship with Meghan. They had been lovers for a while and then they weren’t.

  The past was simple. The feelings churning inside him now were inextricably complicated.

  Durk made a stop at his penthouse condo to take a quick shower and change from his bloody dress clothes into a pair of jeans, a blue pullover shirt and his boots.

  He also took a couple of over-the-counter painkillers. What had started as a dull ache while he was still at the scene of the crime had burgeoned into a hammering throb at both temples.

  By the time he made it back to the hospital, stars and a crescent moon were shining in the night sky. Not that they ever sparkled inside the Dallas city limits with the same brilliance as they did on the ranch.

  It dawned on him as he parked that he’d never taken Meghan to the Bent Pine Ranch.

  He climbed from behind the wheel and walked to the E.R. entrance, hoping to dodge interference and make his way back to the trauma unit on his own.

  No such luck. Pam spotted him as he walked through the door. She waved from behind the glass partition and motioned him over to where she was talking to a patient.

  “Give me a minute to finish here and I’ll be right with you,” she chirped. She looked back to her patient and handed the woman a clipboard. “Just fill this out while you’re waiting and sign the areas that are highlighted. Bring it back to the desk when you finish.”

  As the woman walked away, Pam turned her full attention back to Durk. “I have a break due, so I can show you to your aunt’s room.”

  “Actually, I was going to check on Meghan Sinclair first.”

  She frowned. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a detective from the DPD waiting to talk to her. I expect he’ll get first dibs when the doctor says she’s up for visitors. And if you’re hanging around back there, he’ll likely question you, as well.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Durk said. “But thanks for the warning.” He smiled and walked away before she could join him.

  Durk found Jane in the E.R. nurse’s station arguing with a tall man in jeans and a tan-colored sport coat. The guy looked to be in his early forties and easily as tall as Durk’s six-foot-two-inch frame. Hard body. Craggy, tan face. Thick sandy-colored hair that looked as if it had been held in place with a glue gun.

  Jane looked up, her expression flashing relief when she saw Durk. “Here’s Mr. Lambert now.” She motioned Durk over. “This detective has been looking for you.”

  “Has there been any change in Meghan’s condition?” Durk asked.

  “All I can tell you at this point is that she’s being seen by the trauma medical staff, the same as I told Detective Sam Smart here. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I need to get back to nursing. That is what they pay me for.”

  “I still need to talk to Ms. Sinclair the minute she’s able,” the detective said to her back as she walked away.

  Jane didn’t respond.

  The detective stared at
Durk as if he were sizing him up for a new suit—or a fight. Durk figured he was going for intimidation. It didn’t work. He was a master at that himself.

  “Glad to run into you here,” the detective said. “It will save me a trip to your house.”

  “Is this concerning Meghan’s attack or her assistant’s murder?”

  “Both.”

  “So you’re in homicide?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You didn’t waste any time getting started on the case,” Durk said.

  “Time is seldom on a detective’s side in a murder case. So let’s talk.”

  “Talk or interrogate me?”

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Is there a difference?”

  “Quite a bit. If you want facts, I can tell you the little I know. If you’re going to interrogate me as a suspect, I should call my attorney.”

  “I’m just after the facts—unless, of course, you have something to confess.”

  “I already confessed to handling the possible murder weapon.” And he had nothing to hide. Unfortunately, he had nothing of any real value to add, either. If and when he needed an attorney, he’d get the best in the business. He didn’t see it going that far, especially since Meghan would vouch that he wasn’t her attacker.

  Durk stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “So do we talk here in the middle of the noisy hallway or do you want to try for something a bit more private?”

  Smart smirked. “Are you worried about being seen with a homicide detective?”

  “Just trying to be helpful,” Durk said.

  “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  The detective led the way to a back exit. They stepped outside but didn’t venture away from the building.

  Smart propped his shoulder against the wall. “How well do you know Meghan?”

  “Reasonably well. We dated for several months two years ago.”

  “Then I assume you’re aware of what she does for a living?”

  “I know she’s a private investigator,” Durk admitted.

  “She specializes in cases involving extremely dangerous criminals, the kind of cases best left to trained police officers.”

  “And I hear she’s good at it,” Durk said. “So, what’s your point?”

  “The point is that you’d be smart not to get involved in this case other than cooperating with me and the rest of the DPD.”

  In other words, butt out. Durk had a real problem with ultimatums—unless he was the one issuing them. “What makes you think I’d get involved?”

  “You might look like a cowboy, but I know all about you, Durk. You’re a powerful CEO. You’re used to being in charge and running things your way.”

  “I’m noted for getting the job done, just like Meghan.”

  “But you’re not used to dealing with murderers. Take it from me, they don’t play by any rules. This guy has killed once. He won’t hesitate to do it again if that’s what it takes to save his skin.”

  “I plan to stay alive,” Durk said. “With or without rules.”

  The groundwork of their tenuous relationship had been laid. The rest of the detective’s questions were routine and the interview was over as soon as the detective realized that Durk knew nothing about the cases Meghan was currently working.

  When Smart left, Durk walked back inside. Jane met up with him right away.

  “Dr. Levy would like to speak with you.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “When?”

  “As soon as he has a minute. If you’ll wait near the trauma unit nurse’s station, I’ll come for you when he’s ready.”

  Jane’s voice had taken on a somber tone that set his nerves on edge.

  “I’ll be there,” he said. Waiting. Worrying. Agonizing over what Dr. Levy would have to say and unable to do one thing to change it.

  * * *

  “MS. SINCLAIR IS EXHIBITING symptoms of a severe brain concussion.”

  Durk breathed easier at Dr. Levy’s pronouncement. He was familiar with concussions, having experienced two of them while playing quarterback for the Oak Grove Wildcats. But his had been mild, and the only symptoms he remembered were a headache and vomiting all over his uniform.

  “What symptoms?” he asked.

  “She lost consciousness for several minutes during her exam and she is experiencing AMS—altered mental status. In Ms. Sinclair’s case she’s combative, pushing the medical team away when we try to examine her. She keeps yelling about being in a car wreck.”

  “She was doing that when they brought her in,” Durk recalled.

  “She’s also unable to answer simple questions or state her name.”

  “Is that normal with a severe concussion?”

  “It’s not unusual, especially immediately following the trauma.”

  “Can you give her something to help her focus?”

  “We don’t want to give her any meds at this point. Drugs would affect her neurological functioning and we want to keep a close check on those for the next few hours.”

  “Exactly what do you mean when you say neurological functioning? Are there other injuries?”

  “She has a relatively small hematoma behind her right ear and two cuts in her scalp that will need to be sutured. But nothing else to be concerned about.”

  “What about her blood pressure? The paramedic mentioned that it was roller-coastering when they rolled her in.”

  “That was most likely the result of having been Tasered. We’re monitoring that. It shouldn’t present a continuing problem.”

  “And that’s it? No life-threatening injuries?”

  “That’s all we know at this time. We’re in the process of scheduling a CT scan to see if there are other issues.”

  Durk’s apprehension climbed again. He was fairly certain that CT scans were not the norm for a concussion. “You must have noticed some indicator that this could possibly be more severe than a concussion?”

  Dr. Levy pushed his small-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re very perceptive, Mr. Lambert.”

  “But not particularly medically astute,” Durk said. “Still, I get the feeling that you’re not totally convinced that the concussion is the worst of Meghan’s condition.”

  “In truth, I might have ordered a CT scan in this case just because of the severity of the concussion. But your assumption is correct. One of our residents noticed a small bruise, sometimes referred to as a battle sign, behind Ms. Sinclair’s right ear during the examination. It can indicate a fracture to the skull. It’s something we need to check out.”

  “Then it’s still a matter of wait and see?”

  “For now. If you’ll leave your cell phone number with Jane, I’ll call you when we know more.”

  “Good, because I won’t be leaving the hospital until I hear from you.” If then. “But why this sudden decision to share Meghan’s medical information with a nonfamily member?”

  “Lucy Delmar got back to us immediately. She gave us the information we needed and faxed us a release form with your name included. I can’t thank you enough for your help with that.”

  “Thanks.” So Lucy had come through for him. He had an idea that her husband had convinced her to do that. He’d make sure he thanked him, as well. And he’d make a point of keeping in touch with them until Meghan was fully recovered.

  He had to believe that would be soon. It was the only way he could face this without having his own spell of AMS.

  Sitting and waiting had never been his style, but this time he didn’t have a choice.

  When Dr. Levy left, Durk gave his cell number to Jane and then tracked Pam down again. Armed with his aunt’s room number, he made his way to the elevator.

  A few hours ago, he’d been anticipating a week’s vacation at the ranch with nothing more challenging on his plate than deciding whether to take a sunrise horseback ride or sleep until noon.

  Now he had a murder to contend with and a detective that clearly wasn’t convinced of his
innocence. Yet all Durk could think about was Meghan Sinclair. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be exactly where he was two years ago.

  His heart couldn’t take that again.

  * * *

  SAM SMART PACED the E.R. hallway, racking his brain to figure out how and why Durk Lambert had ended up at a murder scene. Not only was he CEO of Lambert Inc., but his family owned the oil and gas company, along with the Bent Pine Ranch and several smaller subsidiaries related to drilling operations.

  Having accidentally encountered Meghan as she was being wheeled into the E.R. didn’t explain his actions, especially when he hadn’t even seen her in two years. There had to be something Sam was missing here.

  Not that Meghan wasn’t the kind of woman who could get under a man’s skin and make him do crazy things. She was spunky, analytical, insightful. Not to mention incredibly sexy.

  She’d have made a great homicide detective had she chosen to play by cop rules. Instead she was the frequent bane of the DPD, usurping their authority and making them look incompetent.

  Sam had tangled with her himself on more than one occasion. And, yeah, he’d experienced a few pangs of lust while trying and failing to best her.

  But a man like Durk Lambert had gorgeous socialites at his beck and call. Hell, the man had probably been in and out of bed with dozens of young hotties in the past two years. Not that Sam faulted him for that. He’d have done the same had he been in Durk’s shoes—or boots as was the case now.

  That was another thing that concerned Sam. The cops had described the bloody clothes Durk was wearing when they encountered him at Meghan’s office. Expensive clothing, the kind a wealthy oil executive would be expected to wear.

  Yet now he’d shown up at the hospital dressed like an everyday cowboy. Faded jeans. Goat-roper Western boots. A knit pullover shirt that could have come off the rack at any department store in Dallas.

  If Durk was trying to give the impression that he was just a good old boy out to help a friend, Sam wasn’t buying it. Yet his story about visiting his aunt had been true. Sam had wasted no time checking that out.

  He doubted Durk was the loyal friend he played at being, but that was not a good enough reason to blame the night’s violence on him.