Before the man could reply, Steven cunningly transferred his enticing burden into the second officer’s arms. The speechless bachelor gazed into her lovely face. He caught himself before whistling his appreciation of her beauty, but failed to conceal the hungry look within his wide eyes, an offensive reaction Steven didn’t like.
“Hold on here a minute. Who are you? How do we know you didn’t harm her in some way? Is she drunk? On drugs?” the first man queried, knowing how it would appear on his record if he allowed a criminal to slip through his fingers.
Steven sighed in annoyance and frustration. “I was only doing a good deed for some female in distress. I have no idea what’s wrong with her. I assumed it was heatstroke. I haven’t laid a finger on her except to help her,” he stated as politely as possible considering his turbulent state of mind and the officers’ subtle implications.
“Let me see your license,” the first officer demanded.
“Come on, now, I’m late,” Steven argued, reluctant to divulge his identity, knowing the media would find this episode amusing.
“The license,” the officer insisted, piqued by Steven’s smug manner and odd behavior. This muscular rogue wouldn’t be released until he was convinced of his claims.
Steven angrily withdrew his wallet and pulled out his card. He handed it to the offensive man who was delaying his progress now that he had completed his duty to mankind. He watched the officer’s eyes narrow with suspicion and flicker with alertness. The first man held it up for the other one to scan. The two men locked gazes following their intense study of the man before them and the card in the officer’s tight grip.
“Says here you’re Steven Winngate. Funny, you don’t look like no oil millionaire to me. Got any other proof of your identity? Did you steal this license from Mr. Winngate?” the man scoffed doubtfully, recognizing the name on the imprinted card.
“All the cards in my wallet carry the same name: mine. Just what is an oil man supposed to look like?” Steven snapped in rising aggravation at this ridiculous delay. How dare these men question him like a common criminal!
The second officer injected, “What’s she doing all tied up like this? You calling off some joke or kidnapping plot?”
“This is absurd!” Steven stormed. “I’ve never seen her before in my life. If I was guilty of some crime, would I simply ride up and hand her over to two policemen?” Steven didn’t realize that the first officer had just noticed the Colt .38 special wedged into his boot, the snub-nosed pistol he always carried for protection. He had removed it from the saddlebag to avoid it being bounced out of the open container.
Sighting the weapon, the first officer cautiously drew his gun, intimidated by the towering man before him, painfully recalling when Lieutenant Starnes recently lost his life when responding to an “officer needs help” call. He was also aware that his partner’s hands were full, while this man’s were now free. He leveled the .357 Magnum on the shocked Steven and softly warned, “Just take it easy until we can check out you and your wild story. Cliff, put the girl in the backseat. Be sure she’s really out. See if she has any weapons or ID on her. Then handcuff this man. His tale is a little curious to me. Steven Winngate, huh? After we leave her at the hospital, we’ll check out your ID.”
“You must be kidding!” Steven angrily exploded. “If you dare to arrest me, you’ll be making a terrible mistake. I told you, I’ve never seen her before tonight. I should’ve left her out there and called in her location from my hotel! As for her being tied up, how else could I hold her on the bike with me?” he growled, alerting the two men to his dangerous fury. Steven’s whirling mind was tallying the cost of this good deed; if he failed to show up within the next hour, he would lose an oil option which would cost him five hundred thousand dollars! No impulsive female was worth that much money. He suddenly wondered if he was being intentionally delayed; after all, the impending deal was worth millions.
“There ain’t no need for your smart mouth. If you’re telling the truth, you’ll be free to go in a little while. If not . . .” He allowed his silence and tone to slide out meaningfully, clearly doubting Steven’s words. The officer had concluded the stranger was much too tense to be trusted, but he didn’t mention the partially concealed weapon until his partner’s hands were free. Besides, what would a man like Winngate be doing riding a motorcycle in the middle of nowhere? Winngate was alleged to be one of the wealthiest men alive, a man who had a Midas touch where oil was involved.
They debated for a few more minutes as the second officer put Brandy in the backseat and lightly frisked her for hidden weapons. He pulled out his sharp knife and cut the bandana from her wrists. He stuffed it into his pocket, perhaps as evidence. He returned to his partner’s side to handcuff the reluctant, furious man.
Steven was outraged when the first officer ordered him to place his hands on top of his head, but complied when he realized how serious the man was. The officer then told his partner to take Steven’s weapon from his boot. Steven was firmly shoved against the car and frisked for other weapons, much to his astonishment and fury. “I have a permit for that gun!” he shouted angrily at this treatment. “It’s in my wallet.”
“Only if you’re really Winngate,” the officer sneered. “Cuff him.” With that, Steven Winngate was placed in handcuffs.
It didn’t help matters when Steven refused to explain his confidential trip into the Valley of Fire or his critical meeting tonight. He vowed to make these two bumbling officers—and the female who had inspired this trouble—rue this day.
The first man had to forcefully guide the hot-tempered Steven to the car and to shove him into the backseat with Brandy. Steven fumed when Brandy slumped against his shoulder. He mentally determined to make all three of these people pay for this humiliating invasion of his privacy and this unforgivable attack upon his masculine pride: all because he had played the Good Samaritan! Right now, Steven’s mental wrath was directed at the woman next to him.
The officer radioed ahead to the hospital to inform them of their arrival with a possible heatstroke victim. They also notified another patrol car to check out Steven’s story about her car and her accident. After asking Steven several questions, the officer fed his description and those answers over the radio to be checked out by the sergeant on duty.
By the time they reached the Las Vegas Hospital, both men were profusely apologizing to the impatient prisoner in the backseat. After turning Steven over to the hospital officials and answering their countless questions about her, Steven was driven back to his hotel. The second officer hopped out the moment the car halted to open the door for a surly Steven.
Both men pleaded forgiveness for their gross error in judgment. “Sorry, Mr. Winngate. We had no way of knowing you spoke the truth. Men like you ride around in fancy limousines with chauffeurs, not alone in the desert on some motorcycle. Can’t blame us for doubting your word. You were carrying a gun and acting mighty strange. If we can be of any assistance to you, don’t hesitate to call on us,” the first officer stated as he shifted nervously beneath Steven’s frigid glare.
Bringing his temper under reasonable control in order to extract a favor from these two men, he smiled genially and declared, “There is one favor you two can do for me. I would greatly appreciate it if you could record one Lance Reynolds as the man who rescued that damsel in distress this afternoon. A man can’t be too careful with his reputation and privacy. I wouldn’t like the media to get wind of this little fiasco. Do you follow my drift? Publicity? Golddiggers?”
“As far as the records go, Lance Reynolds assisted some stranger in the Valley of Fire this afternoon. You can bet me and my partner won’t mention your name to anybody. We’ll keep this little incident a secret between us. There’s a service bringing in her car right now. By midnight, we’ll know who she is and why she was out there. Appreciate your understanding, sir. I’ll have your bike de
livered tomorrow,” he promised with a smile.
“Excellent. And if you gentlemen ever need a favor, don’t fail to contact me. In case you talk to that young lady, don’t reveal my real name to her either. I have enough females chasing after my money now,” he said with a lazy chuckle. He keenly noted the phony smile upon Cliff’s face and recalled how this officer had eyed the unconscious goddess.
The patrolmen returned to their car and pulled out. A well-dressed man rushed from the hotel lobby. Steven’s sapphire eyes locked on his longtime friend and business partner. It was obvious Brent was sorely distressed, but Brent was always uptight when so much money was involved.
“Where the hell have you been, Steve? I’ve been at my wit’s end to keep those men here until I could locate you! This deal’s too big to blow. We have exactly twenty minutes left on that option,” Brent Hartley said anxiously. He was the only man who dared to address Steven Winngate in such a bold manner.
Steven laughed before exclaiming, “If I told you, old buddy, you’d never believe it! Just call me Sir Lancelot in the future,” he playfully murmured as he headed into the plush hotel for the long-awaited meeting in his rented penthouse, thoughts of the lovely stranger lost for the present.
Chapter Two
“BP, one-thirty over ninety-five . . . Respiration, shallow and rapid . . . heart rate, one hundred b/p/m . . . Temp., one-oh-four point three . . . Pupils dilated, but responsive. EKG readout, normal. EEG readout, normal,” came the nurse’s report on Brandy’s vital readings and tests.
“Call it sunstroke; no, list heatstroke. She isn’t sunburned. Let’s lower her body temp. with iced water dips every four hours. When her temp. drops to one-oh-two, start cooling her with wet sheet wraps. See that she gets massages, especially in those hands and feet. Put her on a normal saline solution at two hundred cc an hour. If you spot any infection or loss of circulation anywhere, notify the staff doctor STAT! All we can do is replace those salts and fluids as quickly and carefully as possible.”
Dr. Adam Ross turned to the nurse and questioned, “Any word on her identity? We need to know if she has any medical problems or allergies.” Adam’s hooded eyes furtively eased over Brandy again.
“None yet, Doctor. The patrolman said they would forward that information as soon as they get it.”
Dr. Ross gave this enchanting case more thought. Grinning with open pleasure, he issued new orders, “Place my name on her chart. Notify me if there’s any change at all, or if she comes to before I complete my rounds. When that officer calls in, have me paged.” It just wouldn’t be proper to turn such a pretty female over to a mere staff doctor, he smugly mused to himself. Noting the looks which were exchanged between the head nurse and the nosey student nurse, he glared a warning to them. He stalked out of the emergency room like some pompous penguin, ignoring the fact that his last problem was with a lovely female patient whom he had pursued.
“Hold still, miss, or you’ll yank the I.V. loose!” came a stern command into Brandy’s hazy brain. “Just a few more minutes, and I’ll get you out of there. You’re lucky; your temperature is returning to normal quicker than expected. Just relax, dearie.” The voice softened noticeably.
“Re . . . lax?” Brandy argued weakly. “I’m fr-fr-freezing. What hap . . . pened? Where . . . am I?” she stammered amidst confusion and through chattering teeth.
“You’re in the Las Vegas hospital. You’re suffering from heatstroke. This ice water dip will lower your fever and put some fluid back into your body. There’s an I.V. in your left arm, so try to hold as still as possible,” she calmly advised.
Thoughts clearing some, Brandy inquired, “How did . . . I get . . . here? The last thing I remember . . . was that dreadful heat out there.”
“Some passing motorist found you and brought you in—a Lance Reynolds, I believe. A few more hours, and you’d have been in deep trouble,” she absently remarked as she checked the connection to the I.V. tubing. She wanted to make sure the girl had not jerked it loose during her thrashing.
“Lance Reynolds?” she repeated, the name meaning nothing to her.
“That’s right, honey. A real handsome devil from what I saw. Too bad you were unconscious,” she jested to relax the ailing, shaking girl. “What’s your name? Reynolds forgot to bring your purse or I.D. along. The state patrolmen are on their way to bring in your car and belongings.”
“Katherine Alexander,” came the normal reply to a stranger.
“Any medical problems or allergies, Miss Alexander? It is miss, isn’t it? There’s no wedding ring on your finger.”
“Miss. No problems that . . . I know about. How long . . . have I b-been here?” she asked as her teeth chattered noisily. She suddenly shuddered violently, sending water and ice over the edge of the short, shallow tub.
“About forty-five minutes or so. What’s your address?” the nurse continued with her own line of questions and notations.
“Box three ninety-one, London, Kentucky,” she politely replied, waiting for the woman to complete her records before asking any more questions.
“Where’s London, Kentucky? Never heard of it.”
“It’s about midway be-between Lexington and Knoxville . . . very small and quiet. Wh-what time is it?” she inquired, looking around the windowless room.
The nurse glanced at her watch, then stated, “Near ten.”
“Ten o’clock! But you sa-said I had only been here less than an hour! You m-mean I’ve been unconscious all that time?” she asked, fretting about being handled by total strangers while almost dead to the world.
“That’s right, honey,” came the less than comforting answer. “Now, I have to notify Dr. Ross that you’re awake. He was put on your case when they brought you in.” The distraught female was too upset to notice the caustic tone in the nurse’s voice when she mentioned Ross’s name. For the life of her, Nurse Densely couldn’t imagine how that obnoxious, lecherous man kept his medical license! If he wasn’t acting like the greatest doctor in the world, he was chasing anything in a skirt.
Brandy glanced down at the white hospital gown which was nearly transparent in its soaked state. Horror filled her at being further exposed to strange eyes, masculine eyes. What did she care if he was a doctor! She instantly argued with that intention, “Couldn’t I dry off and get into another gown f-first? This one is mighty revealing in this condition. Besides, I’m c-cold. Please . . .” she shyly entreated.
The nurse chuckled knowingly and smiled. In an attempt to irritate the arrogant, hateful Dr. Ross, Mrs. Densely grinned and complied. She helped the shaky Brandy out of the tub. Before Brandy could argue with her next intention, the nurse had hastily removed the dripping gown. Brandy realized it had not even been over her left arm, merely held in place with a long strip of surgical tape. She flushed with embarrassment at her nude state, fearing someone would enter at any moment.
“Careful of the water, dearie,” the nurse calmly warned. “We wouldn’t want you to slip and break a leg or an arm.” She quickly toweled off Brandy’s shiny, bumpy flesh, then guided her over to an examination table. “Can you make it okay? Hold on to me,” she told the shaky Brandy.
Brandy sat on the edge of the padded table while the nurse helped her into another hospital gown, a medium blue one this time. Unable to pass the left sleeve over her I.V. tubing, she simply ran one tie beneath Brandy’s left arm and secured it to the other one behind her back. She tucked the loose sleeve into the empty armhole.
“Where are my panties?” Brandy asked with a modest tone to her muted voice, her face a rosy red. It was surprising how naked she felt without panties.
The nurse sighed indulgently. She went to the cabinet and brought out a roll of white tape. She pulled off a long strip to secure the back of the hospital gown to prevent its gaping view of a shapely derriere. “That’s the best I can do for you now. Your cloth
es were drenched. We sent them downstairs to the laundry.”
“Thank you. What now?” Brandy asked apprehensively, starting to warm up a little. A blue sheet was placed over her lower body.
“Dr. Ross will need to check you over again. He can answer any other questions you might have. You lie down while I change your I.V. bottle. Try to relax and rest.”
A trembling Brandy promptly obeyed her orders. Before she began another task, Mrs. Densley went to the wall phone and had the doctor paged. When he answered, she stated in a professional tone, “The female patient in emergency is conscious now, sir.” She listened to his orders and remarks, then gave a succinct, “Yes, Doctor. I’ll see to it.” Smirking visibly, she hung up.
She returned to Brandy’s side. She silently took Brandy’s vital readings and recorded them upon the chart she was holding. Too feeble and weary to converse with the domineering, but gentle, nurse, Brandy meekly did as she was told. As the nurse finished her tasks, the wall phone signaled a call.
Mrs. Densley answered it. She only listened to the voice on the other end for a moment or two before stating, “The patient has already regained consciousness and given us that information.” She listened patiently for a few more minutes, then replied, “You’ll have to ask the doctor when you can speak with her. She’s very weak and confused at present.” She listened once again, then commented, “That’s fine, sir. Good-bye.”
She came over to Brandy’s side and smiled warmly. “I thought you might prefer some time to clear your head and wits before those officers rush in here with a thousand questions.”
Brandy returned her smile. “Thank you, Mrs. —”
“Densley. Emily Densley. I’m certain you’ve been through quite a scary ordeal today. A little time to think and rest can’t halt the wheels of justice too long,” she teased jovially.
Valley of Fire Page 3