Star Witness

by Mallory Kane

  “He comes by that naturally.”

  She studied him for a brief moment. “You and he don’t look much alike. I mean obviously you do, but—”

  “That’s because he took after the French side of the family, and I got the Irish genes.” As he spoke, he opened the interrogation room door for her, then closed it behind them. A young uniformed officer was waiting outside the room.

  “Dani Canto, this is Officer Roebuck. He’ll take you to the hotel.”

  The officer nodded. She acknowledged him with a brief nod of her head. “Officer, will you be my day-shift babysitter?”

  “No,” Lucas said. “You won’t have a guard during the day. Just at night.”

  “So I’m in less danger than I was?” Dani shook her head. “How exactly does that work?”

  “The men who chased you are in custody, for one thing.”

  Dani pushed her tangled hair back from her face. “Good,” she said tiredly. “So, Officer Roebuck, shall we go?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Roebuck said. “The car’s out front.” He stood back to let her precede him.

  Dani turned back to Lucas. “Can we swing by the hospital to see Harte?”

  Lucas shook his head.

  “Lucas—Detective, I need to see him.” She bit her lip, doing her best to look him in the eye, to appear strong and capable, not small and scared that she might never see Harte again.

  “I told you, he’s sedated. They’re not letting anybody see him right now.” Lucas looked past her at Roebuck and nodded.

  “Ma’am?” Roebuck said. “We need to get going.”

  Dani couldn’t tear her gaze away from Lucas. “Please don’t lie to me,” she said. “It’s too important.”

  He glanced at Officer Roebuck and nodded toward the door. The officer walked toward the exit door to wait. Once he was out of hearing, Lucas stepped close to her.

  “Harte is unconscious. They’re taking him to surgery any minute now. It’s going to be touch-and-go. If the bullet shifts, it could go into his heart. My parents are there with my sister, waiting.”

  Dani pressed her lips together, working to stay calm. Her heart was threatening to burst again. She could barely breathe, her throat was so tight. But she heard Lucas loud and clear.

  Harte is in critical condition. He needs his family.

  “I understand,” she said hoarsely, then grabbed his shirtsleeve. “Please, when you can, have someone call me?”

  “Okay,” he said gently. “As soon as I can.” He turned and walked toward another detective who was obviously waiting to talk to him. She saw him rub the back of his neck as he spoke to the other man.

  Dani squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t wipe away the vision of Harte’s soft, dark gaze as he’d lowered his head to kiss her, or the pinched pallor of his face as he’d looked up at his big brother and tried to pretend he wasn’t bleeding to death.

  They’d been on the run together for less than twelve hours. But she didn’t think she could live if he died.

  * * *

  ETHAN DELANCEY DIDN’T like hospitals. People died there. He paced back and forth between the window and the door of the private room where his youngest brother lay—too quiet, too pale, too still.

  He stopped and looked at Harte for what must have been the twentieth time. How the hell had this happened? He and Lucas and Travis were the ones who flirted with danger. It was cops and soldiers who took their lives in their hands, who went out there day after day to try to make the world a safer place. They understood the risk. They dealt with it.

  Harte hadn’t followed in his brothers’ footsteps. He’d taken a different path—the path of their dad and their notorious grandfather. He was a lawyer. Lawyers didn’t get shot.

  Ethan walked over to the bed. He felt so damn helpless. Reaching out, he straightened the tubes that fed oxygen through Harte’s nostrils. Then he brushed thick dark hair off his brother’s forehead.

  Behind him, he heard the room door open. He turned. It was Lucas. “Hey,” he said.

  “How is he?” Lucas asked, closing the door and coming up beside Ethan.

  Ethan shook his head. “No change. Didn’t the doctor say he’d be awake by now? It’s been almost twenty-four hours since the surgery.”

  Lucas nodded. “The surgeon said they wanted him to sleep as much as possible. That’s why they kept him in the ICU for twelve hours.”

  Ethan rubbed his temples and flopped down in a hard vinyl chair near the bed. Lucas leaned against the wall near the window. He crossed his arms.

  “You look pretty scruffy,” Ethan observed. “What’s the latest?”

  Lucas sighed and rubbed his jaw, his palm scraping like sandpaper across the stubble. “When did I talk to you last?”

  “Yesterday, after you got Dani to the hotel.”

  “You mean Saturday.”

  “No, I mean yesterday. You’d talked to Paul, but you said Stamps had lawyered up.”

  “Right. After I got Paul’s statement that it was Stamps who’d shot him, I talked to Stamps’s lawyer. That was a massive waste of time. She claimed he was sedated after the traumatic events and couldn’t be questioned.”

  Ethan laughed. “Seriously?”

  “I’m thinking she’s setting him up for an insanity defense.”

  “What about Paul?”

  “I asked her what their response to his accusation would be, and she wouldn’t talk about it.” Lucas shook his head. “I’m trying to get a court order to test for gunshot residue—”

  “Talk about a waste of time,” Ethan put in.

  “I know. Stamps, sedated or not, will have hosed himself down by then.”

  “What do you think about Paul saying Stamps shot him?”

  “That’s odd too. Paul was nearly hysterical at the scene, screaming that Stamps had tried to kill him. I’ve got several witnesses that heard him. But later, after he was discharged from the emergency room, he said it was an accident. Said Stamps was firing wildly.” Lucas sat on the small couch under the window and leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  “I thought you told me—”

  “That Stamps only fired one shot?” He nodded. “That’s right. I did.”

  “And you’ve got the gun,” Ethan said, glancing over at Harte’s pale face. “A senior senator shooting people, our distant cousin somehow involved—what the hell did the kid dig up?”

  “Well, he was right about one thing. Ernest Yeoman is in it up to his neck. And he’s not going to walk this time.”

  “The D.A.’s probably over the moon. So the no-necks Dani shot are Yeoman’s men?”

  Lucas nodded smugly. “They weren’t carrying any ID, but here’s a shocker. They were both in the system.”

  “Yeah? Who were they?”

  “Couple of small-time crooks. You know how it goes.” Lucas pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. He flipped a few pages. “One of them was Chester Kirkle, the guy who left the fingerprint on Canto’s office door the night he was killed,” he said.

  “Right. Harte was hoping to cut a deal with him. I thought he was remanded.”

  “Somehow, this past week, he got himself a decent lawyer and made bail. No information where he got the money.” Lucas rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Do you think he’s still willing to cut the deal?”

  “Oh yeah. I dangled aggravated assault three over his head.”

  That surprised Ethan. “A. A. Three? Can you make that stick?”

  “Hell yeah,” Lucas said, gesturing at Harte. “The D.A. authorized it. They wounded a public official with a deadly weapon, threatened a second and were fleeing from law enforcement. And one or more of them may have been involved in the murder of Freeman Canto.”

  Ethan smiled. That was what made Lucas one of the best detectives on the force. Better even than Dixon Lloyd, Ethan’s partner. He gave Lucas a tip of an imaginary hat. “Good job. What’d they cough up?”

  “Get this. Kirkle’s playing the deal card. Says he had
Harte’s promise of a deal if he talked, so now he’s singing about Yeoman. He claims Yeoman sent them to persuade Canto to reverse his position on tariffs and one of the goons got too rough.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m inclined to believe him. If he rolls on Yeoman, the D.A. and a lot of other people will be ecstatic.”

  Ethan looked at Harte again. “One of them shot Harte,” he said, hearing the catch in his voice.

  Lucas heard it too, because he sent him a sharp glance, then stood and walked over to the bed. He touched Harte’s hand where the IV tubing snaked out from a white bandage with a tiny spot of blood on it. “I know,” he said. “I’d like to bury both of them, but they’re punks. Nobodies. We need to get Yeoman if we can.”

  Ethan didn’t say anything. He and Lucas stared at their baby brother for a moment. Finally, Lucas patted Harte’s hand and turned toward the door. “I’ve got to go. I’m going to run home and shower, then—”

  “Good,” Ethan interrupted. “It’s about time.”

  Lucas shot him a warning look. “Then I’m heading over to Impound. The vehicle is a Lincoln Town Car and it’s totaled.”

  “They used it to break down a freight door at that warehouse where Harte and Dani were hiding, right?”

  Lucas nodded.

  Ethan shook his head. “I can’t wait for Harte to tell us how he managed to keep away from them all night long.”

  “I know. So the crime scene guys collected paint and glass fragments from the vehicle that rammed the warehouse freight door and ran them. They matched the glass and paint the car left at the scene at Dani’s house.”

  “They used the same car? That’s amazing.”

  “You want amazing, guess who owns the car.”

  “Not Yeoman—” Ethan said.

  “It’s registered to the general manager of the Hasty Mart Corporation.”

  Ethan was stunned. “Are you kidding me? Yeoman’s got to be smarter than that. Otherwise, how has he managed to stay out of jail all this time?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucas said, rubbing a hand down his face. “Maybe it was his henchmen who were too dumb to change vehicles. All I can say is thank God for stupid crooks.”

  Ethan laughed. “Way to go. That plus Dani’s testimony should nail the SOB.”

  “It should.” Lucas sighed. He looked at his watch. “What are you doing the rest of the afternoon? Is Mom coming over?”

  “She said she might be here around six, after she fixes dinner for Dad.” Ethan stood and stretched. “I think I’ll stay here until she gets here. I’ve got a feeling the kid might wake up soon.”

  “All right, E. Call me if he does, okay? And try to get some rest.”

  Ethan nodded and held out his hand. Lucas took it and the two shared a quick, awkward man-hug.

  Once Lucas was gone, Ethan thought about turning on the TV, but he wasn’t in the mood for seven million channels and nothing on. So he yawned, then sat back and closed his eyes.

  Rest sounded good. He had been up all night sitting with Harte, and was exhausted. Lucas, on the other hand, had worked the crime scene, and was about to head back out for a third shift with no rest.

  Lucas had always been a superhero in Ethan’s eyes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harte’s whole body hurt worse with every move he made. They’d been running for so long that he and Dani were both exhausted. He glanced back to check on Dani, but suddenly, darkness enveloped everything.

  “Dani?” he cried, but she didn’t answer. “Dani, answer me.”

  Nothing.

  “Dani!” She was gone. His biggest fear had come to pass. He’d failed to keep her safe.

  “Hey, kid? Wake up.”

  Harte heard someone. Was it Dani? God, he hoped so. But the voice sounded far away. Indistinct.

  “Harte? Are you trying to wake up?”

  The voice beckoned him. But the closer he got to it, the more he hurt. Who was trying to keep him from finding Dani?

  “Leave me alone. I’ve got to find Dani.”

  “Harte, it’s Ethan. Talk to me, kid.”

  Ethan? Harte felt as though the bottom had dropped out from under him. He opened his eyes to slits, which made his head hurt. Everything was an ugly, dull blue color.

  “Ethan?” he rasped as his brain slowly began to process what his senses were taking in. A small TV on a stand was suspended from the ceiling in front of him. Under it, a whiteboard held a sign in big letters that read Today is_____. There was nothing written in the blank. His nostrils burned with the mingled smells of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol, and he could hear a continuous hiss-pop, hiss-pop.

  From somewhere, a different voice spoke. “Everything all right? Does Mr. Delancey need ice water or towels?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Then everything coalesced in his brain. His eyes flew open wide. “Oh no,” he moaned. “Not the hospital.”

  His brother Ethan’s face moved into his field of vision. “Can’t understand a word you’re saying,” he said, smiling. “Want some water?”

  Water sounded wonderful. Harte licked his lips, or tried to. They were so dry they barely moved.

  Ethan held a big cup and guided the plastic straw into Harte’s mouth. When the first splash of cold water hit his tongue, the chill shot all the way through him. He shuddered, then greedily sucked up more.

  “Whoa,” Ethan said, taking the cup away. “The nurse said you could have a little.”

  His lips still felt parched, but inside, he was feeling much better. He tried to push himself upright, but that turned out to be a bad idea.

  “Ahhh!” he growled, and collapsed back into the soft bedclothes. He muttered a few choice curses, which actually seemed to help.

  “Nice,” Ethan said, pulling a chair up beside the bed. “Good thing Mom’s not here.”

  Harte growled again. “Am I in a hospital?” he asked, trying his best to control his thick tongue.

  “Okay. What I think I heard is hospital. So yes, you’re in the hospital.”

  Harte’s eyes were still burning, so he closed them. “What am I doing here?”

  “Good. You’re getting better. You and Dani Canto were attacked at the B-and-B, so you ran and hid all night through that mother of a storm. Somewhere in there you got shot. Then you ended up at Paul’s house with the bad guys on your tail. Paul took a bullet and a couple of your pursuers were shot. The cavalry arrived and saved the day. You had surgery and voilà, here you are.”

  “Not quite all that happened,” Harte muttered between gritted teeth. “Where’s Dani? Is she all right?”

  Ethan nodded, his expression turning more serious. “She’s fine. The EMTs examined her at the scene and released her. You, on the other hand, have a great big surgery to recuperate from. By the way, the nurse also told me you’d be too drowsy to make sense.” Ethan’s frown faded. “I see she was right about that.”

  “I’m fine,” Harte muttered. The nurse was correct. He could barely hold his eyes open and he had to concentrate like mad to keep up with what Ethan was saying. But there was no way he was going to let his older brother know that.

  “Fine,” he repeated, looking out the window. He couldn’t see anything but sky and the top of a portion of the New Orleans skyline. He didn’t even try to figure out what direction the window faced. “What time is it?”

  “Six-twenty.”

  He stared at his brother, then blinked and gave his head a shake. “Six-twenty?”

  Ethan’s mouth turned up. “Twenty minutes after six.”

  “P.m.?” He reached up to rub his forehead, where the groggy haze seemed centered, and discovered that his hand had an IV hooked up to it. He growled.

  “Here,” Ethan said, picking up the cup again. “Drink some more water before you fall asleep.”

  This time, he reached for the cup, but the IV tubing that was inserted in his hand got caught in the bedclothes. Ethan untangled it and handed him the cup.

&nbs
p; Harte sipped slowly. His stomach didn’t feel great, but the water—a little water—helped. “Thanks,” he said.

  Ethan took the cup from his hand and set it down on the rolling table. “You’re going to fall asleep and spill that all over yourself.”

  “Six-twenty,” Harte said thoughtfully. “I’ve been here all day? When can we leave?”

  Ethan shook his head indulgently. “Not so fast, kid. You haven’t been here all day. You’ve been here since Saturday morning. Today’s Sunday.”

  Harte stared at him in horror. “Sunday? What happened to Saturday?”

  “You spent a lot of Saturday unconscious. They sedated you so they could give you blood. Then they took you into surgery. The doctor said you wouldn’t remember anything, and I guess he’s right.”

  “What about—the—trial?” Harte was having a lot of trouble staying awake.

  “The trial’s been set to start Thursday.”

  “Okay. I can be—ready by Thursday.”

  Ethan laughed. “Oh, trust me, kid. You will not be ready by Thursday. The D.A. has got another prosecutor working twenty-four-seven to get up to speed.”

  “What?” Harte tried to sit up, but couldn’t. “My case!”

  “Hey,” Ethan said, patting the sheet near Harte’s hand. “You don’t need to worry about the trial. You just need to rest and get better.” He stood. “I’m going to go tell the nurses that you’re awake, then I’ll head out. Mom will probably be over later to see you.”

  “Wait,” Harte said. “Where’s Dani? She been here?”

  “Nope. She’s in protective custody, remember? She’s not allowed to go anywhere.”

  “I want to see her. Make sure she’s all right.” Harte tried to sit up. He put most of his weight on his right arm. With a lot of effort and a lot of pain, he managed to scoot a little more upright in the bed.

  “Hang on,” Ethan said with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re going to rip out all of the doctor’s pretty stitching.” He leaned over and pressed a button on the console that hung from the bed rail. The head of the bed rose, pushing Harte into a more upright, seated position.