Married In Haste

by Dani Sinclair

  His eyes crinkled at the corners as he took her arm. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Half an hour later, he still held her arm, but this time in a gesture of comfort as she sat stiffly in a hardbacked chair facing the constable.

  “Did they tell you my father’s condition?” she demanded of the man.

  Freer shook his head. “I am sorry. This is the fax that came through.” He slid a paper across the desk. Neither McKella nor Greg made any move to touch the white sheet. The constable nodded sympathetically. “There was an accident at Patterson Opticals. Your father was taken to a local hospital. I have made arrangements to clear you through customs immediately.” He looked at Greg. “There is only one seat available on this flight.”

  Greg nodded his understanding and squeezed McKella’s cold hand. “Do you want to wait until I can go with you?”

  “Mrs. Dinsmore,” Freer interrupted, “the decision, of course, is yours, but you must leave now if you wish to make the flight. They will not hold the plane. My officer is standing by to drive you to the airport. A replacement credit card will be waiting for you there.”

  McKella stood immediately. “Thank you.”

  Freer also stood. “Is there anything further I may do to be of help?”

  “No. Thank you.” Pain gilded her eyes as she turned away. “Greg, could you…would you mind seeing to my belongings?”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He stroked the back of her hand, and she clasped his fingers, giving them a quick squeeze. “Go ahead. I’ll catch a later flight and catch up with you in Louisville.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she protested.

  “Yes,” he told her. “I do. We never finished our conversation, remember?”

  McKella laid her hand on his arm and he saw the fine tremor that rocked her fingers. “Thank you. And again, thank you, Constable.”

  “Have a safe flight,” Freer offered.

  Giving him a sad little smile, she turned toward the door.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours,” Greg promised. “And try not to worry. Things will work out. Your dad is tough, McKella.”

  Her spine straightened. “Yes, he is,” she said without a backward glance. “It’s a family trait.”

  Greg found a reluctant smile playing at the corner of his lips. He saw his own admiration reflected in Freer’s expression before the man’s official mask settled back into place. As McKella disappeared, the officer resumed his seat, indicating with a nod that Greg should do the same.

  “What about her missing husband?” Greg asked.

  Freer leaned back in his chair, the pen in his hand tapping against the frayed blotter on his desk. The tapping showed more emotion than the policeman had displayed to date.

  “I regret to say we believe he left the island this morning. Due to a mix-up, I was not informed until after the plane had reached its destination.”

  Greg immediately understood the man’s agitation. Freer was left holding no suspects, but with two dead bodies.

  “Wasn’t the airport alerted not to let him off the island?”

  The other man’s lips pursed as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “He used your ticket and identification. Somehow, the order restricting your travel was overlooked and there is a strong resemblance between you and Mr. Dinsmore. Things were chaotic due to the storm. A new employee was on duty…” His shoulders inched upward in a small shrug.

  Greg wasn’t deceived. The new employee was probably looking for another line of work at the moment.

  “Police in the States have been informed,” Freer added. “Mr. Dinsmore will be apprehended and returned to Bermuda to stand charges.”

  The officer had more faith than Greg did. “So where does that leave me?”

  Freer dropped the pen and held his gaze. “Is there anything you wish to tell me about your participation in these events?”

  For a brief instant, Greg wished he dared confide in the man. He liked Freer. Respected him.

  Greg shook his head.

  “You understand, you will need to return here?”

  Greg nodded. “Unlike her husband, I don’t plan to disappear.”

  “Good. I am sorry about McKella’s father. I hope he will recover.” He stood, extending his hand. Greg felt a pang of guilt as he clasped it.

  “There are some forms you will need to fill out first, but another flight leaves in an hour.”

  “I’ll be on it.”

  “Indeed.”

  Greg left, wishing there was something he could say beyond the simple thank-you. Freer could have made the situation difficult. Instead, Greg was free to pursue McKella.

  FIRST HER PLANE WAS DELAYED, then McKella ended up in a hideous traffic jam. By the time she reached the hospital she discovered she would have to wait almost an hour to see her father. Tired and anxious, she found a sympathetic charge nurse who gave her the name of the attending physician and a brief rundown on her father’s condition.

  During an apparent heart attack, he’d fallen and struck his head against a desk. He was in a coma.

  Heartsick, McKella went in search of a telephone. As she passed the door to the stairwell, it banged opened. A flurry of movement caused her to turn in that direction, but something white descended forcefully to cover her head and face. Arms pinned her, dragging her backward into the stairwell.

  McKella struggled wildly, desperate to free her arms and face. The white material was heavy—suffocating. She kicked backward and connected with a shin, eliciting a low grunt of pain. The metal stair rail bumped hard against her hip. Her captor added weight to the momentum. He was trying to push her over the railing!

  Fear lent new impetus to her struggle. She twisted free, stumbling away from the rail. At the same instant, from somewhere overhead came a masculine shout. As McKella battled to pull the heavy material from her head, a hard shove sent her flying backwards.

  She clawed for a handhold, but she found only empty air. Her hip scraped the metal railing as she plunged backward down the concrete stairs.

  GREG SPOTTED THE KNOT of people near the end of the hall as soon as he stepped from the elevator. He sprinted forward, heart thundering in his chest. He heard McKella’s voice before he reached her.

  “I don’t want X rays. I’m fine, just bruised.”

  Greg shouldered his way past the onlookers. Two security men helped McKella into the hall. Her eyes lit in a welcome that would have warmed him at any other time.

  “Greg!”

  “What’s it been,” he asked, coming to a halt inches away, “six hours? How can one woman get in so much trouble in such a short space of time?”

  Her chin lifted, her eyes flashed, then her lips parted in a wobbly smile. “Practice,” she told him.

  He opened his arms and enfolded her against his chest. Her body quaked as reaction set in. He fixed the security men with a glare. “What happened?”

  “Somebody tried to shove her down the stairwell,” the smaller of the two men answered.

  “Yeah, and if Jim here hadn’t spotted what was happening and yelled, she’d have been killed instead of falling down half a flight of steps.”

  “Scared the hell outta me,” Jim agreed.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted. Her voice was muffled against Greg’s damp jacket as she tried to pull away.

  Greg didn’t let her go. He wasn’t sure he could, with the fear clawing his belly. He cupped the back of her head, feeling for lumps.

  She could have been killed.

  “Greg, it’s okay,” McKella told him. She leaned back to look up at him.

  “Have the police been called?” he demanded.

  “They’re on their way,” the one called Jim assured him.

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “Not really. I was coming down from Five when I heard the scuffle.” He nodded at McKella. “The guy had a hood or something over his own head, so I never got any kind of look at him. Hell, I don’t even know if it was a him or a
her. It all happened pretty fast.”

  “Greg, I’m fine,” she told him again.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Let them take you downstairs to be checked. Please, McKella.” He stared down the mutiny in her eyes. “I need to know you’re okay.”

  “I’m just a little bruised and shaken.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I’m not going to miss the visiting hour with my father,” she challenged.

  “You won’t,” he promised recklessly.

  McKella surrendered and allowed him to help her to the elevator. She was adamant in her refusal of a gurney or a wheelchair, and by then, the police had arrived in the form of a young, brusque officer who asked questions of her and the security men all the way to the emergency room.

  Within thirty minutes, she had charmed, cowed or intimidated everyone around her. Greg was impressed. He also throbbed with unresolved rage.

  The doctor agreed she was only bruised, and McKella bullied her way back upstairs in time for the visiting hour with her father. A nurse invited McKella in past the double doors and pointed Greg in the direction of the waiting room.

  He had only been sitting there a short time when a dapper man hurried down the corridor. After a brief discussion with the nurse, the man turned and headed for the area where Greg sat.

  Though Greg had never met Larry Patterson, he recognized McKella’s uncle right away. “Mr. Patterson?”

  Cold blue eyes surveyed him, taking in the unzipped jacket and casual shirt and pants he hadn’t bothered to change before leaving Bermuda.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Greg Wyman, a friend of McKella’s.” He waited to see if his name would ring any bells, but apparently Larry Patterson didn’t remember the name of the man who had discovered his fraudulent activities.

  The handshake was firm, but brief. “The nurse said she was here. Where’s Paul?”

  “McKella’s husband disappeared shortly after they arrived in Bermuda.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s wanted for questioning by the Bermuda police.”

  “Is this some sort of joke, young man?”

  It would be easy to dislike this pompous man, Greg decided, but he was McKella’s uncle, and she was loyal to her friends and family.

  “Not at all, Mr. Patterson. I’m surprised the police haven’t been in contact with you by now.”

  “I’ve been out at the plant. We had an accident there last night.”

  “Yes, sir. Your brother’s heart attack.”

  “Yes, well, that and the fire have made for a busy several hours.”

  “I wasn’t aware there had been a fire.”

  Larry Patterson frowned. “No reason you should. One of the labs caught fire. That’s how they found Henry. He was lying in the foyer of the executive offices. Must have had a heart attack when the alarm went off.”

  “I thought McKella’s father was retired.”

  “He is.”

  “Then what was he doing at the office?”

  Frost deepened his glare but amazingly, Patterson chose to respond. “No one knows,” he said tersely.

  “How did the fire start?”

  “I’ve no idea. The fire department’s looking into it. Probably an electrical short or something. Fortunately, the building was empty except for the night watchman who escaped without harm, and, of course, Henry.”

  “Uh-huh.” A fire with inexplicable origins, and a heart attack coupled with a head injury. Greg would take bets the blow had come before the attack. He’d also take bets that the lab that had caught fire was the one used by their prized research chemist.

  “What’s all this about Paul and the police?” Larry demanded.

  As Greg briefly explained, he realized that there was no way McKella’s husband could be responsible for the fire or her father’s injury. He hadn’t left Bermuda until this morning.

  Larry tapped a well-manicured finger against the armrest and straightened the razor-sharp pleat in his expensive dress slacks. His cold eyes regarded Greg thoughtfully. “There is a detective in the cubicle next to my brother’s who told the police some absurd story about Paul trying to kill him the night before the wedding.”

  “What detective?”

  “Eric something—”

  “Henning?” Greg supplied.

  “I don’t know. They were moving him downstairs when I arrived. I never spoke to him, you understand. Wouldn’t have paid any attention at all, but I heard him insisting he had to speak with McKella.”

  Greg found his dislike for this vain man growing in direct proportion to the man’s lack of concern. “Why didn’t you talk to him?”

  Larry Patterson scowled. “I’ve been a bit busy, young man. It was my intention to look in on him this evening and find out what that drivel was all about.”

  “Where is he?” Greg demanded, standing up.

  “They moved him to the third floor, I believe.”

  “Tell McKella to wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going? Who do you think you are?”

  Greg didn’t bother to answer. A helpful nurse gave him Eric’s room number.

  Eric Henning proved to be a large, suspicious man, not at all dwarfed by the hospital equipment surrounding his powerful frame. He eyed Greg with open hostility, unwilling to part with any information until Greg explained the events that had taken place in Bermuda.

  “Son of a bitch.” Henning paused to cough. “I knew something was wrong as soon as my contact said he never heard of Dinsmore. If Dinsmore had really worked for Zuckerman’s, this guy would have known him. I did some digging and stumbled over those ads his Lexington wife placed.”

  Henning cocked an eyebrow. “He was never divorced from her, you know. And Betty Jane wasn’t the first one, either. There’s a whole string of them. The bastard’s a polygamist. Yet everyone who knew him claims he’s the nicest damn guy.”

  Including McKella. “That’s McConnel,” Greg agreed bitterly.

  Henning sat back wheezing for breath. “Bastard punctured the lung,” he explained, nodding toward his chest. He regarded Greg speculatively. “What’s your interest in all this?”

  “I knew the real Paul Dinsmore.”

  “Yeah?” Henning looked skeptical.

  “Yeah. He died in a car crash fifteen years ago.”

  Henning nodded. “You did your homework. I traced those records, too. Two cars, five young men.” He paused to cough. “Cops cited speed and alcohol. Everyone was pulled or thrown from the wrecks by the time the cops arrived. Three of the victims were still alive. Two teens from a local town and a hitchhiker the real Dinsmore picked up.”

  The sights and sounds returned, as they frequently did in Greg’s nightmares. A man screaming, writhing in the grass beside him, reeking of blood and gasoline and death. Greg shut his eyes against the memory, but that was never enough to stop the kaleidoscope of images.

  Greg opened his eyes and found Henning watching steadily, judging him with piercing eyes.

  “You got some sort of personal stake in all this?” Henning’s eyes bored into him. “McKella’s a real pretty lady.”

  Greg stiffened at his tone. “Yes, she is.”

  Henning nodded as if he had just confirmed something. “Watch your back. If McConnel’s the one who attacked me, he’s quick with that knife. I never heard him coming until I felt the blade.”

  “You must have put up a fight.”

  Henning shook his head. “I shoulda, but all I did was claw him like a girl, trying to get that damn knife. I got in one blow to the chest, then he punctured the lung. Doctors tell me I was lucky I was rolling or his final thrust would have caught the heart.”

  A nurse bustled in to take his temperature and blood pressure.

  Greg rose to leave, but the detective removed the thermometer from his mouth. “If you’re going to take care of McKella, you’d better look into the process Kestler’s working on. There’s a lot of money involved.�
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  “Mr. Henning, talk later.” The nurse thrust the thermometer back in his mouth.

  Henning promptly removed it again. “Find out what the old man was doing at the plant,” he wheezed.

  The nurse turned to Greg. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside until I get these readings.”

  “I was just leaving.”

  “Tell McKella I’m sorry about her father,” Henning mumbled around the thermometer. “Hope he pulls through okay.”

  “Sir!” The nurse scowled.

  “And I’m gonna do some more checking as soon as I get out of here.”

  Greg knew a threat when he heard one. “Do that. I’ll catch you later, Henning.”

  McKella met him at the elevator. “My uncle told me you were probably down here. Where’s Eric?”

  “Down the hall.” He jerked his head to the right. “But you can’t go in there right now. The nurse just threw me out.” He took hold of her arm and turned her around, pressing the elevator button. “How’s your dad?”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears that she hastily blinked away. “He’s holding his own, but his resistance is so weakened—I don’t think he’s going to make it, Greg.”

  “Hey, Pattersons aren’t quitters, remember? Don’t go counting him out yet.”

  She came into his arms with a small sound. Greg held her, stroking her hair and wishing he had more than banal words of comfort to offer. When she drew back, he wiped a teardrop from her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “Come on, it’s late. I’ll get you home.”

  “I need to run by the plant first.”

  Alarm snaked its way up his spine. “Why?”

  “There was a fire in the lab. That’s how they found my father.”

  “I know.”

  “But no one knows what Dad was doing there.”

  “McKella…”

  “There are some things I need to check on, Greg.” Determination lined her features.

  “Do it tomorrow,” he cajoled.

  Amber eyes regarded him. “Why?”

  “Because it’s late. You’re tired, your dad is ill—”

  “Paul’s still running around loose?” Her chin raised in a gesture he was coming to know only too well.