Married In Haste

by Dani Sinclair

  “I suppose you want to start your own dynasty,” she said sharply.

  Greg shifted, brushing his bad leg against hers in an effort to straighten it again. “A dynasty, huh? Nope. The world already has a lot of people. But I think three is a manageable number. Small enough to give plenty of attention to each child, but large enough to make a well-rounded family unit.”

  Words jammed her throat like the emotions jamming her brain. She fought back tears that sprang from nowhere. He was calmly discussing her dreams in his whiskey-soft voice, and she thought her heart would break with the pain.

  Without warning, the vault door clicked noisily. They barely moved away before the heavy metal swung outward. The bright beam of a flashlight trapped them in its blinding glare.

  Chapter Nine

  Greg was heartily sick of questions, nurses, doctors, and hospitals in that order. And if one more cop asked him one more question…

  “Ah, Mr. Wyman. Here you are.”

  Arrested in his feeble attempt to sit up using only his unstrapped arm for support, Greg stared at the lanky dark-skinned detective standing next to his curtained cubicle.

  “Freer? I don’t believe it. A little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”

  Freer displayed his perfect white teeth in a wide smile. “I am relieved to see you do not discriminate, Mr. Wyman. You give your local constables a disagreeable workload as well as we poor island men.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  The detective arched an expressive eyebrow.

  “Am I under arrest?” Greg demanded.

  “Now why would you make that assumption, Mr. Wyman?” He reached forward and helped Greg sit up with firm but gentle strength.

  “Call it paranoia, but I don’t think you left your comfortable island and flew over here on a social call. We’ve only been gone a few hours.”

  Freer smiled again. “Indeed, and yet here you are. Another country, another hospital, another situation. Ironic, would you not say?”

  “Painful,” Greg corrected. “I’d call it painful. Would you hand me what’s left of my pants?”

  “Oh, good, you found him,” McKella announced. Her voice preceded her into the narrow cubicle. Her hair was tousled, her face smudged with dirt, and there was a new bruise forming on her forehead. Greg thought she looked wonderful.

  She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “You look terrible,” she told him.

  There was no doubting the twinkle in Freer’s eyes this time as the men exchanged looks.

  “Her sweet talk goes straight to my head,” Greg explained.

  “They want you to spend the night,” McKella informed Greg briskly.

  “I already told them to forget it. Besides, it’s nearly morning.”

  “Greg, you need to rest. They took five stitches—”

  “Seven,” he corrected. “Trust me, I counted each one. The numbing agent didn’t kick in until after they finished, and the shot hurt worse than the needle they sewed me with.”

  “Why are men always such babies?” she asked Freer.

  “Hey!” Greg protested.

  She braced her hands on her hips and glared at him. “At least a woman wouldn’t take out her frustration on the poor nurse.”

  “That ‘poor nurse’ outweighs me by twenty pounds and has the same tender touch as a drill press.”

  “See what I mean?” she beseeched Freer. “You’ll never get any cooperation out of him when he’s like this.”

  Greg turned his attention to the detective who was, as usual, quietly watching both of them. “What am I supposed to cooperate with? What are you doing here?”

  “I have questions,” Freer told him mildly.

  “Trunk lines down again?” Greg asked.

  The detective raised and lowered his shoulders a scant inch in his equivalent of a shrug. The man had made understatement an art form.

  “I always intended to visit this part of your country. When the opportunity presented itself, I seized the occasion.”

  “What opportunity?” But the nurse chose that moment to squeeze her substantial form in beside the other two.

  “If you’re really determined to abdicate our sanctuary,” she told Greg in a nasal whine laced with sarcasm, “you need to sign this release form.”

  “‘Abdicate our sanctuary?’” Greg repeated.

  The nurse sniffed and handed him a clipboard and a sheaf of papers. “These are the instructions for dealing with the sutures and your shoulder. This is a prescription for pain which, given what a macho type you are, you probably will discard.” She glared at him down her long nose. “And this needs to be signed here and here. You’ll need to see your own doctor next week to have the stitches removed.”

  Greg accepted the clipboard and the pen and signed as she indicated. “I think I’ll just gnaw them out with my teeth instead,” he told her

  The nurse sniffed again. “Suit yourself. The mouth is a haven for germs you know, but I just love a tough

  guy.”

  Greg chuckled out loud as she took back the clipboard and turned to give the other two a victorious smile. “Take him with my blessing.” And she disappeared back through the curtain.

  “You do have a way with women,” McKella told him. “Need some help getting dressed?”

  Chafing under her glare, he shook his head—and immediately wished he hadn’t. “We macho types are tough. I’ll just go home naked.”

  “Here, I got you some clothing. The other stuff is a mess.”

  “Thanks.” He lifted the green surgical scrubs.

  McKella made a face. “Don’t ask. Just put them on over your other pants. Trust me, you’ll get fewer looks in those than in your own clothing.”

  “I fear my counterpart and I need to ask you a few questions before you leave,” Freer interrupted.

  “Counterpart?”

  “Officer Stone,” McKella explained. “He’s the investigating officer on the lab fire. He’s talking with the doctor right now.”

  “No, actually, I’m right here.”

  Greg studied the newcomer and recognized a career cop in the hard lines of his cynical face.

  “Wyman? Your doctor says you’re free to go.”

  “I’m trying, God knows, I’m trying.”

  “First, mind telling me what you were doing on the other side of the police tape?”

  “I told you—” McKella began. The officer held up a broad hand.

  “Mrs. Dinsmore, would you mind waiting in the hall? I’d like to hear Mr. Wyman’s answers to the questions.”

  “But—”

  “McKella, see if you can keep Nurse Harridan out of here until I get dressed,” Greg asked.

  For a long moment, he held her gaze. Irritation, anger and a trace of fear tumbled behind her amber eyes. She cared. She might not want to, but she cared. Greg smiled. Irritation won out in her expression.

  “No problem. Is there anything else you’d like? Some coffee? Your slippers?” She turned and whirled through the curtain.

  Greg looked at the men looming over his bed and grimaced. “She’s had a long couple of days.”

  “Indeed,” Freer agreed.

  “About what happened,” Stone prodded.

  Greg nodded and reached for the pants. He related the events and answered questions, wondering all the while if the police had finally penetrated his own deception.

  Eventually, Stone was called away. Greg regarded Freer. “I’d still like to know what brought you here. I’m surprised you’d come stateside just to ask a few questions.”

  “A private plane left the island shortly before the hurricane restricted air traffic yesterday. The plane was registered here in Kentucky, Mr. Wyman.”

  Greg shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “The aircraft was registered to Franklin Harvey of Louisville, Kentucky.”

  “Should I know him?”

  “Mr. Harvey is currently in Paris, France, touring with his wife and fa
mily. No one had permission or authorization to use his plane, let alone his name.”

  “What does that have to do with me or McKella?”

  Freer cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps nothing. Do you believe in coincidence, Mr. Wyman?”

  Greg felt grim. “No.”

  “Precisely. Do you know anyone connected with this case who is a pilot?”

  Greg shook his head. “But didn’t the pilot have to clear customs?”

  “Indeed. It appears phoney documents were used. Your local police department tells me they are not that difficult to obtain. Any thoughts on this, Mr. Wyman?”

  Greg reached for the shirt and realized he would be unable to get it on with his arm taped to his shoulder. “Anyone can hire a pilot. Hell, if they know where to look, anyone can hire a killer.”

  Freer leaned over and helped him into the shirt, pulling it over the sling housing his left arm. “Go on.”

  “The only one who benefits from the murder of Betty Jane is McKella’s husband He’d also benefit from the death of Eleanor Beauchamp in that there’d be one less person to testify against him. You’re no fool, Constable. Even you can see he wanted McKella’s company. Failing that, he went after the process this Kestler guy is developing. There’s big money in corporate espionage these days.”

  “And the incident with McKella in the stairwell?”

  Greg rubbed his jaw. “Had to be her husband.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe he still thought he could inherit the company.”

  Freer’s expression said he’d expected better. Greg shrugged, then wished he hadn’t.

  “Have you spoken with McKella’s detective yet?”

  Freer nodded. “Mr. Henning was most helpful.”

  “Then you know her marriage is a sham.”

  “That is what Mr. Henning tells us.”

  “Find her husband,” Greg demanded. “She won’t be safe until you do.”

  “We will, Mr. Wyman. We will.”

  He helped Greg stand, and they pushed through the curtain to find McKella waiting by the nurse’s station. Greg liked the way her eyes lit when she saw him. She walked to his side, her concern for him clear.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he told her, laying his hand on her shoulder.

  Officer Stone moved down the hospital corridor, a new crease on his lined face. “Freer? I’ve got another call. Come on. I need to roll.”

  McKella and Greg promised to hold themselves available for more questions, then watched the two men leave through the emergency room doors.

  “I don’t think I’d like being a policeman,” McKella said thoughtfully.

  “Permanent heartburn,” he agreed. He slanted her a speculative look. “So where should we spend the night?”

  She smiled, a look that said she was finally in control of something. “Given your chivalrous nature, and to forestall a situation like the one we found ourselves in at the hotel in Bermuda, I’ve booked us into a local hotel tonight.”

  “You have?”

  She appeared gratified by his surprise. “Yes.”

  Glumly, he regarded her. “Separate rooms, I suppose?”

  “Of course.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “You’re all talk, Wyman.”

  Greg wiggled his eyebrows. “Want to share a room again and prove that?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “Would you mind if I ran upstairs for a few minutes before we leave? It can wait if you’re hurting or—”

  His gaze softened in understanding. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I know they won’t let me in since it’s long past visiting hours, but I just wanted to check with the nurse—”

  “Good idea. Come on.”

  The night nurse proved to be a sympathetic young woman. Since all the patients except Henry Patterson had been moved out of the ICU, she agreed to allow McKella to see her father for a few minutes.

  Greg smiled and kissed her on the forehead before folding himself into a chair in the waiting room. “Take your time. I’ll wait,” he promised.

  Her father lay as she had seen him last, the hum and blip of the monitors his only companions. Tears misted her eyes as she stared at the tubes attached to his oncestrong body.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  She lifted a veined hand and stroked the back of it with her fingers. “There’s so much I need to talk to you about.” Sitting next to his bed, she began to recite the events of the past few days.

  “To make matters worse, I think I’m falling in love with Greg.” She stopped in dismay, shocked by the revelation. The truth was frightening, particularly when she realized that she had just paraphrased Greg’s words to her. I’m the man who’s falling in love with you.

  “It must be the stress,” she hurried to explain. “I barely know him. I can’t be in love. I’m not even sure I’d recognize love if it came up and bit me.” She stroked her father’s sunken cheek, thinking his face had more color now than when she’d first entered the room.

  “Besides, I think Greg may be Paul’s baby brother.”

  The idea of the men being related left an unpalatable taste in her mouth.

  “There’s a resemblance between them, but their animosity is frightening. Brothers shouldn’t hate each other like that. On the other hand, Greg thinks Paul killed their father.” She paused, fighting an urge to cry.

  Did her father’s eyelids flicker the least little bit? McKella stared at his face for several seconds. This time she was almost certain she saw a flicker of movement behind his closed eyes. Dare she hope he was reacting to her words? Or at least to the sound of her voice? McKella pushed forward with her one-way conversation.

  “Paul may have killed Betty Jane, but he has nothing to gain by my death,” she reminded her father as well as herself. “Uncle Larry does, but can you see him killing me to gain control of the company?”

  The machines blipped in mocking answer.

  “Ms. Patterson?”

  The nurse stood in the doorway. “We have a patient arriving in a few minutes so I’ll have to ask you to leave. You should go home and get some rest. If anything changes, we’ll call you.”

  Too weary to argue, McKella placed a kiss on her father’s cheek and gave his hand another gentle squeeze.

  She found Greg asleep in a chair in the waiting room. His face was tipped to one side, looking almost relaxed despite the bruises and faint signs of strain.

  McKella pushed back the curl of hair that had fallen across his forehead and found herself abruptly staring into cloudy blue-green eyes.

  “Let’s get you into a more comfortable bed,” she whispered.

  “There’s an offer I won’t refuse.” His voice was husky with sleep, but his eyes cleared quickly and focused. They were level with her chest.

  McKella drew back, tingling where his eyes had seemed to touch her. “You have a one-track mind.”

  “What did I say?” he protested, but he gave her a lopsided grin as he rose painfully. “How’s your dad?”

  It would be so easy to love this man.

  They talked quietly as they waited for a cab and rode along the silent streets. Her uncle’s car was still in the lot at Patterson’s, since she’d ridden to the hospital in the ambulance with Greg. She’d have to make arrangements to get it later.

  The hotel clerk regarded their attire suspiciously, but McKella wasn’t in the mood for nonsense. She used her most official tone of voice and declined the use of a bellhop since their luggage was still in her uncle’s car out at the plant. The clerk frowned, watching as they crossed to the elevator. No doubt he’d send hotel security to check on them, but at least they rode the elevator to the fourth floor alone.

  “Nicely done,” Greg told her as he leaned against the back wall.

  “Are you okay?” She shook her head. “Stupid question. Of course you aren’t. You look exhausted.”

  “Yeah. At the moment, I’m not real sure I can
even get out of this elevator.”

  The doors slid open, and she reached for his waist. “Lean on me. You should have stayed in the hospital.”

  “Probably.”

  He swayed slightly while she fumbled to open the door with his card key. “We have adjoining rooms,” she told him.

  “Good.”

  “Do you need some help, Greg?” His look of depletion reminded her of the night of the storm.

  “No, thanks. I’m just going to fall into bed. I’ll leave the connecting door unlocked.”

  McKella wondered at her feeling of disappointment. Why was she feeling rejected? Had she expected a repeat of their night after the storm?

  “Get some sleep,” she chided softly.

  “I’m halfway there.”

  She didn’t want to leave him, she realized. What if he needed something in the night?

  “I’m going to open the connecting doors so you can call me if you need anything.” She stood on tiptoe to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

  By the time she entered her own room, opened the connecting doors and used the bathroom, Greg was sound asleep. She could hear the rhythmic sound of his breathing. McKella slid beneath the covers of her own bed, and realized she wanted to make love with Greg. Their attraction might be simple proximity, or maybe the adrenaline rush from all the excitement. Whatever the reason, she still wanted to make love with him.

  Could she do that one time and walk away unscathed?

  I plan to die a bachelor, you know.

  She believed him. He wasn’t going to offer marriage. And he was still keeping secrets. Yet, he wanted children. She’d heard the wistful tone in his voice.

  They were a lot alike, she suspected.

  GREG WOKE TO A DRIVING THIRST, a raging headache and pain throughout most of his body. For just a moment, he thought he was a teenager again, alone in the hospital and more scared than he’d ever been in his life. Images from the scene of the car crash whirled through his mind. He blinked around at the dim hospital room. But there were drapes on these windows and the scent lingering in his nostrils was womanly rather than antiseptic.

  And the heat stirring his loins this morning was due to the woman in the room next door.