by M. C. Sutton
The door was unlocked, and Emma slipped inside. She did find someone in the kitchen, sitting on a stool, leaning on one of the stainless-steel prep tables. But it wasn’t Jon.
“Oh, hello, Sam.”
“Dr. Grant.” He jumped up and closed his notebook, still sitting on the table in front of him. “Um, is there something I can do for you?”
Emma was surprised at his startled reaction. “No. I’m just looking for my husband. I’m afraid he had to cut his dinner short, thanks to me, and I thought maybe he’d come looking for something to eat.”
“Yes, I noticed. About dinner, I mean.”
“Oh.” She glanced at her feet. “I’m sorry you had to see that. My behavior was a little less than professional, from what I understand.”
“Oh, no, ma’am, please don’t apologize. I was quite impressed with your restraint. I don’t know if I could have remained that calm.”
Emma laughed. “I’m not so sure if calm is the word I’d use, but thank you.”
He smiled at her. “Listen, the kitchen usually closes at nine. I kind of got stuck here when the power went out. But I’d be happy to fix you guys a couple of plates to go.”
“Oh, no, it’s very kind of you to offer, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”
Sam grinned. “Really?”
“I mean, no more than I’ve already been.”
“Please, it’s no trouble. I’d be happy to do it. I’ve been told I grill up a pretty mean cheeseburger. And I think there may even be some cheesecake in the cooler.”
Emma smiled. His eyes were kind and warm and immediately made her feel better. She wasn’t sure whether Jon had eaten yet or not but knew he would appreciate the gesture. She owed him big time for all the support he’d shown her—and all the mood swings he’d put up with—over the last month.
“Okay,” said Emma. “That’d be great. Thank you.”
Sam picked up his notebook and walked toward the freezer at the back of the kitchen. Something fell out of the book as he left, so Emma picked it up. It was a wallet-sized photo of Sam with a young blond woman and a little boy.
He returned with a box of frozen hamburgers and fired up the grill.
She held up the photo. “Your family?”
“Oh,” he said, placing a hand on his back pocket. “Thank you. I didn’t even notice. Yeah. That’s my wife, Claire, and my son, Cole.”
“How old is he?”
“He’s three now, but he was barely two then.”
Emma glanced at the photo again. “But he’s so tiny.”
Sam threw a couple of patties on the grill. “Cole’s always been small. He was born with a heart defect. He’s probably spent as much of his life in a hospital as he’s spent at home.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She set the photo on the prep table. “My eighteen-year-old son, Matthew, has a heart condition too. When he was born, the left side of his heart wasn’t fully developed. He had to have three surgeries before he was four years old.”
“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “It’s the same with Cole. We’ve never met anyone else with his condition. But you said your son is eighteen? Did he have problems after the final surgery?”
“I’d like to be able to tell you no, but I’m afraid it’s something he’s had to deal with his entire life. He has to be monitored by a cardiologist regularly. There’s always the risk that his heart could become too weak and fail, at which point he’d have to have a transplant. But for the most part, we’ve been lucky. Other than taking a few precautions, like diet and medications, he’s had a pretty normal life.”
“Cole hasn’t had the last surgery yet.” Sam took the notebook from his back pocket and slipped the photo back inside. “We’re still trying to find a pediatric surgeon in Texas willing to do it. There were already so few of them trained in that kind of surgery, and with the hit on the medical industry, it’s made it even harder. To say nothing about finding a facility still willing to accept federal healthcare coverage.” He went back to the grill to flip the hamburgers.
Emma could tell by the look on Sam’s face that he was worried about his son. She didn’t blame him. She remembered what it was like for her and Jon when Matt was that age. And that was back when medical treatment for a case such as Matt’s was more readily available. They’d also had good insurance and Jon’s inheritance to cover it.
“Listen, Sam,” said Emma. “I have a friend in Virginia who’s a pediatric cardiologist. He did all three of Matt’s surgeries. I could talk to him if you’d like. Maybe we could work something out for Cole? Including something to help alleviate some of the costs.”
Sam stared at her, wide-eyed. “You’d be willing to do that for us?”
“Yes,” she said. “I would.”
“Dr. Grant, I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you can start by saying yes, so I can go ahead and make the phone call.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Of course, yes.”
“Well, okay, then. So how about those cheeseburgers?”
Emma was glad that she’d be able to help Sam, but she still couldn’t shake the apprehensiveness from her dream. She had thought coming to this conference would mean finally taking control of what she’d been seeing over the last few months, but at the moment she felt worse than she had in all of those months combined. She shifted in her seat, suddenly wishing she knew where Jon was.
“Two burgers and two slices of cheesecake to go,” said Sam, returning to the table with two Styrofoam containers. He glanced down at his watch. “Maybe I should walk you up to your room.”
“It’s just a blackout. I’ve certainly made my way through worse.”
“I don’t doubt that at all,” said Sam. “But there’s no harm in having an escort.”
Emma shrugged. “Well, if you insist.”
Sam was unusually quiet as they walked through the hotel. In fact, everything was unusually quiet. It was hard to be sure from the faint light of the flashlight, but there didn’t seem to be a single other soul awake. She expected there to be several FBI agents scurrying about in the dark, but she didn’t even see so much as a security guard out as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Sam stopped just short of the door to her room and looked at his watch again. “Well, I believe this is good night, Dr. Grant,” he said, his eyes darting nervously to the hall behind them.
“Is everything okay, Sam?”
“Of course.” He gave her what she suspected was a forced smile. “Just another blackout, right?”
“Right,” said Emma. “Well, goodnight, Sam,” she added, offering him her flashlight. “And thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Dr. Grant.” He took the flashlight and darted down the hallway without another word.
Emma set the Styrofoam containers on the dresser in the nearly pitch-black room, then kicked off her shoes. She suddenly felt more nauseated than she had the entire trip. She desperately wished Jon had come back, or that she at least knew where he was.
“What is wrong with you, Emma?” she said to herself.
The bedside lamp flickered to life.
Emma’s jaw dropped.
The room had been turned upside down. Their suitcases were emptied, the mattress stripped bare, and papers were strewn all over the floor.
“What in the…?” said Emma, her nausea quickly joined by a rapid heartbeat.
Then she noticed the breakfast table. Spread across it was every bit of research, every notecard, every source, every map, every graph, and every statistic she’d brought with her. And fanned neatly across the top of it all was the typed script for her presentation.
Emma suddenly felt very alone. Where was Jon?
She turned toward the door, not bothering to even slip on her shoes, and stepped into the empty hall. She rushed haphazardly down the darkened hallway, rounded the corner, and slammed right into someone.
“Emma!” said Jon, breathing hard and soaking wet. “I need your help.”
“Anna Korvaire’s been attacked.”
CHAPTER 8
DESPITE HIS COMPLETE AND TOTAL exhaustion, Jon still didn’t get much sleep. He tossed and turned throughout the night, resting only briefly between broken images of everything from Bennett standing over his bed to discovering Emma unconscious on the floor. Each time he opened his eyes, though, all he found was a dark room, and Emma wrapped around him. Judging by how desperately she clung to him, he guessed she had just as much trouble sleeping as he did.
So when the knock on the door to their room came just after seven a.m., Jon was already wide awake, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Jon,” said Jack when Jon opened the door. “I heard you two had a pretty rough night.”
Jon yawned and rested his head on the door frame. “I think that’s an understatement.”
“I know. I was just hoping to ask you a few questions.” Jack glanced at the Secret Service guys hovering behind him and lowered his voice. “I thought perhaps you might have remembered some additional information since last night.”
Tanner had come up to get a statement about Korvaire sometime after midnight before moving them to another room. But Jon had a feeling that’s not what Jack meant. “Give me just a second,” he said.
Jon pulled on a T-shirt and ran a hand through his messy hair before stepping into the hallway and following Jack toward the window at the end of the hall.
“So how’s Korvaire?” Jon asked.
Jack shook his head. “She’s stabilized, from what I’m told, but she has yet to regain consciousness. They’re afraid she may have gone too long without oxygen.”
A twinge of guilt for not having gotten to her sooner warmed Jon’s chest.
“Jon, the report said you saw Korvaire down by the pool with someone. A man. But that you didn’t see his face. Is that correct?”
Jon stared down at the gray diamonds that wove in and out on the green carpet. He had never understood why they always put such ostentatious carpeting in hotels. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Jack stepped in closer and lowered his voice. “Do you know who he was?”
Jon wasn’t sure whether he should answer.
“Please,” said Jack, putting a hand on his arm. “If you have any additional information that might help us…”
Jon took a deep breath. “Bennett. I think she was with Bennett.”
“Stephen Bennett? But that doesn’t make sense. She and Bennett may have left dinner together, but I can assure you their relationship has always been purely professional.”
“I don’t know, they seemed pretty friendly to me,” said Jon, crossing his arms.
“Jon, Bennett is a foreign national. Accusing him of having been involved in something like this is a pretty serious allegation. Especially considering the compromising position Korvaire was found in.”
Compromising position? Was a potential sex scandal really more serious than attempted murder? “Look, Jack, you asked me who I thought it was, and I’m telling you it was Bennett. You can take that for whatever you want.”
Jack paused, then rubbed a hand across his mouth. “All right,” he said. “If you’re certain. I’ll make sure I mention it to Tanner. Thank you.”
Jon headed back for his suite.
“Oh, and Jon, there’s just one more thing.”
Jon stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
“You said Korvaire had been drinking, right?”
“That’s right.”
Jack shook his head. “That is odd.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Korvaire has a history of epilepsy. It’s entirely too dangerous, mixing her medication with alcohol. She knows that.” He shook his head again as he walked up the hall past Jon. “There’s something off about this entire thing, Jon,” he said quietly.
Emma stepped out of the bathroom wearing one of his Duke University T-shirts as Jon re-entered their room. She glared at him with her arms crossed. “I’m going to stop going to sleep if every time I wake up you’ll be gone.”
He sat down on the sofa beneath the window. “I’m sorry, babe. That was Jack. He just wanted to ask me some questions.”
Emma curled up on the couch beside him.
“Em, did you know Anna Korvaire?”
“A little, yes.”
“And have you ever seen her drink?”
Emma laughed. “Absolutely not. Anna is way too conservative for that. In fact, she’s a bit priggish. There’s a running joke about how none of us have ever seen her have so much as a boyfriend, let alone a drink.”
Jack was right. None of this made sense.
Jon stood and walked to the dresser. He leaned against it and crossed his arms. “Emmy, I think it’s time we left.”
“What?” She shot up.
“We haven’t even been here twenty-four hours, and we’ve already had our room ransacked, and another presenter is in a coma. Look, I just don’t think it’s worth the risk. I think Bennett was the one who tried to drown Korvaire, and I told you what I saw at dinner. He’s dangerous, and I don’t think either one of us has any business being here. I think we should just go home.”
Emma looked at the floor and shook her head. “Jon, I don’t—”
“Emma, I think Bennett is a Pusher. And from what I can tell, he’s a damn good one, too. Only I think Bennett uses it to promote his own personal agenda.”
Emma sat back down on the couch and pulled her knees to her chest.
Jon sat down beside her. “Look, Em. It was Bennett I saw Korvaire with last night. I know it was. And now she’s in the hospital. I say we get out of here, while we still can, before something even more horrible happens. To one of the other presenters,” he said, nodding meaningfully at her.
Emma stared across the room. “Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly. “Maybe we are in over our heads.”
He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and over her shoulder.
“But maybe that’s exactly what Bennett wants us to do. Maybe he’s just trying to scare us off. I mean, think about it. That crack he made at dinner about those who stand in the way of progress. Jon, this may be our only chance. If I don’t stand up and speak out against the GOG, especially now that Anna’s gone, then who will?”
Jon looked her in the eyes. They were amber, with dark circles that radiated out like the rings of an ancient tree. Behind them, always, was an incredible sense of responsibility. It was something that had both drawn him to her and driven him nuts at the same time. She usually acted on it without any regard for her own personal safety, and she never stopped to think what it would do to him if anything should happen to her. Everything inside him was screaming for him to just walk away. But how could he know for sure if that was really how he felt, or if it wasn’t just some notion that Bennett had pushed off on him?
He took a deep breath. “Fine. We’ll stay, but we’ve got to be careful. We don’t go near Bennett any more than we have to. Neither of us. And we don’t leave each other alone, even for a few minutes. Okay?”
Emma nodded.
He held her chin in his hand so she would have to look him in the eyes. “I mean it, Em.”
“Believe me,” she said. “The last thing I want is Stephen Bennett in my head.”
“All right. Well, I imagine they’ll be bringing breakfast up soon.”
“Good. It will give me some time to get my research sorted out. I need to go across the hall to gather up my papers. And some clothes.”
Jon frowned.
“Don’t worry,” said Emma. “I had no intention of going by myself.”
Emma poked her head out the door to make sure no one was around, then they both padded across the hallway barefoot. The door to their old room was already wide open. A bright light flashed as they stepped inside.
“Um… Is there something I c
an do for you?” Emma asked the brunette behind the camera.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” The woman shook both their hands. “I’m Rachael Dallin. I’m a photojournalist. You must be the Grants. Allred told me quite a bit about you two. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She stepped over some papers and took another photo.
“Hey, I’ve heard of you,” said Jon. “My son Jacob is into photography. He’s a big fan of yours.”
Emma shot him a surprised glance like this was news to her. Jon ignored her. It didn’t surprise him at all that she knew nothing about one of Jacob’s hobbies.
“But you’re press?” he continued. “I thought Jack wasn’t allowing any press in here during the convention.”
“He’s not—besides me. He invited me personally, to do some PR work to appease some of the attendees.” She rolled her eyes. “I think what he was really wanted was for me to do a little snooping around. Though I now seem to be serving double duty as a police photographer.”
“So I guess that means you’ve been down to the pool as well?” said Emma.
“Yeah. Pretty crazy stuff, huh? Though I’ve certainly been in the middle of worse.”
“Snooping?” Jon asked. “What kind of snooping?”
Rachael smiled. “Let’s just say I have a knack for getting into places and finding out things most people can’t.”
Jon glanced quickly at Rachael’s forehead, then raised an eyebrow at Emma.
“Well,” said Rachael, snapping off one last shot. “I think that just about does it. I’m sure you’d both like to gather up your things so you can get dressed.” She scanned the mess. “Would you like some help cleaning all this up?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” said Emma. “I think we can handle it.”
“Well, all right then.” She shook their hands again before leaving. “Good luck with your presentation tomorrow, Dr. Grant. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”
Jon and Emma gathered up their things and headed back to their room. Jon enjoyed the chance to have breakfast brought up to them and lounge around for a couple hours before going downstairs, though he ended up wishing later he had taken a nap instead. He sat in the back row of the large conference room, trying desperately not to fall asleep during the presentations.