by Joanna Wayne
“No, but he left a trail of blood across your kitchen to the back patio door.”
She tried to rise onto her elbows. The dizziness returned. Rick appeared to be swaying. Rick never swayed. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back to the pillow.
“My blood or his?”
“His, and lots of it. You didn’t miss.”
“Nice to know he has something to remember me by this morning, as well. Was the lock broken on the patio door?”
“Yeah.”
“So much for my alarm system.”
“The wires were all cut,” Rick said. “He knew what he was doing. He just wasn’t counting on you knowing what you were doing.”
Satisfaction eased her tension. “Glad I got at least one shot off. Nice to know I can deliver a bullet when I’m passing out.”
“A direct hit, too. As much blood as he lost, he should be in a hospital somewhere in the city, but we haven’t been able to locate him.”
“And you checked with all the emergency rooms?”
“Yep, but we’ll find him. We have fingerprints and DNA,” Rick said. “If he’s in either of those FBI database systems, we should have no trouble getting a positive ID.”
Brit tried to push up on her elbows again and this time she made it. She looked around the room. “Where are my clothes?”
“Taken for evidence.”
“I can’t leave here in this hospital gown.”
“Why not? It’s your color.”
“Not funny.”
“That’s what Shelly Mince said at the crime scene. She packed a duffel of necessities for you and brought them to the hospital when we finished up at your house last night. You’ll want to stay away from there until the place is cleaned up.”
“I’ve seen plenty of blood. Where’s the duffel?”
Rick walked over and opened the small closet to the left of her bed. “It’s right here. Not that you’re going anywhere anytime soon.”
“I’m not going to just lie here and stare at the ceiling while the guy who tried to kill me goes on the run and disappears.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence, partner, but you’re not the only competent cop in Houston.”
“I know that.” It didn’t change her mind about what she had to do. “What happened to my pistol?”
“We found it at the scene. It’s at the precinct.”
“At least the rotten bastard didn’t steal it.”
“On the bright side, he didn’t shoot you with it, either.”
“Which also makes no sense. Not that I’m complaining. I just need my weapon.”
“You don’t need one right now,” Rick said. “Captain Bradford ordered round-the-clock protection while you’re in the hospital. You have an armed guard at your door now.”
“Tell Captain Bradford thanks but she can call off the dogs. Now hand me that duffel so I can get dressed. Then you can drive me to the precinct to get a replacement weapon.”
Rick shook his head. “No can do. Doctor’s orders.”
“I feel fine,” she lied.
“That’s good to hear.”
Brit looked to the door for the source of the last comment. Dr. Simpson, the white-coated young trauma specialist who had taken care of her in E.R. last night stepped inside.
She smiled and eased her head back to the pillow as a new wave of wooziness hit. “Just the man I need to see. I appreciate the wonderful care, but duty calls. If you’ll just sign my release papers, I’ll give up my bed to the sick and wounded.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re feeling so well.”
“Then you’ll sign the release?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You have a concussion and you lost a good deal of blood from the shoulder wound. You need bed rest and medical observation for at least another twenty-four hours.”
“You tell her, Doc.” Rick walked over to the bed. “I’ve got to run, partner. I’ll check with you later, but if you remember anything you haven’t already told me, call. I’ll be out playing cop.”
Rick gave his signature wink and double click of his tongue as he escaped, closing the door behind him.
“How’s the pain in the shoulder?” the doctor asked.
“I’ve had worse.” She raised her hand and stretched until her fingers crawled across the thick bandage. “When do I get this off?”
“In a few minutes. I’ll check the wound and if it looks good, the nurse will apply a new and smaller dressing. How’s the headache?”
“Persistent, but the pounding is more like a kid on drums now instead of a jackhammer.”
“That’s progress. I’ll keep you on the current medication. The pounding should disappear entirely soon. How’s the vertigo?”
“Much improved.”
“Then sounds like you’re well on your way to recovery.”
“Exactly. So there’s really no point in my staying here. I can rest in any bed as easily as I can rest here.”
“Yes, but would you? Besides, you’re far too unsteady to be left alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I have a friend I can stay with and I’ll come back to the E.R. immediately if there’s a problem.”
There was a tap at the door.
“Come in,” the doctor said.
He’d probably expected the nurse but it was the guard who stepped inside. “You have a visitor,” he said to Brit.
“Who?”
“Cannon Dalton. Do you want me to show him in or turn him away?”
Cannon was the last person she’d expected to see this morning, but there was no reason not to see him except that she no doubt looked like she’d been in a fight with a bulldog. She raked her fingers through her tangled hair and pushed it behind her ears.
“Show him in.”
Cannon swaggered in, looking even sexier than he had last night, if that was possible. He was clean-shaven, wearing a pale gold Western shirt that set off his eyes.
He took off his black Stetson and held it in his hands, fingering the brim. A lock of sun-streaked hair fell over his brow.
“Tell me you’re not here because there were complications at the lab,” she said. “That truly would be the last straw this morning.”
“I’ve been swabbed,” he said. “No complications. Doesn’t look like you can say the same.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Lab gossip. I figured I’d drop by and see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
His timing couldn’t have been better. Now if he’d just go along with her on this. She smiled appreciatively. “I’m feeling fine,” she said, “but Dr. Simpson is concerned about my staying alone.”
“If that’s an invitation to play nurse, I’m at your service.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “There you have it, Dr. Simpson. I won’t be alone.”
Cannon smiled, walked over and took her hand as if they were old friends—or more. Heat crept through her veins. She looked away, careful not to let him see that his touch had an effect on her.
“I’ll be here for you as long as you need me,” Cannon said. “Not sure how good a nurse I am, but I can fetch and carry and I make a mean tortilla soup.”
“See, Dr. Simpson,” Brit said. “I’ll be in great hands.”
The doctor didn’t look convinced. “You have an armed guard here at the hospital. That indicates to me it wouldn’t be safe for you to go back to the scene of the crime or not to have protection.”
“I’m a cop,” she reminded him. “I made a mistake and let the man get the jump on me once. I won’t be careless enough to do that again. Besides, haven’t you heard? He’s in far worse shape than I am. I have no idea why they ordered the guard.”
“She can stay at my place,” Cannon offered.
“Thank you, Cannon. That settles that.”
The doctor closed the chart. “I can’t keep you here against your will, Detective Garner, but I think you’ll be making a serious mistak
e by going against my recommendations for continued hospitalization.”
Certainly not her first. “I’ll follow the rest of your instructions to the letter.”
“Your decision. I’ll check out the shoulder wound and then have the nurse go through the care instructions with both of you,” the doctor said. “But I’ll need to see you in my office in three days, or before if your condition worsens in any way.”
“Not a problem,” Brit assured him.
She’d get Cannon to drive her home and then he could do as he pleased until he got the paternity test results. After all, she was a detective. She knew to stay clear of the crime scene; but that left the rest of the town house.
Good thing she didn’t really need Cannon to nurse her back to health, though. Scary to think of what kind of TLC you could get from a guy used to tangling with bulls and women he picked up in bars.
No reason to worry. She would be getting nothing but a ride from Cannon Dalton.
* * *
CANNON WAS CERTAIN he was being used. He wasn’t sure why at this point or even if it was bad thing. On the surface, having the seductive detective so eager to accept his help was enticing. Which meant there was more to this than the obvious.
He held open the passenger door of his pickup truck while Brit climbed inside. Since she’d asked him to step into the hallway while her wound was dressed, this was the first real look he had at the knot on the back of her head and the thickness of the bandage just below her left shoulder blade.
Whoever she’d tangled with had meant business. Cannon couldn’t help but wonder if her attack was somehow related to Sylvie’s murder. Either way, Brit was lucky to be alive.
She was a cop. She should be able to take care of herself. If not, he was sure the officers on the Houston police force would do their best to defend their own.
Yet, the need to protect her swelled like an obsession inside him. He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was just a man’s natural instinct to protect a woman in danger. Maybe it was the emotional roller coaster he’d been on since Kimmie had dropped into his life. Most likely it was a combination of the two.
“Take the first left,” Brit said as he pulled out into the traffic lane. “Then watch for the signs for I-20 west.”
“That’s not the way to my hotel.”
“Of course not. It’s the way to my town house.”
“The crime scene.”
“Right. The scene where some rotten bastard tried to kill me. I need to check it out for myself.”
“What part of bed rest and not stressing out do you not understand?”
“What part of I’m fine do you not understand?”
So that was the game. She had no intention of following any of the doctor’s orders. Cannon swerved, made a U-turn and hit the accelerator.
Brit turned so that she was facing him. “What are you doing?” she snapped.
“Taking you back to the hospital. I signed on to make sure you weren’t left alone, not to taxi you around town.”
“You’re kidding, right? I mean you didn’t really think I was going to hang out with you in your hotel room?”
“Yeah. Guess I’m not as sophisticated as you. I usually take a woman at her word when she asks for help.”
“I thought you understood and were playing along with me.”
“Doesn’t really matter what you thought,” he said, still prickling. “I’m driving you back to the hospital. After that you’re on your own.”
“You’re as hardheaded as those bulls you ride, Cannon Dalton.”
“Don’t even try to detail my faults, Detective. You don’t know the half of it.”
“Look, I’m sorry, Cannon. Let me explain.”
“Why bother? I’m just a stupid rodeo cowboy who doesn’t get the intricacies of deceit.”
She reached across the seat and rested her hand on his arm. “I don’t know you well enough to make judgments, but you don’t know me that well, either. So give me a break and try to understand where I’m coming from. I risk my life on an almost daily basis to go after killers. It’s what I do. The only difference here is that the would-be killer came after me.”
“I admire your dedication.” He kept driving toward the hospital. “But you’re in no shape to go after a jaywalker right now, much less a would-be killer. In my book, trying it is stupidity, not bravery or even duty.”
She let go of his arm. “Okay, you win. I’ll go to your hotel and rest. But first, just make a quick stop at my house. I need to pick up my computer and some personal items. You surely can’t object to that.”
He considered the option, knowing she’d probably break her promise the second she got home. But the truth was he wanted to see the crime scene for himself. Not that he had any intention of jumping into the case.
Besides, if he took her back to the hospital, she’d just call a taxi and leave again. At least this way, he’d be there if she had more complications from the concussion.
“On my conditions,” he said.
“Your conditions?” Her voice rose. “I’m the one in control....”
He slowed and pulled to the curb. She sputtered like an engine that had run out of fuel. “Okay, let’s hear it,” she said. “But be reasonable.”
“One quick stop at your house, and then on to my hotel. You will rest and stop acting like the safety of the entire town of Houston rests entirely on your shoulders. And stop talking to me like I’m a hired hand.”
She rolled her eyes but then managed a half smile. “Deal.”
He turned and headed back toward I-20. He decided this was as good a time as any to level with her about the rest of the reason he’d come to the hospital this morning.
“I didn’t just come by to check on you this morning.”
“Then why did you come?”
“After I left you last night, I remembered something else Sylvie had said when we were in the bar.”
She swiveled to face him and zeroed in like a laser. “What is it?”
“I remember Sylvie saying something about time travel. Coming from the past. Going to the past. I may not have heard it right and only remember it because it sounded so crazy to me at the time. And I think she may have mentioned a sister, though I don’t remember what she said about her.”
Brit turned back to face straight ahead and grew quiet and pensive.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked after ten minutes of silence.”
“Fine. I’m still thinking about the time travel comment. Are you sure she wasn’t just talking about her past?”
“I’m not really sure of anything about that night.”
Brit understood confusion and not being able to remember details. She was living it right now. But at least her problems stemmed from a concussion, not a whiskey bottle. She told him which exit to take and he nodded in response.
Her head started pounding again. She didn’t dare let Cannon know that. He’d turn right around again on a dime.
* * *
CANNON HAD A strong hunch that helping Brit escape the hospital had been a huge mistake. On the other hand, he had nothing else to do but sit around and wait for test results, and hanging out with Brit was definitely not boring.
Twenty minutes of heavy traffic later, they pulled up in front of Brit’s town house. It was on a cul-de-sac surrounded by other town houses that looked exactly like hers. The streets were deserted, the residents either inside on this glorious fall day or, more likely, at work.
Lawns were meticulously landscaped, separated by thick holly hedges. There were no porches, but each house had impressive brass overhangs to shelter the wide porticos and striking etched-glass-and-mahogany front doors.
The prominent difference was that Brit’s front door was striped with police tape.
“I don’t suppose you plan to pay any attention to the warning on the tape,” Cannon said.
“I don’t have to. I’m a homicide detective, remember?”
“How could I forget? I thought
they only used that tape when there had been an actual murder.”
“Not necessarily. They can use it anytime they don’t want the public entering or disturbing an area. Which is why you’ll have to wait for me outside.”
Brit started up the walk and then veered to the stone walkway that ran between the thick shrubs that separated her house from the one next to it. Maybe she had decided not to cross the tape.
Cannon hurried to catch up with her. Before he could, a black sedan pulled up in front of the house.
A woman appearing to be in her midfifties, short brown hair in a stylish bob jumped out and stamped toward them. “Stop right there,” she called in a voice that sounded a lot like Cannon’s evil high-school principal.
Brit spun around. “Captain Bradford. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. Your doctor said you’d left the hospital against his recommendations. I figured I’d find you here.”
“I only plan to take a quick look around and pick up a few personal items. I’ll be careful not to disturb a thing, though I suspect the CSU has all the evidence they need by now.”
“Going inside is not a good idea in your condition. Go back to the hospital. Give yourself some time. Rick has everything under control here.”
“I’m not here to take over and I’m feeling fine,” Brit insisted, though she’d looked unsteady walking.
Brit nodded toward Cannon. “My friend did the driving and he’s going to stay with me the rest of the day. If there’s any problem at all, he can drive me back to the E.R. at once.”
The captain frowned, obviously still agitated.
Cannon extended his hand. “I’m Cannon Dalton, rent-a-nurse.”
“Cannon Dalton? As in Kimmie Dalton’s father?” Bradford turned back to Brit before he could respond to her questions. “Care to explain all of this, Detective Garner?”
“There’s nothing to explain. Cannon took the paternity test this morning and then offered to stick around and help out.”
“So you’ve pulled a person of interest in your sister’s murder into an attempted murder case involving you?”
“No one mentioned my being a person of interest in a murder case,” Cannon protested. His hunch had definitely been right.