“Not to worry,” she reassured him. “You’re probably a bit dizzy, yes? Have a helluva headache, and maybe a bit sick to your stomach?”
He nodded. Nothing wrong with his nasal passages, though. Dr. Claire smelled damn good. Fresh and sweet, feminine.
“The symptoms will pass,” she assured him. “We’ll keep you here until they do. We did an MRI while you were unconscious. Everything looks good.”
“So I’m going to live after all.”
“It’s looking that way. You’ll be back to normal in no time. The worst of the damage is the concussion, which, while not good, could have been a whole lot worse. You must have a skull of iron.”
“It’s been said.”
“You also have fairly severe abrasions on your legs and arms from skidding on the pavement. No broken bones, but you’ll have lots of big bruises, contusions you received when your body hit the street. We’ll keep those iced to try to reduce swelling. No internal injuries, which is amazing. You are one lucky man.”
Muddled images flashed through his head. Light, noise, pain. “They catch the guy who did this?”
She shook her head. “Not as far as I know. The police are investigating.”
“I am the police.”
She shook her head again. “Not today you’re not.” She seemed to observe him for a while. “What are you thinking, Detective McKennitt?”
“I’m thinking you’re the cutest doctor I’ve ever had.”
“How well can you see me?”
He narrowed his questionable gaze on her. “You look like a blurry watercolor. Blobs of paint but no discernable shape.”
“Hmm. And after all that exercise, too.” She laughed, and he liked the sound of it.
He wasn’t that dizzy and his vision was clearing quickly. Claire Hunter was beautiful. She had soft brown hair pulled into a loose bun held by one of those clippy thingies women wore. Small pearl teardrops dangled from her earlobes. She had delicately arched brows and her eyes were a fawn brown, bright with humor and intelligence. He dropped his focus to her lips. Full and rosy, as though she’d just been kissed.
“Do all your patients fall in love with you, Doc?” he ventured.
Her tone shifted from friendly to all business, just that quick. “I think we should concentrate on getting you well, and never mind about my other patients. I’m going to be checking on you every couple of hours until the end of my shift. Then the night staff will take over. If you remain stable tonight and don’t develop any new symptoms, you can go home tomorrow afternoon. But that’s not a promise, just a big maybe.”
“How long before I can get back to work?”
“Depends. If you were a football player, I’d say three months. But if you’re real good and promise not to get another concussion, you can go back in a couple of weeks.”
“What? No way! A couple of—”
“Hey, Tayo.” The deep voice came from the open doorway behind the doctor.
Taylor felt a grin split his face, and even though it hurt like hell, he couldn’t help it. “Hey yourself,” he said. “Dr. Claire, this is my brother, Detective Jackson Soldier McKennitt.” He spoke the name without thinking. Thank God, he was starting to remember.
The doctor grinned at him. “I already knew his name. But I’m glad to see that you know it, too.”
Soldier was so relieved to see Taylor’s eyes open, he wanted to collapse in a heap on the floor. His brother was going to live. His injuries would heal. Taylor was going to be fine.
There had been a moment of panic at the scene when the paramedics had pronounced Taylor dead. They couldn’t get a pulse and thought they’d lost him. But Tayo had fooled them all and come roaring back with a strong heartbeat and a stronger will to survive.
Since the accident, Soldier hadn’t let Betsy out of his sight. He’d held her hand all the way to the hospital and only let her go so he could sit by Taylor’s bedside. She stood on the other side of the hospital room, staring into space, her face a tortured mask of despair and fear and remorse.
This was not her doing, but she blamed herself nonetheless. Man, did he ever know that feeling.
Now, staring into his brother’s eyes, Soldier growled, “I’m going to get the son of a bitch who did this. If I have to take Port Henry apar—”
“Listen, Jackson,” Taylor choked. His voice sounded raw. Soldier reached for the water pitcher and poured some in a glass. As Taylor took it, he said, “If you think this was your fault, get over it.”
“I should have—”
“You should have nothing,” he rasped. “I’m all grown up. I’m a cop. I even have a gun. A really big one. I heard the engine and ignored the possibilities. I got hurt. You may think you own all the guilt in the world and that you’re personally responsible for every bad thing that happens to people, but you’re not. Stop being so egotistical.”
Soldier felt as though he’d been kicked in the head. “Egotis— What the— How can you—”
He gave up. Blowing out a heavy sigh, he turned to Betsy. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I interrogate Patient Zero over here.”
Betsy gave Taylor a smile then nodded to Soldier. Quietly, she made her way to a chair near the window.
Dr. Hunter remained standing in the doorway, watching, but she had made no comment on the brothers’ discourse. Addressing her now, Soldier said, “Is it okay to ask him some questions?”
Claire Hunter was a very pretty woman and had a sympathetic smile. It was apparent his brother thought so, too, because Taylor hadn’t taken his eyes off her, except to yell at him.
“All I ask is that you don’t tire him out,” she said. “And don’t stay too long. I’ve got to check on some other patients, then I’ll be back.” She looked over at Taylor, who was watching her intently. “Behave yourself.” She gave him a smile, then left the room. Betsy excused herself and followed.
Soldier pulled a chair next to Taylor’s bed. “Pretty lady.”
Taylor’s gaze stayed for a moment on the threshold through which Dr. Hunter had just disappeared. Shifting his attention to Soldier, he said, “I suppose you want to know what happened.”
“You read my mind.”
“Yeah, well, don’t try reading mine. Things are a little fuzzy just now.”
Soldier reached toward Taylor and the two men clasped hands. Taylor’s palm was warm, physical evidence that blood flowed through his veins and the life force was strong in him. Looking into his brother’s eyes, Soldier said, “I was pretty worried about you, pal. Thanks for hanging in there.”
Taylor gave him a tired grin. “Happy to oblige, Jackson.”
For a moment, Soldier remembered back when they were kids, racing each other to see who could reach the schoolyard first. Panting and laughing and boasting that each was faster than the other. As though it were just yesterday, he heard Taylor’s anguished gasps when he’d fallen from the big tree in the backyard and broken his wrist, and how he had reassured his younger brother that everything would be okay as he’d screamed at the top of his little boy lungs for their mom’s help. He remembered the scent of hot cocoa that the two of them had shared around their first campfire, and how cocoa hadn’t tasted nearly so good since.
Giving Taylor’s hand one last squeeze, Soldier released it and settled back on the sturdy hospital chair. Clearing the emotion that threatened to choke his voice, he said, “What do you remember?”
Taylor let his head fall against his pillow, but the movement made him grimace. He closed his eyes and began to speak.
“I remember very clearly the few minutes before I was hit,” he said. He took a swallow of water from the glass Soldier had given him, then relaxed against the pillow again. “I was crossing Rose Avenue between Third and Fourth, traveling in an east-west direction. Visibility was good. Before I began crossing, I glanced up and down the street to check for traffic. There was none, so I started across.
“When I got to the middle, I heard an engine nearby, behind
me, loud. I was surprised. I assumed it was a resident.” He grinned at Soldier. “Guess you know what they say about assuming.”
“Like, don’t ever do it.”
“Yeah. Well, the car seemed to shoot away from the curb. I turned, saw the headlights. Just before impact, I jumped out of the way. Front right bumper clipped my hip. I hit the ground and rolled. Next thing, I wake up in the hospital.”
“You’re certain you didn’t see the driver? Try to concentrate, Taylor.”
Taylor opened his eyes but kept his head steady. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes again, as if to replay the scene in his mind. “The car was a blur, and I knew I was in deep shit if I didn’t get out of the way. I may have seen the driver, but I don’t remember. He was close enough by then, but I can’t get a clear picture in my head. It just won’t form. All I remember seeing was headlights.”
“Was it the same car that drove by the night we got back from the conference?”
“I think so. Sorry. The next time I’m hit, I’ll try to have my camera with me.”
Betsy and Claire walked down the hospital corridor, the sound of their shoes making tapping sounds as they went along. When they reached the nurse’s station, Claire put her hand on Betsy’s arm. There was worry in her eyes when she said, “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me you were being stalked? How long has it been going on? Why aren’t the police protecting you better?”
“Hold on, sweetie.” Betsy patted her friend’s hand. “I’m okay, honest. To tell you the truth, I didn’t believe I was being stalked, not until the conference this weekend. I almost called you the other night, but it was late and you’ve been so busy at the hospital and with your patients, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Claire looked thoroughly pissed. “Disturb me. You’re my dearest friend. Disturb me, already!”
Shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, Betsy said, “So, does Taylor really look okay? Will he be all right?”
“I have every confidence in his complete recovery. The man is built like a . . . well, never mind what he’s built like. He’s young and healthy and strong. His injuries will take time to heal, but he’ll be fine.”
Betsy felt relief ease the tension in every muscle she had. Thank God. She didn’t know what she would have done if Taylor had been killed. Kristee Spangler’s death was enough for her conscience to deal with, but the brother of the man she was falling in love with . . .
Claire must have picked up on her thoughts, because she smiled. “You want to tell me about it?”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Right.” She shoved her pen into the breast pocket of her toast-colored jacket. “You show up here with two of the hottest-looking men I have ever seen in my life, one of whom cannot keep his eyes or his hands off of you, both of whom are detectives and are sleeping in your house, you are being stalked, there’s been a murder and an attempted murder, and you have the nerve to say to me there’s not much to tell?” She rolled those pretty eyes of hers. “Well, I’d like to hear it when something interesting really does happen in your life!”
Betsy pursed her lips and said casually, “So, what did you think of Soldier?”
Claire’s brow lifted and her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Have you slept with him yet?”
“Claire!”
“Well, what in the hell are you waiting for? I’m not one to advocate casual sex, but in his case, I think you should definitely make an exception. Besides, I think he really likes you.”
“Yeah? Well, what about Taylor?”
“You want to sleep with them both? Wow, just thinking about that is getting me all hot.”
“No,” Betsy laughed. “For you. He liked you; I could tell.”
Claire blushed and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. “I don’t have time for a man in my life right now. Besides, I think I’m a couple of years older than he is.”
Betsy began to protest, but Claire put her doctor face back on and said, “Taylor needs rest. Time for you and Soldier to beat it. I’ll call you if his condition changes, okay?”
The Port Henry Community Hospital was only four stories tall. It was attractive, as hospitals went, made of red brick with natural stone trim. Offices, patient services, and the ER were on the first floor. The surgeries were on the top floor. In the middle were the wards and rooms.
Taylor McKennitt’s room was on the second floor, just down the hall from the nurses’ station. The hospital had been told to keep a special eye on room 212, the patient might be in danger. A uniformed officer would stand guard outside to make sure nothing untoward happened to their precious cop patient.
In the dark, the watcher smirked. Counting the windows, room 212 would be right about . . . there. The light was on, but the blinds closed. Shadows moved around behind the square of yellow light like moths trapped inside a lamp shade. Soldier and Betsy, and her bosom pal, Claire. They were all in there right now.
The watcher was satisfied. Taylor McKennitt hadn’t died after all, but things went that way sometimes. He was pretty banged up, and that would just have to do. The whole thing had been so spur of the moment, anyway. There hadn’t been any plan to take Taylor out, but there he was, just a-walkin’ down the street, just like in the song. The opportunity had presented itself, and it would have been foolish to pass it up.
The McKennitts were big boys; Taylor had left quite a dent in the fender. Kristee’s car would have to be ditched.
Turning from the window, the watcher approached a white Accord and placed a note under its driver-side wiper blade. It wasn’t much, just another nail in Betsy Tremaine’s credibility coffin. Between the hints and gossip, the anonymous phone calls, the damned dog, and now Taylor McKennitt, things were beginning to come together. The disasters would all center around Betsy, as well they should.
If only there had been some way to use Kristee’s death in all this, but the decision to finally eliminate her had been a long time coming. And she had, after all, brought it on herself. She could have given it all away with her stupid Have a nice trip comment in the bathroom at the hotel. Kristee never had been very bright, yet she’d been useful over the years, but now it was time to go solo.
The watcher glanced back up at Taylor’s window. The light had gone out. Best get a move on before Soldier and La Tremaine showed up in the parking lot.
Around the corner, the damaged green sedan waited. The watcher slipped behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb. Yes, yes. Like dominoes, everything would begin to fall. Elizabeth Tremaine would lose her reputation, her job, her loved ones.
The final blow, her death, would be slow. Painful. A delightful agony. She would be made to understand that she alone was responsible for what was happening to her. That she had brought about her own ruin.
And then she would die.
Chapter 14
It was ten o’clock, Sunday night. Claire stood in the darkened hospital room and stared down at her patient. Taylor McKennitt was asleep. He was last on her rounds and now she could go home.
She glanced at his chart again just to make certain she hadn’t missed anything. His vitals were good and the swelling on his legs where he’d skidded on the pavement looked a little better.
As she prepared to leave, she turned to take one last look. She was grateful he would be released tomorrow. He wouldn’t be her patient anymore. Claire didn’t like having Taylor McKennitt as her patient. He was too good-looking, too sexy, too tempting.
She’d treated attractive men before, but none of them had ever affected her the way this one did. There was something about his athletic body, his easy smile, those sharp eyes. He was the epitome of every girlish daydream she’d ever spun, and being near him made her feel feminine and warm.
Claire was attracted to him, and she knew she’d best be honest with herself about it or lose her professional detachment.
She had turned thirty-four her last birthday, nearly three years older than her hunky patient. But her age di
dn’t stop her from remembering those silly stories she used to tell herself. Girlhood stories about when she would finally meet her one true love, what he would look like, how handsome he would be. No longer the idealist, long hours, hard work, constant competition, striving to be the best, all had turned her a little cynical about love and its place in her world.
The intense love she felt for medicine and for her career were deep and fulfilling, but the reality was, they didn’t keep a lady’s feet warm at night.
Returning her gaze to her patient, she watched as Taylor McKennitt slept deeply, his broad chest rising and falling rhythmically. One of the oddest things about being a female doctor was seeing men in situations she normally wouldn’t unless she were intimately involved with them.
She pursed her lips. The words intimate and Taylor McKennitt would undoubtedly not appear in her vocabulary anytime soon.
Claire moved a bit closer and admired his hair. He had beautiful hair and she longed to touch it. It looked soft, and she hadn’t touched a man’s hair in forever. His long lashes were to be envied, dark and thick, emphasizing the bluest eyes she had ever seen. His brother’s eyes were equally intense, but held no interest for her whatsoever.
It was his mouth, though, that really did her in. Claire imagined kissing that wonderful mouth, and felt the heat rising in her chest.
Don’t even get started, she thought as she headed for the door. He’d be released tomorrow and she’d never see him again. He didn’t even live in Port Henry, for heaven’s sake. After he was well enough to travel, he’d head home to Seattle and that would certainly be that.
Besides, this wasn’t about her or Taylor or attraction . . . it was about Betsy and her safety. For a moment, Claire admonished herself for getting lost in thoughts about a man, when her friend was in real danger.
Claire exited the room, nodded a farewell to the night nurse, then went around the corner to her own office and began gathering the paperwork she wanted to take home with her.
The Damsel in This Dress Page 18