Everything Pales in Comparision

by Rebecca Swartz

  “Let me guess.” Daina’s frown disappeared as her smile widened. “Constable Kirby, right?”

  Emma was a little surprised by the strained harshness of Daina’s voice, but merely inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. “That’s right, but call me Emma, please, Ms. Buchanan.”

  “I can do that, if you’ll call me Daina.” The singer sounded amused.

  Emma nodded, with another small smile. “I can do that.”

  “Well, then, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.” Daina reached to shake Emma’s hand. She gasped sharply.

  “Oh, hey, can I—?” Emma extended her right hand and Daina, with surprising strength, grabbed it with her own.

  Features contorted, Daina breathed, “It’s okay, I’m just—” She took a deep breath, held it a couple of moments, and then exhaled forcefully, “—sore.” She released Emma’s hand, and added with a strained smile, “Just give me a sec here.”

  Emma watched as Daina fiddled with the IV line.

  “My memory seems to have been affected,” Daina muttered. She looked up with a rueful grin. “I keep forgetting I’m an invalid.” She bent to her task once more.

  Smiling, Emma spoke with gentle candor. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

  For some reason the statement seemed to strike a nerve with Daina. As she patted the IV line back into its original place at her side, she said waspishly, without raising her eyes, “Well, that pretty much goes without saying, now doesn’t it?” Color immediately flooded her face, but she kept her eyes downcast.

  The remark brought Emma up short. She realized that she was not the only one feeling awkward. She brought forward the bouquet of flowers, and said in an easy, conversational tone of voice, devoid of any sarcasm, “These are for you, by the way, in case you were wondering.”

  For an instant, she thought Daina wasn’t going to look up. When she reached for the flowers, she stared at them for a few moments. Finally, she looked up again. “I’m, uh, sorry for that.” She paused, her color rising, and cleared her throat. “That was rude, I’m sorry. I, uh, have a bad habit of speaking without thinking.”

  “Well,” Emma said gently, casually putting her hands halfway into her pockets, “I have a bad habit of thinking without speaking.” With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she added, “Makes us even, I guess.”

  Daina fixed her with an appraising look, and then her mouth quirked in a small, sardonic grin. “Well, I don’t know about that.” She held up the flowers. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Daina swallowed, and seemed to think her next words over carefully. Voice and expression earnest, she said, “I really am sorry for that remark. I realize I owe you a great deal—”

  “Oh, whoa, wait a minute,” Emma interrupted. “You don’t owe me anything, okay? I didn’t come here expecting some big production and I’m not here holding my hand out, looking for some sort of payoff.” She took a breath. “Believe me, I would rather have met you under different circumstances, but I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” She added, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never been in this position before.”

  Daina gave a fleeting smile, and then her expression sobered. With extreme care and dignity, she said, “Thank you, Emma, for…not giving up…when everyone else had.”

  Emma’s breath caught in her throat and her heart staggered in her chest. She managed to respond, with equal dignity, “You’re very welcome.”

  It occurred to Emma that the meeting was effectively over, and she found herself with nothing more to say. She could also see that Daina was tiring and she was loath to overstay her welcome. She tried to come up with an appropriate exit line, and had only begun to formulate the words when Daina spoke up.

  “Okay, that was hard work. Could you pass me that glass of water, please?” Her voice was noticeably weaker, as if the emotion of the last few minutes had drained her. She managed a faint smile. “I’m feeling a bit parched here.”

  Emma watched as Daina took a couple of sips. When Daina cleared her throat, Emma looked at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

  Daina swallowed and gave another tired smile. “Yeah,” she said, sounding disappointed, “guess I’m just fading. I’m sorry.”

  “I should be going anyway,” Emma said quickly.

  “I’m really glad you came by.” Daina’s voice was little more than a harsh whisper.

  “So am I,” Emma replied.

  “I was wondering…” Daina said nothing more, as if she were still wondering. And then she sighed, and came out abruptly with, “I was wondering if you might like to get together, you know, after I’m out of here.” She was obviously exhausted, and blinked rapidly a few times. “When I can actually walk and talk.”

  Emma felt herself go very still inside.

  “You know, just for coffee or something. Or a beer, I don’t know.” She smiled, as if to make the invitation light-hearted.

  It occurred to Emma that smiling in return was what was called for here, but the muscles required for that seemed to have frozen along with the rest of her. It took her a few moments to finally say, “Uh, sure.”

  Daina narrowed her eyes. “Really? Are you sure? Because—”

  “No, yes, really.” Frustrated, Emma waded through her confusion, struggling to find a clarity which had been eluding her for too long. “I’d like that, really,” she added more firmly, “that would be nice.”

  “Okay, well, you know where to find me for the next little while, I guess. After that…”

  Without giving herself time to think, Emma pulled her wallet out of her back pocket and extracted one of her little-used business cards. “Tell you what,” she said, reaching for the pen on the table by the bed, “when you’re ready, call me. I’ll give you my home number.” She quickly scribbled on the back of the card and handed it to Daina, who looked at it with interest.

  “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s been a pleasure.”

  “My mother would be thrilled to hear that,” Daina said dryly.

  “You can tell her I said so.” Emma took a step back, raising a hand slightly in farewell as she said, “Take care.”

  And she turned and left, the sound of her boot heels loud in her ears, but not as loud as the voice in her head demanding to know what the hell she was doing. As she stepped out into the brilliance of the afternoon sunshine, the only thing she knew for certain was she was definitely attracted to Daina Buchanan. Maybe not enough to matter. And maybe it didn’t matter. But the attraction was there. And that did not please her in the least.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Wednesday found Daina in high spirits. She had just been transferred to the general surgical ward and the move granted her more freedom and was indicative of her impending release. It also meant that she was now allowed visitors other than immediate family. Her parents had informed her there were quite a few people clamoring to visit her, to wish her well. Her first two visitors were the two detectives she now faced, and they might very well be her last, if she were to seriously entertain the possibility they were presenting her with.

  Detectives James and Cameron were as different as two men could possibly be. James was tall and spare and rather nattily dressed in a charcoal suit jacket and pants, pale grey shirt, and a shiny pewter colored tie. The jacket, however, was not a perfect fit. It appeared to hang from his frame rather than be tailored to it, and the smart-looking tie cinched his shirt collar tightly below his prominent Adam’s apple. Whenever he swallowed, it looked almost painful. His hazel eyes were intense, his gaze sharp, his thinning hair was tousled, and his mouth narrow and tight.

  Detective Cameron was a good foot shorter than his partner, possibly only an inch or two taller than Daina. His suit was a plain brown, his tie a shade lighter, laid over a shirt of nondescript beige. His eyes were large and brown and warm; in his round face they tended to make him ap
pear placidly bovine. He wasn’t exactly obese, was likely strongly stout; next to James, the point was moot.

  Initially, they asked after her health, and explained that the doctors had denied them access while she was in the ICU. Otherwise, they would have made an appearance sooner to take her statement. As it was, the delay had proved beneficial, as there had been developments in the investigation that warranted serious consideration.

  “What do you mean, ‘developments’?” she asked with a frown.

  “Well, not necessarily developments,” Detective James replied. He seemed to be the speaker for the two of them. Detective Cameron, other than introducing himself, did nothing but write things down on his notepad. “More just lines of thought.”

  Daina raised her eyebrows dubiously. “‘Lines of thought?’”

  “Ms. Buchanan, please understand this is an ongoing investigation. One which really isn’t going anywhere currently. We know what kind of bomb it was, we know it had a rather complex timing device; we’ve taken statements from over a hundred people. In our minds, there could be any number of reasons why someone would do something like this. We have to consider everything, including anti-gay groups, current or ex-lovers, overzealous or misguided fans, it could be anyone from anywhere. But no one has claimed responsibility for it. Which is unusual, considering it was a fairly high-profile night. So we have no motive, no suspects, no leads.”

  “Just lines of thought.” Daina’s expression was mild, but her tone was laced with contempt. “You have no idea the confidence that inspires.”

  Detective James blinked a couple of times. “Please, ma’am,” he said, maintaining his professional, calm tone, “if we could, we have a few questions for you.”

  Detective Cameron waited with pen poised.

  She shrugged. “Fire away.”

  She proceeded to answer their questions, but she hadn’t the slightest notion who could have done this or why, and could provide little in the way of insight into their investigation.

  “Ms. Buchanan, we have other questions, but we’d first like to assure you that your safety is of paramount importance to us. And we ask that you keep an open mind, since we are, in effect, theorizing here.”

  Daina nodded and smiled, trying to look politely interested. But she had a suspicion regarding their “theorizing” and sincerely hoped they would disappoint her.

  “One line of thought we’re seriously considering is that whoever planted the bomb had a specific target. We can’t know for sure who that target was, but considering the circumstances, you come up as the number one choice.” A split-second pause, then, “So, as a safety precaution, we would like to place a twenty-four hour police guard outside your room, for the duration of your hospital stay.”

  Her smile thinned and tightened. She could handle the fact that her career was on hold indefinitely; she could handle the fact that her personal life was pretty much in a shambles; she could even handle, just barely, the fact that her future rested entirely on the success of her recovery. This scenario, on top of everything else, she could not handle. This and the implication that any hope of returning to her normal everyday life had just been blown completely out of the water, was too much. Her initial impulse was to deal with it in her typical fashion, to just push it aside and refuse to deal with it.

  Detective James was one step ahead of her. “I realize it sounds a bit over the top, but it’s a possibility we have to consider. To not do so would be negligent, and your safety would be compromised. That’s not a chance we’re willing to take. The police guard would lessen that risk. And just so you know,” he added, “anyone else who performed that night has been advised to take extra safety precautions, as well. We’re not just focusing on you, but you are our main concern.”

  “Just because I happened to be on stage alone when this whole thing happened?” she asked him.

  “Are you comfortable with viewing that as a coincidence and nothing more?”

  The question was put forth mildly. She stared at him a moment or two before the wind went out of her sails completely. “Okay, no, I guess I’m not.”

  “Neither are we. The investigative team is working hard at this but with nothing much to go on, we’ve got nowhere to go. So, a few more questions?”

  “This is where you ask me if I have any enemies, right? Do I know of anyone who might’ve done this? The answer is no, I don’t.” Her irritation was rising and she couldn’t help it. “I don’t have any enemies; I have never received any hate mail. I’ve never gotten any death threats, and right now the only person I can think of who’s likely to be seriously pissed off at me is my partner, my manager, because I just fired her yesterday.”

  Detective Cameron consulted his notes and spoke up for the first time. “Your manager is—uh, was, Kendra Morrow, is that right?”

  “Yes.” She eyed him carefully.

  “And the two of you were also…um—” He floundered, coloring slightly, obviously at a loss for words.

  “Lovers?” Daina provided helpfully.

  Detective Cameron blushed crimson and glanced at his partner once, quickly, before returning his attention to her. “Yes. So, um, where would she be…right now? Can we contact her? If we needed to question her?”

  “You could certainly try.” Daina recalled her mother’s difficulty in that area. “I would imagine she’s back in Nashville, but don’t quote me on that. I haven’t spoken to her in the last twenty-four hours. She could be in Timbuktu, for all I know.”

  Both detectives were obviously confused, judging by their respective frowning countenances.

  “But, I thought…” Detective Cameron began, his color rising once more.

  “We were lovers,” Daina explained. “We’re not anymore. I’m sure I don’t need to expand on that.”

  Neither of them said anything.

  “Do you need to know anything else?” Daina asked abruptly.

  Detective James looked at Cameron, who shook his head quickly. “No, just the address and phone number in Nashville.”

  She provided both, then asked a question of her own. “How long am I going to be under police guard, did you say?”

  “At least until you’re released from the hospital,” answered Detective James. “Definitely that long while we consider whether the threat against you is real or not. Or someone claims responsibility. We are treating this very seriously.”

  Daina softened a bit at that. “This is going to freak out my mom,” she stated quietly. “Am I still allowed visitors, by the way?”

  “Yes, but they’ll have to check at the nurse’s station and with the officer on duty and provide identification. And absolutely no media.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about that.” She waved the concern away.

  “Unless you have a preference,” James went on, “we’ll split the watches between male and female officers.” He looked at her carefully. “Do you have a preference?”

  “I, uh…I don’t know.” Daina frowned, wondering at the look. Perhaps he thought she would prefer a female officer rather than a male. Which actually had not occurred to her. Could she request Emma Kirby? She realized there was a certain level of comfort there, perhaps even a sense of safety. It wasn’t attraction. It was definitely interest, but on exactly what level, she wasn’t sure. Certainly the woman was attractive, and certainly she was enigmatic and intriguing, but she was also almost certainly straight, and straight or not, she was almost certainly not single.

  “Ms. Buchanan?” Detective James asked, interrupting her reverie. “Can we go ahead, then?”

  “Sorry. Yes, definitely,” she replied, and as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her moment of opportunity was lost, and she didn’t know how to feel about that. She blinked away her confusion. “Thank you. I mean that. Really.”

  The two detectives graciously accepted her thanks. There was already an officer on deck for the first shift, a beefy, younger fellow, and he was introduced to her as Constable Yukowski. Daina acknowled
ged his presence with a nod. And once the detectives had left, James leaving his card and asking her to call if she thought of anything else, Daina had to laugh. Her life was in turmoil, her career up in the air, but she could take the time to think about some woman who fit in absolutely nowhere. She shook her head and pushed Emma Kirby to the back of her mind, bringing to the forefront instead her mother. Making sure her mother didn’t have a cow when she found out her only daughter was now considered to be the target of a mad bomber was what she should be focusing on.

  She reached for the phone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “So, have you heard the latest?” Perry’s tone was conspiratorial, drawing a sharp glance from Emma.

  “I just got here, Perry,” she told him. “I do have a life, you know. And since when have you become a gossipmonger?”

  The two of them had just left the briefing room and were on their way to the sixth-floor parking level to get their cruiser. It was five twenty-five P.M. and they had just started their evening shift, a four-day stretch which ended at three in the morning. Not her most favorite shift, but today she found herself looking forward to it.

  “This isn’t gossip,” he said seriously. “I just heard that your little country singer friend has been placed under twenty-four-hour police guard.”

  Emma shot him a dark look. “She’s not my little country singer friend, Perry.” She shook off her irrational irritation. “Why is she under guard? What happened?”

  “Well, they think she was the bomber’s target.” He shrugged. “Which, you have to admit, is pretty much the way it looks. So they’re taking precautions.”

  Emma felt at a loss for words. Distracted, pulling her keys from her pocket, she headed for her door.

  “See?” Perry said.

  She looked up, over the roof, in time to see him wink at her with an obvious smirk.

  “I knew you’d be interested.” His smirk grew.

  “Okay, you know what?” Emma slammed her door shut and walked to the front of the patrol car. “Let me tell you something.” She leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the hood. “I think we’ve gone about as far with this as we’re going to, okay?”