by Andrea Kane
Julia plowed her way over there, scanning every which way to try to spot Mayor Stratford.
All she saw was a sea of humanity.
Precious time wasted. She could almost feel it slipping away inside her. The scene that was unfolding around her—the activity, the laughter, the noise—took on a kind of surrealistic quality.
Where was the mayor? She wouldn't give up until she found him.
It took an eternity, but finally, nearly forty-five minutes later, she caught sight of some members of the press crammed near the eastern corner of the mall. At the head of the bunch was Cheryl Lager, deliberately blocking her competitors. And that could mean only one thing: the mayor was nearby. That vulture Cheryl Lager was, no doubt, first in line for the exposé du jour.
Julia shoved her way forward. Sure enough, there was Stephen Stratford, a hundred feet away from her. It might as well have been a hundred miles, for all the good it did. She could see him, yes, but she couldn't get through to him.
Beside the mayor, Julia spotted Harrison Stratford and a regal-looking woman who had to be his wife. On the mayor's other side, she could make out the back of Connor's head. She cupped her hands over her mouth, shouted his name, but she might as well have been in Yankee Stadium, trying to be heard ovjpr the din following a grand slam.
She was buffeted by the crowd, shoved this way and that, practically stampeded into the ground.
The mayor and his entourage moved on.
The press followed, like a swarm of bees, maintaining a traveling wall between her and the Stratfords.
This was pointless.
Julia peeled off to one side, ran a frustrated hand through her hair.
There were tons of police officers in the vicinity. She could stop any one of them, tell them it was an emergency and she had to see the mayor. But that would immediately incite the very scandal Connor and Stephen were desperately trying to avoid. She couldn't do that to them, especially since she had no absolute proof that Brian was in danger.
It was already one-thirty, Connor had promised to call her the minute he got out of there, to see her right away. Walker wasn't scheduled to jet off to Switzerland until Monday. Which meant that if there was an ugly plan in the works, Julia had all weekend to prevent it. For now, Brian was safe. He was with his mother. Nancy Stratford would have notified her husband if anyone had tried to hurt their son.
Calm down, Julia cautioned herself. Don't overreact. The best thing to do was to go back to her apartment, sit tight, and wait for Connor's call.
And then they would get to the bottom of this, if they had to drag Greg, Cliff, and Walker all in by their necks and interrogate the hell out of them.
She jostled her way to the stairwell, climbed as quickly as she could to the eleventh floor, and stepped out. The parking level was still wall-to-wall cars, not one of them having pulled out since she arrived. Apparently, everyone was staying for the entire day's festivities.
She headed to her car, reaching for her ignition key as she did. Her mind was deeply troubled, and she glanced down at the spelling test she still clutched in her hand— her ostensible reason for catching up to the mayor.
The screech of tires alerted her.
Her head shot up, and she jerked around.
It all happened in a split second. The silver Mercedes careened around the corner, bearing down on her with terrifying speed and purpose.
She was right. Something horrible was happening.
And now she'd never be able to stop it.
The car struck her even as she lunged out of the way, and she felt the impact, saw the concrete rushing up at her. Shards of pain shot up her arm, through her head.
Brian, she thought dazedly, agony giving way to unconsciousness. Who's going to save Brian?
2:35 P.M.
Connor was beginning to fidget. He'd tried to get cellphone reception six times already. Not once could he get enough signal to call Julia.
Damn.
He had to talk to her. To connect. To share his fears with her and count on her support. To show her some of that trust she was convinced he'd never learned.
He wanted to make plans for tonight—and for all the nights to follow.
He'd turned off his cell phone in frustration when Martin Hart came up quietly beside him. "Connor? I need to see you and the mayor right away. Pretend it's a security check, and step away from your parents and the press."
The urgency of Marty's tone wasn't lost on Connor. He shot the police chief a look. "Okay."
Casually, he leaned forward, murmured something to Stephen.
Stephen's head came up, but he maintained his cool. Tactfully, he excused himself, explaining that he had to run through a routine security check with the chief of police. Then he moved away from the crowd and joined Connor and Marty to one side.
"There was a hit-and-run in the municipal lot about twenty minutes ago," Marty announced in a low voice. "The victim was run down as she approached her parked car."
"My God. Is she all right?" Stephen asked.
"I don't know. She was unconscious when the ambulance left here with her. Listen, there's more. She had a piece of paper with her. It had Brian's name on it."
Stephen went rigid. "What do you mean, it had Brian's name on it?"
"It was his. A spelling test or something. It had some of the victim's blood splattered on it, but you could definitely make out Brian's name, written in a kid's handwriting. My men took it as evidence."
All the color had drained from Connor's face. "A spelling test?" he repeated. "Do you know the identity of this woman?"
"According to her driver's license, her name's Julia Talbot. She's twenty-seven, slight, reddish-brown hair..."
"What hospital did they take her to?" Connor demanded, grabbing Marty's arm.
The police chief's gaze narrowed. "I take it you know her."
"Yes. Now, where is she?"
"Leaf Brook Memorial. Connor, wait." He held out a detaining hand.
"Let him go, Marty," Stephen said quietly. "I'll answer the rest of your questions."
"Yeah, you will—later, when we can talk alone. But this wasn't a question. Connor, the car that hit Ms. Tal-bot—it was yours."
* * *
26
6:25 P.M.
Leaf Brook Memorial
Connor was saying something, but his voice was far away. Julia couldn't make out his words. The throbbing in her head was too loud.
She shifted slightly, trying to hear him better. She winced at the slivers of pain that shot through her arm and side.
Where was she and why did she hurt so much?
"Lie still," Connor was saying. "Don't try to move. Just open your eyes and look at me. Please, Julia."
He sounded awful.
She cracked open her eyes, waiting for his face to stop swirnrning around and come into focus.
He looked even worse.
"Connor?" Her voice was a weak croak.
Stark relief swept his features. "Thank God." He leaned over, brushed her lips gently with his. "Yes, it's me. You're all right. Everything's going to be fine now."
"I'm in the hospital," she observed, recognizing the antiseptic smells. She felt disoriented, the pounding in her head standing between her and lucidness.
"Um-hum." Connor took her left hand and tenderly wrapped her fingers in his. "Does that hurt?"
She started shaking her head, then thought better of it. "No. Should it?"
"Not this hand. But the other one might."
She glanced down, surprised to see that much of her right hand and arm were bandaged. "Are they broken?"
"I don't think so. Frankly, I don't remember. I couldn't focus on anything except your waking up. After that, the rest will heal." He brought her palm to his lips, and Julia was stunned to feel his hands tremble. "You scared the hell out of me," he said roughly. "I've been waiting all day to tell you I love you, and I was afraid I'd never get the chance."
Julia wondered if she'd heard
right. "What did you say?"
He swallowed hard, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with raw emotion. "I said I love you. I'm going to keep saying it, now and for the next hundred years, if you'll let me. I need to hear that you feel the same way, but that's going to wait until I'm damned sure you're clear-headed enough to know exactly what you're saying." A poignant pause. "Back to me. Not only do I love you, I also trust you. I'd planned to prove that tonight by telling you everything. You certainly put a damper on my plans. But I'm adaptable. I'll still follow through, if the doctor says it's okay."
Another pause, this one longer, and a muscle worked in Connor's jaw. "God, I was so scared. I just found you. The thought of losing you . . ." He broke off, rose to his feet, and headed toward the door.
"I've got to let the doctor know you're awake," he announced, his words clipped, his body language taut. "Louis Tillerman—you'll like him. He's an old family friend and a top-notch neurologist. Fortunately, he's affiliated with Leaf Brook Memorial as well as Columbia Presbyterian. We got him up here right away. He'll keep your condition quiet until we get to the bottom of this. He gave me strict instructions to find him the minute you opened your eyes. I want him to check you out. I'll be right back."
"Connor?" Julia stopped him, her voice weak but clear.
He turned.
"You're babbling," she observed, not really processing much over the throbbing in her skull. Except his declaration of love—that she'd processed. "I've never heard you babble."
"That's because I never have. See what you've reduced me to?"
Her eyes grew damp. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Waiting till later won't change that. But I'll repeat it then, and for the next hundred years, if you'll let me."
He walked back, braced his arms on either side of her, and covered her mouth with his for one brief, fervent kiss. "Let's get you well and put this nightmare behind us," he murmured. "Then we'll make plans—the forever kind." He stood, his knuckles drifting over her cheek. "Now, let me get Louis."
The door shut behind him, and Julia sank back against the pillows, feeling a soft inner glow.
Which was overshadowed by an anxiety she couldn't put her finger on and physical pain that seemed to envelop her entire body. Especially her head.
She reached up, surprised to feel a bandage across her forehead. What had happened to her?
Two minutes later, Connor returned, joined by a stocky man in a white hospital coat. He was about forty, with pleasant features and an authoritative air. "Good morning, Julia," he said, his manner calm and reassuring. "My name's Dr. Tillerman. You had us a little worried there. How do you feel?"
She frowned. "I hurt everywhere. Especially my head and my right side. And my mind's a little jumbled." She paused, regathering her strength. "I can't remember why I'm here. Also, I know there was something I had to do— but I can't recall what."
"You will. Don't push yourself. That blow you took was pretty nasty. Let me take a look."
Blow? What blow? Julia wanted to ask. Why couldn't she think past the wall in her mind?
Dr. Tillerman did a few routine tests, checking her eyes, her reflexes, her speech, and her cognitive responses.
Dutifully, Julia answered his questions, telling him her name, her birthday, and the school she taught in.
"Good," he praised. "Are you experiencing any nausea?"
"Not really. Mostly, my head just aches."
"I know it does. I'll give you something for the pain. I'm also ordering a few more neurological tests, just to be on the safe side. I don't expect any complications. Your CT scan came back a few minutes ago. Everything looks fine—no bleeding, no fractures. Still, you were unconscious for a long time. So, I'll want to keep an eye on you, just to be sure."
"What's wrong with me?"
"You have a concussion," he explained. "That's the reason for the pain and the mental confusion. You also have a nasty gash on your forehead, which we stitched up. As for the rest, you have lacerations on your right side and arm, a few bruised ribs, and some pretty impressive cuts on your right hand. The good news is, there are no internal injuries and, I'm fairly confident now that you're awake and I've examined you, no permanent damage to the brain. You'll be just fine, which is a blessing, considering the severity of the impact."
"The impact." Julia swallowed hard. "Where did I fall?
Dr. Tillerman glanced at Connor.
"You didn't fall, sweetheart," Connor replied, gazing steadily at her. "You were hit by a car. In the mall parking lot. Do you remember?"
A flash of recall. "The Mercedes. It looked like yours."
"It was mine." Connor turned to the doctor. "Louis, if you're finished with the physical exam, I'd like to speak with Julia alone "
"All right," Dr. Tillerman agreed. "But Connor, don't wear her out. I want her to rest. The easier she takes it, the faster she'll heal."
"You have my word. In the meantime, remember, not a word of Julia's condition is to be released to anyone— not until we know who did this."
"Understood." The doctor patted Julia's uninjured arm. "I'll order that painkiller. You rest."
"All right." Julia barely managed to answer. And not because she was in pain. Because she was remembering. Throughout Dr. Tillerman and Connor's exchange, pieces had begun falling into place, taking shape like monstrous faces.
As the door shut behind the doctor, Julia jerked to a sitting position, moaning at the resulting pain in her skull.
"Shh." Connor caught her shoulders, gently easing her back. "Go easy on your poor head. It's been through quite an ordeal." He waited until she was resettled, and the agonized look had left her face. "It's coming back to you, isn't it?"
"Yes." Julia's breath was coming fast. "I drove straight from the municipal building to the mall. I tried to get through to you. But the crowd wouldn't let me. So I thought I'd go home and wait. The car came out of nowhere."
"Did you see who was driving it?"
"No. It happened too fast." Her forehead creased. "The Mercedes was yours?"
A nod. "Stolen right out of the mall parking lot. A dozen people saw it tearing through there and gave the police accurate descriptions. One couple actually saw you get hit. They scribbled down as much of the license plate as they could get. It was mine, all right. I'm sure we'll never see it again. It'll be stripped, the parts will be sold, and the world will think it was an accidental hit-and-run."
"We know better."
Connor's jaw set. "Yeah, we do. But Walker's a shrewd bastard. He figured you wouldn't be around to point any fingers. As for my car, it was the perfect choice. An expensive convertible owned by the mayor's brother who wouldn't be checking on it all day? Sounds like the ideal target for a pro. And we wouldn't have a shred of proof to say otherwise." His brows drew together. "Why did you go to the municipal building?"
'To get information." Julia gripped his sleeve. "Connor, the other day, did you give Brian my rabbit's foot?"
"Yes." Connor looked puzzled. "Why?"
"You're sure? You put it in his hand?"
"Of course I'm sure. I gave it to him the minute I saw him. When I told him who it was from and what it meant to you, it made his day. It was the only smile I got out of him."
Tears filled Julia's eyes. "That's what I was afraid of. Brian's in trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
Julia's grip tightened. "I'll tell you everything. But first, you've got to call Nancy Stratford. Make sure Brian's okay, that nothing's happened yet, that there's another explanation for that rabbit's foot not being with him now. Please," she begged when Connor made no move toward the phone.
"I can't," he said quietly. "I don't know where she is. Neither does Stephen."
Everything inside Julia went cold. "Then how do you know they're all right?"
"Nancy called Stephen and said so."
"When?"
"Thursday."
"And since then, no one's spoken with them?" Julia demanded.
"Not to my knowledge, no."
She struggled to a sitting position. "We've got to find them." A moan of pain escaped her lips.
"Julia." Connor stopped her struggles. "Listen to me. Making your concussion worse isn't going to help Brian. Now, lie back and tell me what happened—calmly and without making any sharp movements."
She nodded, closing her eyes until the worst of the pain had subsided. "Okay." She took a few breaths, then opened her eyes again.
"Better?"
Another tentative nod. "I'm afraid Walker plans to kidnap Brian. I pray he hasn't done so already." She waved away Connor's interruption. "He isn't doing it alone. Whoever's helping him is the reason I was almost killed. He knew I was onto him. He must have tipped off Walker, who sent the thug to run me down "
"Explain."
Slowly, resting a few seconds between sentences, Julia told Connor about how she'd spotted the rabbit's foot in Greg's car, about his explanation for how it might have gotten there, and about the telephone conversation she'd overheard him having that day regarding Walker leaving for Switzerland with a large attache' case and no plans to return.
"So Greg Matthews is working for Walker," Connor muttered in disbelief.
"Unless your brother got wind of Walker's plans and asked Greg to check them out by pretending he was doing so at Walker's instructions."
"Nope." Connor gave a hard shake of his head. "Stephen has no idea that Walker's taking off for Switzerland. He thinks he's still obsessed with being awarded the municipal contract."
"Then, yes, Greg's definitely involved. But there's another potential player."
"Who?"
"Cliff Henderson."
"What?"
Hearing the sharp disbelief in Connor's tone, Julia winced. "I know he's close to your family," she said, feeling like a cad. "I might be way off base. I hope so." She went on, explaining how she'd bumped into Cliff today and what he'd been holding—and hiding. "Even if Greg lied about Cliff and the rabbit's foot, I know what I saw in that office today. Cliff was nervous and edgy. He looked guilty as hell. And he was definitely hiding that photo of Brian stapled to Walker's letter. What would he be doing with what I'm praying isn't a ransom note?"