“No.”
“Why did you?”
“Coming from somebody who interviews people on TV, that’s a dumb question.”
He was a large, looming, rough-looking, rude presence, but not wholly unwelcome. With him here, who or what could harm her?
She had thought never to see him again. When she had allowed herself to fantasize about an occasion when they came eye to eye for the first time after that kiss, the setting was either rose-scented, rose-colored, and romantic, like a picnic beneath a cherry tree in full bloom, raining pink petals over them. Or the scene was hot and torrid and untamed, twisted bedsheets, naked skin, and sweaty sex.
Never would she have fantasized a tragic circumstance such as this.
He was wearing his standard uniform. His hair was windblown. His scruff was the same as when he’d beat a hasty retreat from her motel room on Tuesday night, but there were dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn’t slept since then. He probably wouldn’t be sleeping much for days to come.
“Trapper,” she said with emotional huskiness, “I’m sorry.”
“Like Glenn said, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”
“The nation lost a hero. You lost your father. I don’t know how his murder could possibly be connected to the interview, but I feel—”
“Wait. Kerra. You think The Major’s dead?”
She inhaled a swift breath.
“He’s upstairs in ICU,” he said. “Barely alive, but not dead. He has a head wound, worse than superficial, but better than fatal. But that may not matter because a nine-millimeter bullet blew a hole in his left lung. Collapsed like a burst balloon. Massive blood loss. Odds are that he won’t make it, but for the present he’s hanging on.”
Tears of relief began coursing down her cheeks. “But he said … I heard him ask The Major how he liked being dead so far.”
Trapper hooked his foot around the leg of a chair, pulled it nearer the bed, and sat down. He planted his elbows on his thighs, tented his hands, and held them against his chin as he studied her. “Who said that?”
“The man who shot him. He thought he’d killed him. So did I.”
A tear slid from the outer corner of her eye and trickled toward her hairline. His eyes followed its path then held steady on her face, while her image of him was doubling and quadrupling, making her seasick.
“Tell me everything, Kerra. Talk me through it.”
“I can’t, Trapper. Not now. I’m dizzy. The doctor said I shouldn’t have visitors.”
“He didn’t say it to me.”
“I’m saying it to you.”
Actually, she didn’t want to be alone, but she also didn’t want to be pressured to answer questions right now.
He said, “When I came in, you were having a panic attack.”
“Yes.”
“What brought it on?”
“Nothing specific. I was fully conscious for the first time. Alone and aware of being alone. I got frightened. It all came rushing back, and I …”
“Felt you were in mortal danger again?”
“Yes.”
“Any flashbacks to the Pegasus bombing?”
“No. It was all about last night. I was in the powder room again and fearing whoever was on the other side of the door.” She thought back to the latch being shaken to test if it was locked. The soft, metallic rattling had been as menacing as that of an unseen diamondback.
Feeling the weight of Trapper’s stare, she collected herself. “The panic has passed. I’m fine now.”
He looked down at her hand. It was still gripping the sheet. She forced her fingers to relax and let go of the cloth.
“Did Glenn figure right?” he asked. “You escaped through the window?”
“That’s when I dislocated my shoulder.”
“What were you doing in the bathroom?”
“What one usually does in the bathroom.”
“You weren’t hiding?”
“Not at first.”
“Not at first.” His inflection was a prompt for her to elaborate. “You went to use the bathroom and …? Then what?”
“Trapper, please, I don’t feel up to talking about it yet. It’s too fresh. In a couple of days when I have some distance from it—”
“It will take more than a couple of days for you to gain distance from it, and I don’t want distance from it. I want to hear it while it’s fresh.”
“But my recollections are all jumbled up.”
“Did you put Glenn’s number in your phone?”
“What?” Her mind was hazy with confusion, then she remembered. “Yes, I did.”
“If you were in fear, why didn’t you call him?”
Yes, why hadn’t she? When she’d added the sheriff’s number to her speed dial, she’d done it only to honor her promise to Trapper that she would. He had said, I’m not joking. But she hadn’t taken the statement as a warning. Not until now. There were disturbing implications to that lurking just beyond her ability to reason them out. She couldn’t identify and contemplate them until she had a clearer head.
She said, “I don’t feel well. Besides, until I’m questioned by the authorities, I don’t think I should talk about it to anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone. The man clinging to life upstairs is my father.”
“I know this is very personal for you, but there are proper police procedures to adhere to.”
“Well, you’re half right. There are proper police procedures, but they don’t have to be adhered to. In fact, I’m not big on procedures in general, and proper ones in particular.”
“Then we can all be glad that you’re not investigating the case.”
“What gave you that idea?” He stood up slowly, planted his fists on the edge of the mattress, and leaned over her. “Kerra, who did you see out there?”
“No one.”
He continued to stare at her, his eyes hard, incisive, unmoved by her firm denial.
“No one,” she repeated. “I didn’t see anything.”
He stayed where he was for a ponderous length of time, then straightened up and headed for the door.
She struggled to lever herself into a half-sitting position. “Trapper, I swear I didn’t. Don’t you believe me?”
“Doesn’t matter if I believe you. Only matters if they do.”
“The police?”
“No, the men who were there.”
Chapter 7
By the time I got over to the window, she was racing away from the house. You know how dark it can get out there. It was like she was swallowed by it.” Petey Moss’s knee was jiggling beneath the table on which were strewn the contents of Kerra Bailey’s shoulder bag.
The man rifling through the articles pulled a plastic card from one of the slits in a flat wallet and flipped it onto the table. “Fitness club membership.”
Petey looked relieved. “That explains it. Conditioning. No wonder she can run like a deer.”
“I still don’t see how she escaped you.”
“Well, first, it took us off guard that she was there.”
“But when you discovered that she was—”
“We—”
The other man held up his hand. “Start at the beginning.”
Petey wet his lips. “Well, The Major came to the front door, opened it, and poked his head out. Didn’t expect him to be carrying a rifle. Jenks was on his blind side. Hit him with the stock of the shotgun. Here.” He touched his skull behind his right ear. “Major dropped. I shot him in the chest. He never felt it.”
“He’s feeling it now.”
“What?”
“You didn’t kill him.”
Petey looked like he’d been struck between his eyes with a sledgehammer. “That’s impossible.”
“He’s in county hospital, not the morgue. He’s not dead. Neither is the woman, which means you failed on two counts.” This was said calmly as the contents of a small pouch containing various cosmetic products were inspected item by item.