Seeing Red Read online

  A tide of heat spread up from her chest to enclose her head. The rims of her ears caught fire. She broke a sweat from her scalp to the soles of her feet. She kept her head down and prayed she wouldn’t retch as she had the night before. Even dry heaves would be humiliating.

  “Breathe through your mouth.”

  She did as he instructed, and that alleviated the nausea. Eventually the encroaching darkness and noise receded and then were gone entirely. The hot flash cooled. “I’m okay.” She pushed away the basin and straightened her spine to break the contact of his hand with her bare back.

  “Want some water?”

  She shook her head.

  “Something else?”

  Another head shake.

  “Why don’t you lie down?”

  She looked up at him. “Why don’t you go away?”

  “A few questions, and then I will.” He returned the basin to the nightstand then backed up to the chair he’d sat in the night before and struck the same pose, elbows on knees, eyes on her. “Detectives from the SO questioned you?”

  “Twice.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Fine.”

  “They clear you to go back to Dallas?”

  She looked away from his blue-flame gaze. “Not yet.”

  “Huh. Then your sessions didn’t go so fine.”

  “Before I sign off on my statement, they want me to go through it one more time with…with Texas Rangers.” She rushed on before his arched eyebrow became a smart remark. “Only to make absolutely certain that I haven’t forgotten something.”

  He just stared at her, saying nothing, but his skeptical expression put her on the defensive. “You should remember from your days in law enforcement how it works.”

  “I do remember. Know what I remember best, Kerra? People lie.”

  “I don’t.”

  “No?” He tilted his head in the direction of the floral arrangements lined up along the windowsill. “Mark? You and he shared an apartment on West 110th Street when you were both attending Columbia. He’s currently a successful architect in his native Baltimore. He’s gay. He’s happily married. He and his partner just adopted their second child.”

  Her surprise was such that she barely had enough voice to ask, “How did you know all that?”

  “If you lied to me about something as harmless as a college pal, you’ll lie to me about a near-murder and what you saw and heard and sensed while it was being committed, and what went down afterward.

  “And the investigators must know that you’re leaving out chunks of information or they wouldn’t be requiring a third go-round with Texas Rangers. Now what are you omitting or glossing over, Kerra?”

  “Nothing. And besides, I was ordered not to discuss the case while it’s an ongoing investigation.”

  “With anybody or with me in particular?”

  “With anybody.”

  “Then we’ve got no problem, because we’ve already established that I’m not just anybody.”

  He seemed prepared to lunge from his chair and wring answers out of her. But he must have sensed her apprehension, because he backed down, relaxed his shoulders, and, in a quieter tone asked, “How many were there?”

  She determined that he wasn’t going to leave until she gave him something. She might just as well get it over with. She looked down at her hands in her lap, clasped together so tightly her fingers had turned bone white. “Two. I’m almost certain.”

  “Did they say anything?”

  “Only that one mocking question.”

  “‘How do you like being dead so far?’ That’s all you heard anyone say?”

  She nodded.

  “You didn’t see them?”

  She shook her head.

  “Kerra?”

  Looking across at him, she said, “No.”

  “Any part of them? Clothing? Footwear?”

  “No. Nothing. I told you that last night.”

  “You also told me that Mark was a friend with benefits, when I know damn well that he ain’t fucking you.”

  She shook back her hair, took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eye. “I didn’t see the man or men who shot The Major. I left him alone in the living room. I was in the bathroom when I heard the gunshot.”

  “Single gunshot?”

  “Yes. My first thought was that one of his hunting rifles had misfired.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “We’d been talking about hunting. Remember, I told you that. He’d opened the gun case to show me a rifle your mother had given him.”

  “Her last Christmas gift to him.”

  “Yes. I thought perhaps it had accidentally discharged as he was putting it away. But the shot hadn’t sounded as loud as a rifle. More of a pop. All this went through my mind in a millisecond.

  “Then I heard the ‘so far’ question and understood that there hadn’t been an accident. I thought The Major had been killed and that if I was discovered, I’d be killed, too.”

  At the end of that sentence, her courage ran out. She crossed her arms over her middle and hugged her elbows. “They were banging on the door, trying to break the latch. I wanted to live. There was only one way out. I took it. That’s what I told the detectives, and it’s the truth.” The truth minus the part about someone trying to open the door before the gunshot. Instinct told her to keep that to herself.

  As though knowing she was withholding something, Trapper continued to stare at her. But after a long moment, some of the tension eased out of him. “Why’s your crew hanging around?”

  “We touched on that. Lodal is crawling with media.”

  He said nothing, just tapped his chin with his clasped hands.

  She didn’t stand up long against his unflinching stare. He’d find out soon enough anyway. “I’ve been approached to describe those last few minutes I spent alone with The Major.”

  “You mean on TV?”

  “Yes. The network wants the anchor to interview me on the evening news.”

  “In New York?”

  “No, from here. Via satellite. Preferably live.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “What would decide you?”

  “For or against?”

  “You have to ask?”

  He was taking to the idea exactly as she had predicted he would. With resistance. “I’m sensitive to how you might feel about it. That’s the main reason I’m hesitant to do it.”

  “Oh. Your hesitancy has everything to do with my feelings and nothing to do with the fact that you’re a material witness—the only one—to the attempted assassination of a public figure.”

  “I’m also a newswoman.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes, ah! I have a career, Trapper. This is what I do.”

  Now that she’d had hours to consider it, she acknowledged that Gracie’s points were valid. Her career could be irreparably damaged if she refused. Since their conversation this morning, Gracie had called twice to ask if she’d thought it over and come to a more sensible decision. “But no pressure,” the producer had quipped.

  Now Trapper was applying pressure from the opposing side. Challenging him, she said, “Why are you so against it?”

  “Common sense. It’s a bad idea. Have you discussed it with Sheriff Addison or anyone investigating the case?”

  “Not yet. It’s only been proposed. I haven’t committed.”

  “If you do it, you should be committed. Going on TV and talking about the minutes leading up to the shooting?” He shook his head in a way that said she was nuts. “I don’t think it’s sunk in with you the danger you’re in, the threat you pose, the—”

  She held up her hand to stop him from feeding her fear, which his parting words the night before had engendered, which his presence here now reinforced. “I don’t pose a threat to anybody. If I do the interview I’ll underscore that
I couldn’t identify the guilty parties because I didn’t see them. That’ll be the end of it.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what more I can say.”

  “Say you’ve told me everything.”

  “I’ve told you everything.” She enunciated each word, gave them time to sink in, then gestured toward the door. “Now, I’ve answered your questions, which you have no authority to be asking. I’m tired. Please leave.”

  “All right. Just one more question and I’ll go.”

  His capitulation had been too easily won, and her suspicion must have showed, because he added, “I promise.”

  “What’s the question?”

  He used the padded armrests to push himself out of the chair and came toward her, not stopping until she could feel the soft denim of his jeans against her bare legs draping the side of the bed. Her eyes tracked up the row of pearl snaps on his shirt, along his throat, to his face. His expression was inscrutable.

  She repeated, “What’s the question?”

  He placed his bent index finger beneath her chin and stroked the bruise there, following it up over her jaw until his knuckle rested against the corner of her lips where the delicate skin was abraded. “Does that hurt?”

  “A little.”

  He lifted his hand to his mouth and kissed the pad of his thumb with slightly parted lips, then brushed it against the injured spot. The unexpected touch was tender and sweet. Yet the thrill it elicited low and deep was purely erotic.

  Even after removing his thumb, he continued to stare at the spot his stroking had left damp. Then he reached into his jacket and removed something from the breast pocket. “I believe you’re the rightful owner. You were wearing it during the interview.” He lifted her hand and dropped the object into her palm.

  Dumbfounded, Kerra was held captive by his eyes. Then without another word, he turned and went to the door. Kerra continued to watch him until it closed behind him.

  She looked down at her open palm. On it lay a single gold earring, which, after the interview, she had removed and placed with its mate in an inside pocket of her Louis Vuitton shoulder bag.

  The deputy on guard duty was at the water fountain at the far end of the hall when Trapper came out of Kerra’s room. They’d introduced themselves when Trapper arrived. Now they met at the halfway point of the corridor, and the deputy asked, “She like the flowers?”

  “She liked them okay.” Trapper was less sure about Kerra’s opinion of him. They’d touched tongues. Now she recoiled every time he got near her.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “As well as can be expected, I guess,” Trapper said. “She took quite a tumble.” Kerra was banged up, but the worst of her ailments was fear. At hiding it, she wasn’t as good as she thought.

  “She talk to you about what happened to her?”

  “No. She’s been instructed not to talk about it.”

  “Ongoing investigation.”

  “Right. Wouldn’t want to hinder that.” Trapper rolled his shoulders and popped his neck.

  “Pardon me saying so, Trapper, but you look beat.”

  “I am. But I’m going upstairs and check on The Major one more time before shoving off. I leave you to your duty. Keep a close watch on her.”

  “Count on that.”

  “I know I can. Have a good night, Jenks.”

  Chapter 10

  Trapper rolled over and snatched his chirping cell phone off the nightstand. Each time it rang, he feared hearing the worst. After leaving Kerra’s room last night, he’d stayed in the ICU waiting room for hours but was allowed to see The Major only once. His condition was stable and unchanged.

  The nurse in charge convinced Trapper there was no reason for him to hang around. She got his cell phone number and assured him that if there was any reason to call him, good or bad, she would.

  But it wasn’t she or anyone from the hospital calling now. He answered by saying, “You’re paying me back for those untimely calls.”

  “You have a naked woman in bed with you?” Carson asked.

  Trapper looked over at the empty space beside him and thought about the promised delights he’d detected under Kerra’s thin hospital gown. “No.”

  “Then I’m not quite paying you back. But I’m calling early because one of my contracted associates—”

  Trapper chuffed.

  “—found something I thought you’d be interested in learning right away.”

  Trapper scrubbed his face with his hand to wipe away the dirty thoughts he was entertaining about Kerra’s topography and how he’d like to explore it. “Listening.”

  “When you got crosswise with the ATF, weren’t you investigating a guy named Wilcox?”

  Trapper went absolutely still.

  “Thomas Wilcox?” Carson said.

  “It was covert,” Trapper said. “How’d you know about it?”

  “You got drunk one night. Mumbled on and on about this big shot over in Big D.”

  He didn’t recall venting his spleen to Carson, but he didn’t doubt that he had. The mere mention of Wilcox’s name aroused feral impulses. “What about him?”

  “When Kerra Bailey signed on with the Dallas TV station, he was one of her first interviews.”

  After a sustained silence, Carson said, “Trapper? You still there, buddy? Did you get that?”

  Trapper cleared his throat. “I’m here. I got it.”

  “Don’t know if it means anything. But, six degrees of separation. All that.”

  “Right. Thanks, Carson. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Before you go. About that slick SUV—”

  “Did you tell the guy I’ll pay him a daily rate? I couldn’t get it back to him now anyway on account of the weather.”

  “But—”

  “I gotta go. Somebody’s beeping in, and it could be the hospital.” It wasn’t. The readout said Glenn. Trapper didn’t want to talk to him, he wanted to ponder what Carson had just told him about Thomas Wilcox and Kerra. But Glenn might have news about The Major, so he answered.

  “I was about to give up on reaching you,” the sheriff said.

  “I had to click over.”

  “Want to have breakfast?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  “I’m going to the hospital.”

  “After you’ve seen him, call me. I’ll pick you up outside.” The phone went dead.

  “Ssssshit,” Trapper hissed as he slung back the covers. The start of the day didn’t bode well for the rest of it.

  Trapper and the trauma doctor who’d been overseeing The Major’s care stood across the ICU bed from each other. Between them lay The Major.

  The physician said, “We’re a little more optimistic this morning.”

  Trapper had to take his word for that. He compared the helpless patient in the bed to his father as he’d last seen him. Even though Kerra and he had shown up at The Major’s house unannounced, he’d looked company-ready, dressed in starched khakis with a knife-edge crease. His flannel shirt was softly worn, but neatly tucked in behind a wide tooled leather belt with a large silver buckle. His boots had their usual shine. His shave was so close his skin was shiny, too. Not a hair out of place. Fit as a fiddle for a man his age. For a man half his age.

  He didn’t look like that now. There was an IV port between his shoulder and neck with multiple lines attached. The hospital gown lay loose on his chest. His chin was bristly with white whiskers. A clear hose was emptying his piss into a bag hooked to the bed rail.

  The Major was human after all.

  “The swelling has gone down considerably from what it was this time yesterday,” the doctor was saying.

  “So no hole required?”

  “Not unless something changes, but I don’t anticipate it. He’s been moving his hands and feet. Reflexively, but that’s still a positive sign. His vitals remain stable and strong. He’s not out of the woods,” he said with empha
sis, “but these incremental improvements are encouraging.”

  “Have you reported this to the doctors in Dallas?”

  From the outset, the doctor had been consulting with a team of specialists, former colleagues of his. “They share my optimism. Your father is stable enough now to be transported to Dallas or Fort Worth, if you’d rather have him there. I could make the arrangements. But with the weather…” He let that hang and looked at Trapper. “It’s your call.”

  “He’s improving on your watch. I say leave him be.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Trapper. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  He detailed a few more aspects of The Major’s condition. Most of the medical jargon went over Trapper’s head, but the underlying message was that the patient was making progress.

  Which is what Trapper told Glenn as he settled into the passenger side of the sheriff’s sludge-covered unit and buckled his seat belt. Glenn had driven right up to the hospital exit, emergency lights flashing, allowing Trapper to leave without being hounded by reporters, who’d been restricted to an area behind a barricade. Some stood outside, backs to the frigid wind, stamping their feet in a vain attempt to keep warm. Others sat inside vehicles surrounded by the vapor coughed from their exhaust pipes.

  “Lordy, lordy, that’s good news,” Glenn said as he steered the unit onto the street.

  “He’s not totally in the clear. The doctor doesn’t want to build hopes up. But his outlook is definitely more upbeat. Where are we going?”

  “Since you turned down breakfast, I’ll just circle the block.”

  “It’s such a nice day for a drive,” Trapper remarked, looking through the sleet on the windshield.

  “We need to talk uninterrupted,” Glenn said. “I brought you some coffee.”

  Trapper pulled the sleeved cup from the holder in the console, removed the lid and sipped. It was tepid, but he needed the jolt of caffeine.

  They drove past the municipal park, where tree branches were becoming glazed with ice.