Mean Streak(91)
“That the only reason? Or are you still protecting your accomplice?”
She’d said nothing to that.
“Who got Lisa Floyd pregnant?”
“That remains confidential.”
“Him?”
“No. Lisa will tell you the same. He had never even met her until that day.”
The defense attorney arrived from Atlanta late in the afternoon. After being fully apprised of the situation, he’d insisted that Emory be detained no longer.
“It’s the mystery man from the cabin we want, not you,” Knight had told her as, with obvious reluctance, he escorted her out. “We’ll resume tomorrow. Right now I’ve got to drive halfway to Asheville and pick up a fed from New York who got himself lost in the fog.”
“A fed from New York?”
“That’s right. Seems this FBI agent has been after Hayes Bannock for several years.”
“Who is Hayes Bannock?”
“As if you don’t know.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” Then her lips had parted in wonder. “Is that his name?”
Reading her reaction, Knight propped his fists on his hips. “Well, I’ll be damned. You honestly didn’t know his name, did you?”
Hayes Bannock. She had tried it out and decided that it fit him to a tee. Then the rest of what Knight said had sunk in. “He’s wanted by the FBI?”
“Looks like. Special Agent Jack Connell can’t wait to get here and join the chase.”
With that troubling thought prevailing, she had hoped that a long soak in a hot bath would relieve her anxiety, but with Jeff’s pacing and haranguing, she could barely hear herself think. Relaxation was out of the question.
He was saying, “Last night you let me go on about turning over a new leaf. I owned up to having been difficult to live with. I waxed poetic about how vital you are to my life. All the while I was babbling about fresh starts, little could I guess the surprise you would spring on me this morning.”
“I didn’t spring—”
“During my mea culpa scene, how did you manage to keep a straight face?”
“Jeff, nothing I did was done to spite you.”
“Perhaps not, but the net effect is the same. How am I going to explain this to my clients? To the partners of the firm?”
“They won’t hold you responsible for my actions.”
“The hell they won’t. And what about your associates? I put Alice off, telling her only that you were clearing up paperwork. But how are you going to explain your criminal activity to her and Neal? To your patients? Your behavior has placed the future of your precious clinic in jeopardy.”
“I’ll explain it to them just as I explained it to the detectives, to you, and to the defense lawyer. I did what was necessary to treat a patient. Even if no one else understands that, I’m confident that Neal and Alice will. They would have done the same.”
“At the risk of a malpractice suit? I don’t think so. Neither of them would be that foolhardy.”
“I didn’t take potential lawsuits into account. Not at any time. I was concerned only about Lisa’s welfare.”
“Oh, it’s a compelling argument. I’ll hand you that. The lawyer can make a case with it. He’ll probably even spin the burglary till it looks noble and just.”
“Then why are you so angry?”
“Because, as your husband, I’d like to know what happened in those four days that changed you from the reasonable, rational adult who left Atlanta on Friday into a hillbilly outlaw.”
“Isn’t that a rather ridiculous overstatement?”
“Not from where I’m standing. The Emory I know—knew—would have taken the girl to the emergency room if she were that concerned about her condition.”
“Lisa refused to go.”
“This mysterious man, Bannock, he didn’t factor into your decision to treat the girl at home?”
“He pleaded with her to call nine-one-one. He offered numerous times to drive her to an ER, despite the icy roads. It was only after she refused that he…involved me.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Emory.”
“Yes, I know. But that happens to be the absolute truth.”
He snorted with skepticism as he walked over to the bar that separated the living area from the kitchen.
They had rented a suite in a chain residence hotel that didn’t meet Jeff’s standards, but which he deemed a huge improvement over where he’d spent the last several nights, courtesy of the sheriff’s office. The suite was bi-level, with the bedroom and bath upstairs.
On the way there from the sheriff’s office, he’d stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of the single malt scotch he preferred. He poured himself three fingers’ worth.
“Want one?” he asked.
“The Emory you know doesn’t like scotch.”
He frowned at her drollness. “This qualifies as an emergency. Can I get you anything from the minibar?”
“No thank you.”
“Let me know when you get hungry. I’ll have to go out and bring something back. No one in this town has heard of room service.” He sat down in an easy chair and placed his feet on the matching ottoman. Pressing his thumb and middle finger into his eye sockets, he sighed. “Jesus, what a nightmare. But stay tuned. There’s more to come.”