The Girl Who Survived(66)

“Apparently a habit of mine,” she admitted, flashing back to the horror of that bloody Christmas Eve.

Don’t go there. Do not!

Tate cut into her thoughts. “And Jonas was there . . . at Margrove’s house?”

“Not in the house. Didn’t I just say he was in my—hey wait! What is this?” She stopped before she answered any more of his questions. Wesley Tate was no friend, not a confidante, certainly no one she could trust.

“I just have a few questions.”

“A few?”

“Okay, a lot.”

Her eyes narrowed. He seemed earnest, but then didn’t they all? She’d had her fill of reporters long ago. “I’m not answering any. I think I told you that before.”

“When you almost ran me over.”

“So you think I owe you, is that it? Even though I’m pretty sure we established that you jumped behind my car. Let’s make that clear.” Again she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and gritted her teeth against another stab of pain.

“You’ve had a little trouble behind the wheel recently.”

Quicksilver slices of memories of the accident cut through her mind—massive tires slipping, the huge semi jackknifing and sliding sideways on the icy mountain road. “Bad luck,” she said, and ignored the pang of worry she felt for the truck driver.

For a second she flashed on the two small bottles of vodka she’d downed to fortify herself before discovering Merritt’s body. Alcohol coupled with bad weather and her brother scaring the life out of her, then grabbing the wheel. None of which she wanted to discuss with the police. Not now. Not until she’d talked to Jonas herself. “I need to get out of here,” she said suddenly, wondering if he could be an ally, one she could use. “Can you help make that happen? Give me a ride?”

He hesitated. “Now?”

Footsteps approached in the hallway outside.

Kara froze and waited, her pulse skyrocketing as Tate stepped farther into the room, closer to the window. The footsteps slowed.

Oh. Jesus.

She exchanged a frantic gaze with Tate before the footsteps passed by, moving out of earshot.

“Right now,” she said, letting out her breath. There was no time to lose before someone actually did enter her room. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she slid off the bed, her bare feet hitting the floor. “And if you’re wondering what’s in it for you?” she asked, anticipating what he was probably wondering. “You help me get out of here, and then maybe I’ll talk to you. Answer some of your damned questions.”

“Maybe?”

“It hasn’t happened yet, right? But once you have, then okay, for sure.” He might not be the best option to help her, but right now, he was about the only one. She decided to run with it. For now. “Look, the interview you want so badly? You’ve got it.” She saw the skepticism in his expression, as if he were trying to figure her out, see if she was for real.

“Don’t look at me that way. There’s something more than a ride in it for me, too.”

“The proverbial catch.”

“Think of it that way if you have to, but I expect you’ll share.”

“Share?”

“I want to know everything else you find out about Margrove and about the past, the night my family was killed, all about the trial, all of the suspects and what happened to my sister.” She shot him a glance as she slipped from the bed, thought about telling him about the anonymous text, then changed her mind. She wasn’t ready to trust him with everything. Not yet. “This isn’t a one-way street. Right?”

“Right.” But he didn’t seem convinced. Nonetheless, she was running out of options and decided to take a leap of faith and trust him. If only for the moment. “Okay, then. Let’s go.” She was holding the back of her gown closed with her good hand.

“The doctor is on board with this?”

“Of course not. But I don’t care.” She arched an eyebrow. “I’ll bet the doctor and the staff and security here aren’t on board with you impersonating a hospital worker either.” When he didn’t respond, she threw out, “Am I wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Asked instead, “You can walk?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Twisted a muscle in my neck, got a couple of bruises, compliments of the airbag, a bruised shoulder, but I’m good.”

“And your head?” He pointed to the bandage on her head.

“Just a bump. They only had me up here, in my own room, to run some tests and make sure I was okay.”

He hesitated, eyes narrowing as if he didn’t believe her.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she reminded him.

“Fine. I’ll get my car.”

“No. Wait,” she added. “One more thing.”

He paused.

“I want to see my brother first. Before we leave. I need to talk to Jonas.”

“I can’t make that happen.” He was shaking his head. “I told you: he’s under guard.”

“I figured as much, but . . .” She thought for a moment. “All we need is a distraction.”

“A distraction?” He wasn’t buying it and pointed out, “This isn’t a spy movie.”