Seeing Red(41)

She had been with him enough times now to recognize the barriers he raised to hide a long-simmering anger and wounded pride. He also used his glibness and charm without shame. He could disarm with intimidation as well as with a wolfish grin, and she’d been susceptible to both.

“Did you discover any other evidence while poking around with the diehards?” she asked.

“No.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn’t. But it’s the truth. If I had found something I deemed important to the investigation, I would have handed it over to the authorities immediately. I swear.”

She had to take him at his word. At least for the time being. “How do you think the culprits got away? Where did they go?”

“They believed The Major was dead. You had escaped, and they ran out of time to look for you, probably because they saw the TV van returning. They went out the back and skedaddled. They had left a vehicle a safe distance away, with or without an accomplice waiting behind the wheel.

“While your crew was freaking out, calling 911, and so forth, the bad guys were driving away undetected. There are lots of back roads and old cattle trails out there. You can get lost if you know where you’re going.”

He smiled at his own irony, then continued. “It was lucky for them that the rain didn’t come till after they were long gone, or there would’ve been footprints, tire tracks. Now an inch of sleet is covering any they might have left. If they’re eventually found, they’ll be so compromised, any punch they might have given a prosecutor’s case will be diluted.

“Lucky for you the production people returned when they did. If the perps had had time, they would’ve searched till they found you. You would have made an easy target from the drop-off above the creek bed.”

“I thought of that while I was lying there.”

“Did you see them, Kerra?”

She had been absorbed in recollections of the harrowing experience, but his abrupt question brought her head up. “No.”

“You were holding something back last night? What?”

“The fact that someone tried to open that door before the gunshot.”

“So you do think there were three would-be assassins? Two came to the front door where The Major was shot. Another came in through the back and saw you go into the powder room? He knew you were in there, but his buddies didn’t until after The Major was down? Is that what you think?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think any more.”

They lapsed into silence, but as he looked her over, his grim expression relaxed. “Well, honestly, what I think is that before going on TV you may want to change that outfit.”

Gracie had purchased the fleece tracksuit and sneakers for her to wear as she left the hospital. She looked down at herself. “Good advice. It’s ugly.”

He didn’t echo her self-deprecating laugh. All seriousness, he said, “Better yet, Kerra, change your mind. Don’t do the interview.”

“No one in law enforcement is keen on the idea, so the interview could be scrubbed. If it is, all your ranting over it will have been for nothing. You didn’t give me an opportunity to tell you that before blazing in here and drinking my beer.”

“I was pissed.”

“I gathered that.”

“I’m also a real jerk for not even asking how you’re feeling.”

“I told you. Weary, achy, dizzy. But I was exaggerating a little bit,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. She stood up and walked toward him. “I am sorry that you were taken in for questioning. But I don’t regret telling them about the earring. I had to, and I know you understand that, Trapper.”

“I do. Of course I do. I admire you for it. It’s just that I have issues with authority.”

“I’ve gathered that, too.”

They exchanged smiles. He moved to the door, but stopped and turned back before opening it. “Say, I’ve been catching up on my Kerra Bailey–watching and—”

“You have?”

“On my laptop. Helps kill time in the waiting room.”

“I hope I’m at least as engrossing as white-tail deer.”

“I don’t know,” he said, giving her a lazy grin. “Tell me about your mating rituals.” At her look, he shrugged. “Worth a try. Anyway, I saw an interview you did with Thomas Wilcox.”

“It was one of the first feature stories I did here in Texas.”

“Why’d you choose him to focus on?”

“He’s mega successful.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Why do you ask? Do you know him?”

“By reputation only. Everything I’ve read about him says he’s secretive. Keeps his business private. Shuns media attention.”

“All true. I had to finagle him.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “That sounds like really dirty foreplay.”

She laughed, but stopped laughing when he slid his hand under her hair at the nape of her neck and turned them until her back was to the door. Leaning in, his lips skimmed her beauty mark on their way to her ear, where he whispered, “I’d like for you to finagle me.”

She didn’t speak a word, didn’t move, didn’t do anything except give herself over to his body heat and largeness and maleness and sexiness, the blend of which seeped into her like a potent restorative. He had made her fearful, had bullied her, lied to her, tricked her. But now, all she wanted was to be against his skin. She arched her throat, giving access to his nibbling lips.