Seeing Red(87)

“How much?”

“You can’t afford me.”

“Try me.”

“And anyway, I’m not for hire.”

“Where’s the flash drive?”

“Fuck!” Looking ready to throttle her, he stood there, breathing hard and angrily, then sliced the air with his hands. “Fine. I have transportation.” He dug into his jeans pocket for the key Carson had given him. “I’ll go. The room is paid up through today. You can stay here and figure out how to get back to Dallas on your own.”

He pulled on his coat and went over to the door. “The offer’s still good to take you to your car, but it expires in thirty seconds.”

She continued staring into eyes that could be as hard as blue diamonds or as hot as blue flame. They were in the former mode, giving back nothing as she looked deeply into them.

Yielding was her only option.

She pulled on her coat, zipped the duffel bag and shouldered the strap, then got her purse. He took a wire coat hanger from the closet. They met at the door; Trapper held it open for her. Remembering Carson’s instructions to Trapper, she turned toward the north end of the building.

A maroon sedan was one of only three vehicles parked on the rear lot. Trapper unlocked it. He set her bag on the backseat while she got in the front. It wasn’t far to the motel in which she had originally stayed. They reached it before the car motor had warmed up sufficiently for the heater to work.

Trapper pulled up beside her car. “Wait here till I get it started. It may need some coaxing since it’s been out in the cold for so long.”

He left the sedan’s engine running as he got out, taking the coat hanger with him. She thought car manufacturers had redesigned door locks so they were no longer susceptible to this kind of break-in, but they were susceptible to Trapper, who had it open within seconds.

Out the corner of her eye, she noticed another vehicle pulling into the parking lot. When it got even with the sedan, the driver slowed down to look at her, then past her toward her car where Trapper was bent down, only one leg visible where it hung out the open driver’s door.

The man stopped his minivan and got out. He shot Kerra another glance, then strode past, shouting, “Trapper!”

Trapper sat up and, when he saw the man, scooted out and took a few steps toward him. “Hey, Hank. What are you doing here?”

The minister charged up to him and slugged him as hard as he could right in the jaw.





Chapter 25




Trapper fell back against the side of Kerra’s car. “What the—”

Before he could get the rest of it out of his mouth, Hank slugged him again, this time catching him just beneath his eye. Reacting instinctively, Trapper rammed his fist as hard as he could into Hank’s solar plexus. Hank doubled over and staggered back.

Trapper touched the heel of his hand to his cheekbone, and it came away red with fresh blood. He took a moment to clear his vision. Hank was no longer a threat. He was standing bent at a ninety-degree angle, gasping and gagging.

Kerra scrambled out of the maroon car and came running toward Trapper.

He held up a hand like a traffic cop, stopping her midstride. This was between him and Hank. He left the support of the car and walked toward him. “Okay, I had that coming. But bloody hell!” He dabbed his cheekbone again, felt a bump already rising. “Whatever happened to turning the other cheek?”

Hank sucked in hard to draw breath. “The only … cheek … I’ll turn to you will be a butt cheek.” He wheezed, coughed, wiped spittle off his lips. “So you can kiss my ass.”

Trapper pushed up the sleeve of his coat and blotted blood off his face with the cuff of his shirt. “I shouldn’t have sent you out to the line shack. I’m sorry. I just needed to throw people off track for a few hours. But which is the worse sin, manipulation or betraying a confidence? Which is what you did. So don’t go all holier than thou with me.”

Hank struggled to bring himself upright, though he continued to hold one forearm across his middle. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “This isn’t about that. It’s about what you’re doing to Dad.”

“Glenn? I’m not doing anything to him.”

“No? He suffered some kind of … episode.” Hank wiped more snot. “Shortness of breath. Chest pains. Red in the face. A deputy rushed him to the ER. His cardiologist met him there. Mom’s hysterical.” He aimed an accusing finger at Trapper. “This is on you.”

Trapper exhaled through his mouth and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’ll go right now—”

“You’ll stay the hell away from him!” Hank shouted. Or tried to. It came out a croak, but with wrath behind it.

Kerra walked over to Hank and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry to hear that your father is ill. I’m Kerra Bailey.”

He looked at her with abashment. “Hank Addison. I’m sorry you saw that. Ordinarily I don’t fly off the handle.” He shot a glare toward Trapper. “I’m not that short-tempered.”

“Trapper has that effect on people,” she said. “How did you know where to find him?”

“Last I heard, you were both staying here.”

She looked beyond Hank toward the café that shared the parking lot with the motel. “It would be warmer inside, and I think you probably shouldn’t drive just yet. Can we continue in there?”