Seeing Red(9)

“What I meant. Quite a blowout, huh? You catch the garter?”

“No, the bridesmaid.”

“Which one?”

“She was blond.”

“Big tits or the skinny one?”

“I can’t remember. Have you ever heard of Kerra Bailey?”

“The one on TV?”

“You know who she is?”

“Sure. She’s a local reporter, but she also shows up every once in a while on that—”

“She came unannounced to my office today.”

After a stunned silence, his friend chortled, “Holy shit! Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“She came to see you?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

Trapper withheld mention of the photograph and its startling revelation. He told Carson only that Kerra wanted to interview The Major. “She asked me to pave the way for her.”

“To which you said?”

“Several expletives that boiled down to no. But she’s not done asking.”

“How do you know?”

“She gives off a vibe.”

“She vibrates? This just got interesting. Hold on.” Trapper could hear Carson murmuring an apology to the new Mrs. Rime, followed by several seconds of rustling, then a closing door. “Tell me everything.”

Over the sound of Carson noisily peeing into the toilet, Trapper gave him a condensed version of Kerra’s unexpected arrival. When he finished, Carson asked, “Does she understand that you and the pater aren’t exactly simpatico?”

“She does now. But that didn’t sway her. She still believes I could be useful.”

“Are you going to help her?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Look, Carson, I realize it’s your honeymoon and all, but if I hadn’t taken you to happy hour at that topless club, you and your bride never would’ve met.”

Carson was quick on the uptake. He sighed. “What’s the favor?”



After he and Carson disconnected, Trapper shucked his jeans and got into bed, but he took his laptop with him.

He went on to YouTube and watched every story and interview featuring Kerra Bailey that he could locate. He had wished to find fault, had hoped to see a struggling amateur. But on camera she came across as poised, smart, and informative, but also warm and personable. She had a sharp wit, an incisive toughness without meanness, but she didn’t allow professionalism to overshadow compassion.

After watching clips for almost two hours, Trapper paused a video on a close-up of her face and stared at the beauty mark, the giveaway, the thing he’d seen ten thousand times, but had never really looked at until it had been magnified ten thousand times on his computer screen.

Though he hadn’t known her name until today, he had resented her since he was eleven years old when she had replaced him as the most beloved child in his father’s heart.

Because of her, Trapper had lost his dad to the world.

Because of her, his life had become one long game of catchup at which he continually lost.

Because of her: the little girl his father had carried from the burning ruin of the Pegasus Hotel.





Chapter 3




Kerra was switching between networks to get a sampling of the morning news shows when her cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“I’m outside.” Those two words, and Trapper hung up.

Kerra tossed her phone onto the bed, muttering, “Rude jerk.”

She had already showered, so it didn’t take her long to dress. But she dawdled an extra five minutes, not wanting it to look like she’d rushed down in response to his ill-mannered summons. She should ignore him altogether and find some other way to breach The Major’s self-imposed seclusion.

But she’d already lost another day. Between now and Sunday, every minute counted.

Besides, she couldn’t let Trapper think that he’d intimidated or scared her off with his manhandling last night.

The condo building’s revolving door emptied her into brilliant sunlight and a frigid north wind that made her eyes water. Even so, she couldn’t have missed Trapper. Directly across the street from the building, he was leaning against the passenger side of his car, recognizable by the deep dent in its grill roughly the size of a parking meter post. He exuded supreme confidence that she would appear as summoned.

He was dressed as he’d been the night before except that, beneath the leather jacket, today’s shirt was blue chambray, and he’d added a pair of sunglasses. Ankles and arms crossed, he looked impervious to the wind whipping his dark hair.

She amended her earlier summation: He was a sexy rude jerk.

She waited for a delivery truck to lumber past, then crossed the street mid-block and walked straight toward him. “Isn’t Texas supposed to be hot?”

“Not in February.”

“I moved here from Minneapolis–St. Paul to get away from winter.”

“Live here long enough, you learn we have weather extremes.” He opened the passenger door and motioned her in, then went around. In order to get in on the driver’s side, he had to squeeze past a no parking sign.

Kerra called his attention to it. “Your car could get towed.”