to stand directly in front of her. "I mentioned the scalpel to
him a few days ago."
"Why?"
"Just like you, I wanted to know what happened to it."
' 'If you had located it before me, would you have destroyed
it, or turned it over as evidence?"
A muscle in his cheek twitched. "The point is moot. It's
no longer in the evidence room."
"You checked?"
"Damn right. I couldn't find a trace of it. It probably hasn't
been there for years. Most likely, it was thrown out because
the case was."
"Out of consideration to the Collins family, wouldn't
someone have offered to give it back?"
"I have no answer for that."
"Was it ever dusted for fingerprints?"
"I took the liberty of asking Judge Wallace that."
"I'm sure you did, Sheriff. What did he say?"
"He said no."
"Why not?"
"The handle was bloody. Gooney Bud's prints were all
over it. It was hardly necessary to dust it."
They regarded each other with so much animosity that Pat
Chastain broke out in a sweat. "Well, we'd better give these
people back their treatment room. Your car is trashed, Alex,
so I'll drive you to the motel. Are you up to walking to the
car, or should I call for a wheelchair?"
"I'll take her to the motel," Reede said, before Alex could
respond to Pat's offer.
"Are you sure?" Pat felt obligated to inquire, though he
was obviously relieved that Reede was taking her off his
hands. "Since the sheriff has offered," she told Pat, "I'll
let him drive me."
The D. A. scuttled out before either could change his mind.
Alex watched his rapid departure with derision. "It's no
wonder crime is so prevalent in this county. The D.A. is as
chicken-livered as they come."
"And the sheriff is corrupt."
"You took the words right out of my mouth." She slid
off the edge of the examination table and braced herself
against it long enough to get her balance. She tried to take
a step, but swayed unsteadily. "The doctor gave me a painkiller.
I'm so woozy, maybe you'd better ask them for a
wheelchair."
"Maybe you'd better check in for the night."
"I don't want to."
"Suit yourself."
He scooped her into his arms before she could protest and
carried her out of the examination room. "My purse." She
gestured weakly toward the check-in desk. Reede retrieved
it. Then, with the emergency room staff enthralled by the
sight, Reede carried her out and deposited her in the front
seat of his Blazer.
She rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her
eyes. "Where were you this afternoon?" she asked, once
they were underway.
"I told you already."
"You were riding even after sundown?"
"I ran some errands."
"You couldn't be reached on your radio. Where were you,
Reede?"
"Lots of places."
"Specifically."
"I was at Nora Gail's."
Alex was surprised at how much that hurt her. "Oh."
"I had to question the witnesses about that shooting."
"Then, you were working?"
"Among other things."
"You still sleep with her, don't you?"
"Sometimes."
She prayed that he would die a slow, painful death.
"Maybe Nora Gail dispatched one of her heavies to do me
in," she said, "as a favor to you."
"Maybe. It wouldn't surprise me. If she doesn't like something,
she doesn't hesitate to take care of it."
"She didn't like Celina," Alex said softly.
"No, she didn't. But I was with Nora Gail the night Celina
died, remember?"
"That's what I'm told."
So, was Nora Gail another suspect for Celina's murder?
The thought made her head ache. She closed her eyes. When
they arrived at the motel, she reached for the door handle.
Reede ordered her to wait and came around to assist her out.
With his left arm around her waist, lending support, they
made a shuffling trip to the door.
Reede unlocked it and helped her to the bed. She lay down
gratefully. "It's freezing in here," he said, rubbing his hands
together as he looked for the thermostat.
"It always is when I first come in."
"I didn't notice it last night."
They glanced quickly at each other, then away. Again
unable to cope, Alex closed her eyes. When she opened them,
Reede was rummaging in the top drawer of the bureau opposite
the bed.
"What are you looking for this time?"
"Something for you to sleep in."
"Any T-shirt. It doesn't matter which one."
He returned to the bed, gingerly sat down on the edge, and
removed her boots. "Leave my socks," she told him. "My
feet are cold."
"Can you sit up?"
She could by leaning heavily against his shoulder while he
fumbled with the buttons on the front of her dress. The tiny
round things were no bigger than pills, and were covered in
the same fabric as her dress. There was a row of them that
ran from neck to knee. He was viciously cursing them by the
time he got to her waist.
He eased her back down on the pillow, pulled her arms
from the tight long sleeves, and worked the dress over her
hips and down her legs. Her slip didn't give him pause, but
her bra did. Once he seemed to make up his mind about it,
he unclasped it with businesslike efficiency and helped her
slide the straps off her shoulders.
"I thought you only had a gash on the head and some
scratches on your hands?" Evidently, he'd consulted the doctor.
"That's right."
"Then, what's all th--"
He stopped suddenly, realizing that the abrasions on her
upper torso were whisker burns. The corner of his mouth
twitched with a spasm of regret. She felt compelled to lay
her hand against his cheek and reassure him that it was all
right, that she hadn't minded having his hot, eager mouth at
her breasts, his deft tongue stroking her nipples into stiff
rosiness.
Of course she didn't. His dark frown stifled anything she
might have said. "You're gonna have to sit up again," he
told her curtly.
With a hand behind each shoulder, he pulled her into a
sitting position again and propped her against the headboard.
He gathered the T-shirt up and tried to pull it over her head.
Alex winced the instant he set it against her hair.
"This isn't working," he muttered. Then, with a single,
violent motion, he ripped the neck of the shirt wide enough
to slip over her head without causing any pain.
When she lay back down, she touched the long tear in the
fabric. "Thanks. This was one of my favorites."
"Sorry." He pulled the covers up to her chin and stood
up. "Are you going to be all right?"
"Yes."
He looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"
She nodded weakly. "Do you need anything before I go?
Water?"
"Okay. Put a glass of water on the nightstand, please."
When he returned to the side of the bed, carrying the glass
of water, she had already fallen asleep. Reede stood above
her. Her hair, fanned out over the pillow, had bloodstains in
it. There was an unnatural wanness to her complexion. It
made him sick at his stomach to think how close she'd come
to serious injury or death.
He set the glass of water on the nightstand and gingerly
lowered himself to the edge of the bed. Alex stirred, murmured
unintelligibly, and extended her hand, as though reaching
for something. Responding to that silent, subconscious
appeal, Reede carefully covered her cut hands with his strong,
callused ones.
He wouldn't have been surprised if her eyes had popped
open and she had started rebuking him for taking her virginity.
How the hell could he have known?
And if I had known, he thought to himself, I would have
done it anyway.
She didn't wake up. She only snuffled softly and trustingly
curved her fingers over his knuckles. Good sense and impulse
warred within him, but the fight didn't last long, and the
outcome had been decided before his conscience raised its
head.
He eased himself onto the bed, until he was stretched out
full beside her, facing her, feeling her gentle, drug-induced
breaths against his face.
He marveled over the delicate bone structure of her face,
the shape of her mouth, the way her eyelashes lay upon her
cheeks.
"Alex." He whispered her name, not to awaken her, but
merely for the pleasure of speaking it out loud.
She sighed deeply, drawing his attention down to the torn
T-shirt. Through the tear he could see the smooth slope of
her breasts. Her cleavage was dusky in the faint lamplight,
shadowy and velvety, and he wanted to press his open mouth
there.
He didn't. Nor did he kiss her vulnerable mouth, even
though his mind was wildly occupied with how softly and
deeply and wetly she kissed.
He thought of fondling the tempting mounds of her breasts.
He could see the dark impressions of their centers behind the
soft cloth of the T-shirt, and knew that with the merest touch
of his tongue or fingertips, they would become taut. And that
damned T-shirt was far sexier than any fancy negligee and
garter belt that Nora Gail had ever worn.
It was hell to lie this close to her and not touch, but it was
heaven to have this much access, to stare his fill. When the
pleasure and pain of it got to be too much, he reluctantly
withdrew his hand from hers and left the bed.
After making certain that she had enough blankets, that
the medication had her completely sedated, he slipped quietly
out of the room.