"Honeymoon?" Gully asked as they moved away.
"They were terrific. I'm going to miss them."
He looked at her strangely. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Because you're acting sorta weird."
"I've been up all night." Straightening her shoulders and adopting the demeanor she assumed when cameras were about to roll, she turned to Galloway. "I suppose you have a lot of questions for me."
In the van, Galloway plied her with coffee and breakfast burritos donated by the ladies' auxiliary of the First Baptist
Church. It took over an hour for him to get from her all the information he required.
"I think that's it for now, Ms. McCoy, although we'll probably have some follow-up questions."
"I understand."
"And it wouldn't surprise me if the respective DAs ask you to attend when we convene to discuss the charges against Ronnie Davison."
"If you convene," she said softly.
The FBI agent looked away, and Tiel realized he bore a large measure of guilt over what had happened. Perhaps even more than she. He admitted to being duped by Russell
Dendy's playacting. He hadn't noticed Dendy returning to the private charter helicopter he had arrived in and retrieving a deer rifle from it. If the unthinkable happened and Ronnie died, Galloway would have much to account for.
"Have you received any update on Ronnie's condition?"
"No," Galloway replied. "All I know is that he was alive when they put him in the chopper. I've heard nothing further.
The baby is fine. Sabra is listed in poor condition, which is better than I had hoped for. She's received several units of blood. Her mother is with her."
"I haven't seen Mr. Cole Davison."
"They let him accompany Ronnie in the helicopter. He was… well, you can imagine."
They were quiet for a moment, impervious to the activity of the other agents, who were busy with the "mopping up." Eventually Galloway signaled her out of her chair and escorted her outside, where the morning was now full blown.
"Good-bye, Mr. Galloway."
"Ms. McCoy?" Having started to walk away, she turned back. Special Agent Galloway looked slightly ill at ease with what he was about to say. "This was a terrible ordeal for you, I'm sure. But I'm glad we had someone in there who is as level-headed as you. You helped keep everyone sane and acted with remarkable composure."
"I'm not remarkable, Mr. Galloway. Bossy maybe," she said with a wan smile. "If it hadn't been for Doc—" She tilted her head inquisitively. "Did he give you his statement?"
"Sheriff Montez took his."
He motioned her toward the sheriff, whom she hadn't noticed leaning against the side of the van in the shade.
He tipped his wide-brimmed hat and ambled toward her, but ignored her unspoken question about Doc.
"Our mayor has offered to put you up at the local motel. It's not the Ritz," he warned with a chuckle. "But you're welcome to stay as long as you like."
"Thank you, but I'm returning to Dallas."
"Not right now you're not." Gully had joined them, and with him was Kip. "We're going back in the chopper and deliver this tape to the editor so she can start putting the piece together."
"I'll go too, and send someone back for my car."
He was shaking his head before Tiel finished speaking.
"Not enough room for more than two passengers, and I
gotta get back. No telling what that freak with the rings in his eyebrow has done to my newsroom. You take the mayor up on his kind offer. We'll send the chopper for you later, along with an intern to drive your car back to
Dallas. Besides, you stink. A shower wouldn't hurt."
"You really know how to turn on the charm when you have to, Gully."
It seemed the matter was settled, and she was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. They specified a time and place for her to meet the helicopter, and Sheriff Montez promised to have her there. Gully and Kip said their good-byes and hustled off toward the waiting chopper with the station's call letters painted on the sides.
Galloway extended his hand. "Good luck to you, Ms.
McCoy."
"And to you." She shook hands with him, but when he would have withdrawn, she detained him. "You said you were glad it was me who was in there," she said, nodding in the direction of the store. "I'm glad it was you out here,
Mr. Galloway." And she meant it. They'd been very lucky to have him as the agent in charge of such a delicate situation.
Another might not have handled it with the sensitivity he had shown.
The implied compliment seemed to embarrass him.
"Thank you," he said briskly, then turned and reentered the van.
Sheriff Montez retrieved her bags from her car and placed them in the back seat of his squad car. She protested his chauffeuring her. "I can drive myself, Sheriff."
"No need. You're so tuckered out, I'd be afraid you'd fall asleep at the wheel. If you're worried about your car,
I'll send a deputy over for it. We'll keep it parked at our office where we can keep an eye on it."
Surprisingly, she found it a welcome change to relinquish control and to not have to make any mind-taxing decisions. "Thank you."
It was a short trip to the motel. Six rooms were lined up along a covered breezeway that provided a hair's-breadth of shade. All the doors were painted UT orange.
"No need to check in. You're the only guest." Montez slid from behind the steering wheel and came around to assist her out.
He had the room key and used it to open the door. The air conditioner had already been turned on. The window unit hummed loudly and one of its internal parts clanked intermittently, but these were friendly sounds. A vase of sunflowers and a basket filled with fresh fruit and baked goods wrapped in pink plastic had been placed on the room's one small table.
"The Catholic ladies weren't about to be outdone by the Baptists," he told her.
"You've all been very kind."
"Not at all, Ms. McCoy. Weren't for you, it could've gone a lot worse. None of us wanted Rojo Flats to be put on the map by something like a massacre." He touched the brim of his hat as he backed out, pulling the door closed behind him. "You want anything, call the desk.
Otherwise nobody'll bother you. Rest well. I'll be back for you later."
Ordinarily the first thing Tiel did upon entering a room was switch on the television set. She was a news junkie.
Whether or not she was actually watching the screen, she was always tuned to a twenty-four-hour news station. She fell asleep to it, and woke up to it.
Now, she moved past the TV set without even noticing it and carried her toiletry bag with her into the minuscule bathroom. The shower was barely large enough to turn
around in, but the water was hot and there was plenty of it. Standing beneath the steaming spray, she let it pound against her skull before shampooing. She lathered lavishly with her imported soap sold exclusively at Neiman's. She shaved her legs, avoiding the lacerations on her knees.
She used her hair dryer only long enough to blow out most of the water, then bent over the sink to brush her teeth.
All of which felt wonderful.
So why did she feel so lousy?
She had just filed the most important story of her career. Nine Live was as good as hers now. Gully had said so.
She should be dancing on the ceiling. Instead her limbs felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds apiece.
Where was the fizzy high she derived from a good news story? Her spirit was as flat as three-day-old champagne.
Sleep deprivation. That was it. Once she had napped for several hours, she would be right as rain. Her old self.
Recharged and ready.
Back in the bedroom, she took a tank top and briefs from her suitcase and put them on, set her travel alarm clock, then turned down the bed. The sheets looked soft and inviting. It occurred to her that her knees and palms might bleed on them, but she was beyond caring.
When she heard the knock, she took it for another ping in the air conditioner's mechanism. But when it was followed by a second, she moved to the door and pulled it open.