Black Oil, Red Blood

Chapter 14



I woke up in the hospital. Miles and Nash were both sitting by my bed. The first thing I saw was Lucy, unscathed and asleep in Miles’s lap. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The second thing I saw was Miles’s hair. There were only a few scorched patches left.

My eyes were barely open, but I started giggling. I felt a little delirious. Drugged. “I told you, Miles,” I choked out.

Miles smacked Nash, who was dozing, on the arm. “She’s awake,” he said.

“I always told you,” I said.

“Told me what?” Miles asked.

“That you use too much hair product. That stuff is all flammable, you know.”

“Chloe!” Miles said. “You shut your mouth right now! You get hit by a homemade bomb, and the first thing you talk about afterwards is my hair? My hair? I will never forgive you for this.”

“Your hair makes Ryan Seacrest’s ‘do’ look like the Geico caveman’s” I said.

That one made the very sleepy Jensen Nash actually crack a grin.

I weakly slapped Nash on the knee. “Doesn’t it?” I said. “Doesn’t it? Miles’s hair is a friggin’ sculpture. It ought to be on display at the Guggenheim.”

“Chloe Taylor,” Miles said again, momentarily choked up. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me! I might have to marry you for that one. Unfortunately, I’m now going to have to shave it off. Will you still find me attractive with a shaved head?”

“Of course,” I said. “But now I know you’re not safe. Your hair is apparently a Molotov Cocktail magnet. I really have to stay away from Molotov Cocktail magnets. What are you going to do about that?”

Miles shrugged. “Some risks are acceptable.”

“And the smell,” I said. “Miles, you reek. Eau de burnt hair is not your signature scent.”

“Cripes, Chloe, ease up. I haven’t had time to go home and take a shower, you know. And by the way, you don’t look so good, yourself. Hospital gown peach is so not your color.”

“You were lucky, though,” Nash said softly. “Only a few minor burns on your torso. The doctors think you only passed out from the shock. “

Oh, nooooooooooo. That was so not like me. Fainting like a Victorian-era woman just because of a few flaming projectiles? With no shirt on? How would I ever live that down? Forever after, in court I would be the lawyer who passed out naked when the heat was on. I’d be a walking target. Defense attorneys would be placing bets about who could get me to faint first. Hearings would now be more of a nightmare than usual. So not good. I felt myself flush.

“It could have been a lot worse if I hadn’t been able to get your shirt off so quickly,” Nash said.

“Oh yeah,” I snapped. “That would have been a whole lot worse.”

“Don’t worry,” Nash said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.

Miles fanned himself. “Ooooh!” Is it heating up in here!”

Nash actually had the decency to look embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant.”

I was quickly regaining full consciousness. “Really?” I asked? “What exactly did you mean?”

Nash was saved from a forthcoming cross examination by the nurse, who had come in to change my bandages. The nurse sent the guys outside while she did her business. I peered at the changing process through one eye. It really didn’t look so bad. I had sustained worse from cooking. But then, maybe that was more of a reflection on my cooking skills than on the actual state of the burns.

The nurse finished up, and Nash and Miles resumed their places at my bedside.

“I’m tired,” I said. “What time is it?”

“Five-thirty a.m.,” Miles answered.

“How’s my house?” I asked.

Nash carefully avoided my gaze. “The initial reports from the fire department don’t sound good.”

“Did they get all the files?”

“I think they got the whole house,” Nash said.

I sighed. “Well, at least I had rental insurance.” Assuming the policy was current and paid up. Crap. I really needed to make some money soon. Now, on top of everything else, I had hospital bills to pay. And of course Dick didn’t provide health insurance.

Despite the vast amount of designer footwear and other expensive items I had amassed during my wealthier days, I wasn’t too worried about losing my actual stuff. I wasn’t materialistic. I had just bought all that stuff to keep up appearances. Lawyers tend to judge the quality of other lawyers by what they wear, drive, and possess in general. Louboutins were more of an intimidation tactic for me than must-have fashion.

“Don’t worry,” Miles said. “You can stay with me. You can use my shampoo and conditioner. I won’t need it now.”

“What about clothes?” I asked. “Can I borrow your clothes? I like that one shirt that’s kind of sheer. You can’t get away with wearing that around here, anyway.”

“Whatever you need,” Miles said altruistically, fingers clasped in front of his chest in a choirboy pose.

Nash rolled his eyes. “I’ll also see what I can rustle up from the county’s local shelter,” he said.

Miles looked offended. “Hey, don’t hate on the sheer shirt.”

“I wasn’t hating,” Nash said. “I was just thinking about minor inconveniences like judges, who may appreciate sheer clothing but not condone it in the courtroom.”

I sighed. “It’s late,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go home and come back in the morning? In the later morning, I mean. There’s nothing else we can do right now anyway.”

Miles and Nash both put up a weak protest, but I could tell they were tired and wanted to leave.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “Really. I think I’m going to be okay.”

Miles stood up and kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll come by and spring you out as soon as I can.”

“Leave Lucy here,” I said.

“I don’t think we can do that. Hospital regulations. I had to practically bribe intake just to get her in this room.” Miles scooped her up and held her over the bed. She wagged her tail and licked my face tentatively. I gave her a big kiss goodbye.

“Don’t worry,” Miles said. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“Let her sleep in your bed,” I said.

“Okay,” Miles said.

“If she sheds, maybe some hair will wind up on your head.”

Miles scratched Lucy behind her ears. “I knew you were good for something,” he said in a cooing “talking to dogs” voice. “I just didn’t know for what until now.”

My eyelids sank shut as they both shuffled out in exhaustion.





***





Miles arrived back at the hospital at ten a.m. with crisp, clean clothes, a bottle of vanilla-scented spritzer, and a freshly shaved head.

“Wow,” I said. “Who are you?”

Miles groaned. “Shut it. I feel like a skinhead.”

“And you look like one, too,” I chirped. Despite the circumstances, I was in kind of a good mood. The lidocaine gel the doctor had prescribed for my burns kept them from hurting, and plus, we were definitely onto something. If PetroPlex was behind the violence (which I was 95% sure they were), and if I could find out whatever little piece of information they thought might be worth killing over, I could use it as leverage to get a quick, high settlement and a very large paycheck for myself just in the nick of time—maybe even before summary judgment. Assuming I could simultaneously keep myself out of harm’s way, that is. Maybe if the info were really good, I could get a high enough settlement to get out of this town and start my own law firm. How great would that be?

“Get dressed,” Miles said, tossing the clothes on the bed. Jeans, a tank, and the sheer shirt I had admired. Ugh. I was willing to bet the jeans didn’t fit my behind. I could never find jeans to fit my curvy behind. If they did, they were always too loose at my waist, which was petite.

There was something in his face I didn’t like.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He hesitated. I immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

“Lucy!” I gasped.

“No, no,” he said.

“Then what?” I started to get up.

Miles put his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me back down.

“Actually, you might want to stay sitting down for this.”

What on earth? “Spill it,” I said.

Miles took a deep breath and gazed up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes as though gathering the strength to spit out what he was about to say. “PetroPlex has replaced their lead counsel in this case,” he finally said.

I felt relieved. “Is that all?” I said. “Holy cow, I thought you were going to tell me something terrible.”

“With Dorian Saks,” he finished.

“What!” I was instantly out of the bed. “As in Dorian Saks, my ex fiancé?”

Miles cowered in the corner. “I’m afraid so.”

“As in, Dorian Saks, diamond ring big enough to have its own zip code, mansion in Highland Park, never having to eat Ramen noodles ever again Dorian Saks?”

“You eat Ramen?” Miles asked, horrified.

“Never mind,” I said, trying to calm down.

“There’s more. Dorian wants to meet with you this afternoon.” Miles ducked for cover.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!” I clawed at my hair, my face. “He’s already in town? PetroPlex did this on purpose!”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“And he didn’t care. Anything for a buck.”

“Maybe he wanted to see you again.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care! I don’t want to see him! Ever again!”

Miles tentatively crept out of his corner and patted my back softly. “I’ll go with you.”

“And what?” I could feel my head floating through the ceiling. I could see my own body. This couldn’t be. This could never happen. Part of the reason I was okay with living in Kettle, Texas was because I knew it was a place in which Dorian Saks would never, ever set foot.

And yet, he was here. Here! How could this be? How could I work with him in the picture?

A worried nurse poked her head in the door.

“Don’t worry,” Miles assured her. “Trial lawyer antics.”

She disappeared hurriedly, no doubt repulsed. Medical people hate trial lawyers. Something about medical malpractice and frivolous suits.

“You didn’t tell him about the fire, did you? Say you didn’t tell him about the fire.”

“No, I didn’t tell him.”

“If he finds out about the fire, he’ll know I’m destitute, and he’ll use it as leverage against me.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell him.”

“What if he finds out anyway? I can’t do this. I can’t talk to him. Miles, we have to get rid of him somehow!”

“Chloe, calm down. I’ll go with you.”

“No flipping way. No! You don’t know him. You’ve never seen how he works. You’ll be in love with him in five seconds.”

Miles stared at me, aghast. “I could never!”

“You won’t be able to help it.” I said. “I don’t know if I can help falling in love with him all over again. It’s good I packed up and moved here, really. What if I were still there? What if he had sucked me back in?”

“You’re smarter than that. Tougher than that.”

“Am I?”

Secretly, I knew I wasn’t. I always tried to project a strong persona, but I was all soft romantic jelly inside. I cared about my career, but all I really wanted was for Prince Charming to come along, scoop me up, and take me away. Didn’t every girl? Maybe we didn’t all expect or even want happily every afters, but secretly. . . secretly. . . we tough girls wanted the prince. If only for a moment.

“I can’t go. I have nothing to wear. I need a suit. A designer suit! Something intimidating—something I can’t buy within a one-hundred-mile radius of here.”

“You don’t,” Miles insisted. “You are not your clothes. You are you, which is way more than the sum of your parts.”

I was hyperventilating. “I can’t do it,” I said. “Tell him I can’t meet him today.”

Miles shook me. “Chloe, we don’t have time for games. Summary judgment hearing in a week, remember? I told him you’d meet him at Caliente at three.”

I checked the clock on the wall. “That is five hours from now. How am I going to get to Houston and back in five hours?”

“You are not going to Houston.”

“Galleria,” I said. “I need Galleria. And the Aveda Spa. I’m not fit to be seen.”

“Chloe!” Miles shook me again, this time harder. Harder, I thought, than an un-discharged hospital patient should be shaken. “We haven’t got time. And if you’ve been eating Ramen, you haven’t got the money. I know it has to have been awhile since your last paycheck.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Really?” Miles said. “I think you lost your credit cards in the fire.”

He had a point. And they were maxed out anyway. “Loan it to me! Dick pays you salary.”

Miles sighed. “You know I’d do anything for you Chloe, but you have to be realistic.” He grinned. “You know it’s just not feasible to make an Escada selection in the timeframe we have. Who can do that?”

I wanted to cry. I knew he was right. I was going to have to settle for the local Supercuts, Cover Girl from Walmart, and whatever form of clothing they had in the Rosethorn Ritzy Rags boutique. And then I would somehow also have to find a big enough gap in the space-time continuum to prep for the part of the meeting that really counted in the grand scheme of things—the legal part.

Now that all my evidence was up in smoke, I would really have to scramble to put on a good face. I was terrified Dorian would be able to see right through me—to know that I had absolutely nothing. We had been together long enough that he knew all my tells.

There would be no marriage to Dorian Saks. I got that. But I refused to accept the possibility that I also had no case. I had a case. People were dead. I had a case. Right?