“I was hoping you could tell me.” He shoved the wallet back into his pocket.
“All I know is that one of my best friends in the whole world is dead and now the police are trying to kill me.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t know what to expect anymore.” Jess looked around, tried to get her bearings. The windows were dark. She could hear rain lashing the roof, the sea battering the beach at the foot of the cliffs. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious.
“How long was I out?” she ask him.
“Almost an hour.” He leaned back slightly and studied her with dark, inscrutable eyes. “How did you get that bullet wound?”
“I told you. The cops tried to kill me.”
“That’s pretty much standard operating procedure when a murder suspect attacks a police officer and tries to run.”
“I was not armed and I did not attack a cop. I ran because the cop was going to kill us.” Worry trickled through her when she thought of Nicolas. “Where’s Nicolas?”
“In the bedroom.”
“I want to see him.” When he only looked at her, she added, “Please. He’s scared. He misses his mother.”
“You can see him after you’ve answered my questions.”
Hating that he had the upper hand, that she was going to have to cooperate, she struggled to a sitting position, wincing when her arm protested. That was when she realized she was no longer wearing her clothes. She glanced down at the unfamiliar T-shirt. Alarm vibrated through her, followed by a terrible sense of vulnerability. “Where are my clothes?”
“In the dryer.”
“But why did you…” Not wanting to finish the sentence, she let her words trail. “You had no right to…”
“The bullet wound wasn’t going to wait. It needed to be cleaned and bandaged. You were covered with blood and mud, and frankly I couldn’t see leaving you like that.”
She knew it was ridiculous considering the situation, but a hot blush heated her cheeks. “I passed out?”
“That bullet wound is infected.”
She already knew that; her arm throbbed with every beat of her heart.
“I found a first aid kit.” He motioned to a small red-and-white kit on the coffee table. “Angela had some antibiotics from an old prescription. I would have started you on them, but I didn’t know if you’re allergic to penicillin.”
She didn’t want to take any pills, but Jess could feel the fever running hot through her body. Even if she was no longer delirious, she knew the fever was waiting at the gate for an encore. “I’m not allergic.”
Never taking his eyes from hers, he uncapped a brown bottle and tapped out a capsule. “It says to take one every four hours. Let’s hope this does it,” he said, and handed her a glass of water.
She took the pill and drank the entire glass of water. “If you think I’m a cop killer, then why are you helping me?”
“Because I have some questions I want answered.” He pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. “Like where you got this.”
Jess recognized the photo instantly. “You searched me, too?”
“You mentioned the photo. What did you expect?”
So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours that Jess had nearly forgotten about the photograph. She didn’t understand its significance, but judging from the look in this man’s eyes, he did.
“Where did you get it?” he asked.
“Angela gave it to me.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
Jess closed her eyes briefly as her mind’s eye took her back to the terrible moment when she’d found her friend dying on the floor in a pool of blood. Angela had been trying to speak, but she’d been so weak Jess had been able to catch only a few broken phrases. Angela had used the last of her strength to give her the photo.
“Talk to me, damn it.”
His voice jerked Jess back to the present. “She gave it to me right before she died. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what it means. All I do know is that it was important for me to have it, because she told me to guard it and her son with my life.”
Madrid stared at her the way he might a suspect who’d just lied to him. Only, Jess wasn’t lying. How was she going to make him believe her?
“Did she say anything else?” he asked after a moment.
Jess didn’t want to recall those terrible last minutes of her friend’s life. But she knew the truth was the only thing that would exonerate her.
She looked at Madrid, wondering if she could trust him, knowing she didn’t have a choice. “She told me not to trust the cops. She begged me to keep Nicolas safe. She told me to bring him here. To this cottage.”
“How did she die?” he asked, his voice rough.
“She’d been shot in the abdomen.” Remembering, Jess shuddered. “There was a lot of blood.”
He had one of the most penetrating stares she’d ever encountered. The kind that made her feel stripped bare. She knew it was silly, but she felt as if he could see inside her head, read her most private thoughts.
“Did she say who did it?”