“That sounds almost like a warning.”
“Not a warning, honey. A reality. I’m just telling it like it is. You can’t be squeamish or nice and become a star in this industry.”
Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Kerra laid her head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
Gracie patted her hand before releasing it. “The crew and I have checked back into the motel. The station sent another reporter to cover updates on The Major’s condition and the pomp and circumstance of the funeral if he dies. But we’re standing by, waiting on a call from you, ready to roll whenever you are. Think it over.”
Kerra did little else for the rest of the day except for the time spent being questioned by the sheriff’s office detectives.
In late afternoon she was brought a dinner tray, but the food was unappetizing, and she wasn’t hungry anyway.
She watched the evening network news. Being the subject of the story rather than the reporter gave her a far different perspective. She felt a surge of compassion for all the individuals she had placed in the spotlight while they were in the vortex of a life crisis.
The Dallas–Fort Worth stations covered the story even more extensively, some recapping the Pegasus Hotel bombing. A spokesperson for the sheriff’s office assured that the attempted assassins would be identified, captured, and brought to justice. Several reports were broadcast live from outside the hospital, where a candlelight vigil was being held for The Major.
The evening wore on until it neared what she considered to be bedtime.
She’d been given a sponge bath that morning in her hospital bed, but she went into the bathroom to give herself another using the toiletries Gracie had brought her. She cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair.
The harsh bathroom light was unforgiving. She had countless scratches, abrasions, and bruises all over, including her face. A large bruise extended down from the corner of her mouth to beneath her chin, as though she’d taken an uppercut to the jaw. Another spread upward from her eyebrow and into her hairline. Both were tender to the touch, and she could count on days of discoloration. But the damage was minimal considering what it could’ve been.
She could be dead.
She pulled on a pair of plain white socks and a fresh hospital gown, tying it at the neck. She switched out the light and opened the door, but drew up short on the threshold.
Trapper was here.
Chapter 9
Her heart tripped, but she couldn’t have specified why. Fear? Or something entirely different?
However, exhibiting anything except annoyance would be a mistake. “Why do you feel at liberty to keep sneaking into my room?”
“Only twice now.”
“Kindly leave.”
“I don’t do anything kindly.”
“That I can certify.”
He eyed her up and down, making her uncomfortably aware of how short and insubstantial the hospital gown was and also of how defenseless she was. “Are you going to leave or force me to create a scene?”
“Tonight’s deputy on guard? He—”
“I have a guard?” She shot a glance toward the door.
“Yes, Kerra, you have a guard.” He said it as though he couldn’t fathom her not knowing that or grasping the necessity of it. “He’s Sheriff Addison’s man and knows how thick Glenn and I are, didn’t even question me coming in, so I doubt he’ll kick me out.” He gestured toward her. “No more IV.”
The sudden switch in topics threw her for a moment, then she followed his gaze down to her right hand. A bandage covered the spot where the shunt had been. “They took it out this afternoon.”
“Then you must be doing okay.”
“Okay” was going to take more than a single day, but she pretended to agree. “Have you seen The Major?”
“Twice today.”
“And?”
“No better, but no worse. Holding steady. Which at this point is good.”
“That’s what was reported on the evening news. I’m happy to have it confirmed.”
“The weather has taken a turn. It started sleeting about an hour ago.”
“The nurses have been talking about it. They’re worried about getting home after their shifts. But I’m told the weather hasn’t kept the media away.”
“No, they’re here. Like vultures circling a wounded animal, waiting for it to die.”
“That’s a distressing analogy.”
“But fitting.”
She had to agree and guiltily acknowledged that if she weren’t inside here, she would be out there competing with her colleagues for a scoop. “Did you have any trouble getting past the throng?”
“No, I have an avoidance technique.”
“Which is?”
“I tell them to fuck off.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
He was about to say something but changed his mind, disappointing her. She would have liked knowing what it was. Instead he asked how much longer she would remain in the hospital.
“Barring any setbacks, I’ll be released tomorrow.”
“Hmm. You still look puny, though. Here.” He rolled aside the table bridging the bed and motioned her toward it. “Climb in.”
She stayed where she was.
“Come on,” he said. “You look like you’re about to faint. If you do, I’ll have to scoop you up in that bare-assed gown and call for help. Talk about creating a scene.”
This had been the longest stretch of time that she’d been out of bed and, damn him for the accurate observation, she was feeling weak and light-headed. With what dignity she could muster, she reached around to her backside and held the gown together as she minced over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it.
“Need help getting in?”
He reached out to assist her, but she shrank from him. “I’ll sit.” She tugged a corner of the sheet out from under her hip and arranged it over her lap and thighs. “Why’d you come back tonight?”
“Your interview with The Major is on YouTube. I finally got around to watching it. You did a good job.”
“Thank you.”
“I brought you those.” He called her attention to a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of wilted carnations tied with a garish glitter bow. He’d stuck it into a vase of elegant long-stemmed roses sent by the network.
“Thank you.”
“Not that you need more flowers.”
The room had been filling up throughout the day. “People have been very thoughtful.”
“Who’s Mark?”
She looked at him with incredulity. “You read the enclosure cards?”
“Just that one.”
She glanced at the elaborate arrangement of calla lilies and white hydrangeas. “Why that one?”
“It’s the fanciest bunch. I figured the sender must be someone special.”
“He is. He’s a very special friend.”
“Yeah?” His gaze dropped to her lap, and when it reconnected with hers, he said, “A friend with benefits?”