That split-second glance, coupled with the insinuation, brought heat to her cheeks, which only minutes ago had been abnormally pale in the bathroom mirror. His audacity was insufferable, but her embarrassed reaction to it was even more so. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”
He didn’t smile but there was amusement in his eyes. Maybe he was remembering that when he had kissed her, she’d done nothing to discourage or stop him. He’d ended it before she had.
However, the memory of that swift but potent kiss was immediately elbowed aside by ones of him demanding to know what or who she’d seen before barely escaping The Major’s house.
The space around her seemed to shrink, mostly due to Trapper’s large presence and his cocky stance: feet apart, jacket spread open because he’d slid his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans. And those damn blue eyes, penetrating and intimidating.
Panic swooped toward her like a bird of prey, blocking out the light with its wide wings, stealing her breath with their noisy flapping. Her hand moved to her throat. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Are you going to throw up?”
Immediately he was there, bending over her, holding a plastic basin under her chin with one hand. His other he placed in the center of her back, where the gown was open. Against her hot skin, she felt the cool imprint of each fingertip, the pressure of his wide palm.
A tide of heat spread up from her chest to enclose her head. The rims of her ears caught fire. She broke a sweat from her scalp to the soles of her feet. She kept her head down and prayed she wouldn’t retch as she had the night before. Even dry heaves would be humiliating.
“Breathe through your mouth.”
She did as he instructed, and that alleviated the nausea. Eventually the encroaching darkness and noise receded and then were gone entirely. The hot flash cooled. “I’m okay.” She pushed away the basin and straightened her spine to break the contact of his hand with her bare back.
“Want some water?”
She shook her head.
“Something else?”
Another head shake.
“Why don’t you lie down?”
She looked up at him. “Why don’t you go away?”
“A few questions, and then I will.” He returned the basin to the nightstand then backed up to the chair he’d sat in the night before and struck the same pose, elbows on knees, eyes on her. “Detectives from the SO questioned you?”
“Twice.”
“How’d it go?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine.”
“They clear you to go back to Dallas?”
She looked away from his blue-flame gaze. “Not yet.”
“Huh. Then your sessions didn’t go so fine.”
“Before I sign off on my statement, they want me to go through it one more time with…with Texas Rangers.” She rushed on before his arched eyebrow became a smart remark. “Only to make absolutely certain that I haven’t forgotten something.”
He just stared at her, saying nothing, but his skeptical expression put her on the defensive. “You should remember from your days in law enforcement how it works.”
“I do remember. Know what I remember best, Kerra? People lie.”
“I don’t.”
“No?” He tilted his head in the direction of the floral arrangements lined up along the windowsill. “Mark? You and he shared an apartment on West 110th Street when you were both attending Columbia. He’s currently a successful architect in his native Baltimore. He’s gay. He’s happily married. He and his partner just adopted their second child.”
Her surprise was such that she barely had enough voice to ask, “How did you know all that?”
“If you lied to me about something as harmless as a college pal, you’ll lie to me about a near-murder and what you saw and heard and sensed while it was being committed, and what went down afterward.
“And the investigators must know that you’re leaving out chunks of information or they wouldn’t be requiring a third go-round with Texas Rangers. Now what are you omitting or glossing over, Kerra?”
“Nothing. And besides, I was ordered not to discuss the case while it’s an ongoing investigation.”
“With anybody or with me in particular?”
“With anybody.”
“Then we’ve got no problem, because we’ve already established that I’m not just anybody.”
He seemed prepared to lunge from his chair and wring answers out of her. But he must have sensed her apprehension, because he backed down, relaxed his shoulders, and, in a quieter tone asked, “How many were there?”
She determined that he wasn’t going to leave until she gave him something. She might just as well get it over with. She looked down at her hands in her lap, clasped together so tightly her fingers had turned bone white. “Two. I’m almost certain.”
“Did they say anything?”
“Only that one mocking question.”
“‘How do you like being dead so far?’ That’s all you heard anyone say?”
She nodded.
“You didn’t see them?”
She shook her head.
“Kerra?”
Looking across at him, she said, “No.”
“Any part of them? Clothing? Footwear?”
“No. Nothing. I told you that last night.”
“You also told me that Mark was a friend with benefits, when I know damn well that he ain’t fucking you.”
She shook back her hair, took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eye. “I didn’t see the man or men who shot The Major. I left him alone in the living room. I was in the bathroom when I heard the gunshot.”
“Single gunshot?”
“Yes. My first thought was that one of his hunting rifles had misfired.”
“Why did you think that?”
“We’d been talking about hunting. Remember, I told you that. He’d opened the gun case to show me a rifle your mother had given him.”
“Her last Christmas gift to him.”
“Yes. I thought perhaps it had accidentally discharged as he was putting it away. But the shot hadn’t sounded as loud as a rifle. More of a pop. All this went through my mind in a millisecond.
“Then I heard the ‘so far’ question and understood that there hadn’t been an accident. I thought The Major had been killed and that if I was discovered, I’d be killed, too.”
At the end of that sentence, her courage ran out. She crossed her arms over her middle and hugged her elbows. “They were banging on the door, trying to break the latch. I wanted to live. There was only one way out. I took it. That’s what I told the detectives, and it’s the truth.” The truth minus the part about someone trying to open the door before the gunshot. Instinct told her to keep that to herself.
As though knowing she was withholding something, Trapper continued to stare at her. But after a long moment, some of the tension eased out of him. “Why’s your crew hanging around?”
“We touched on that. Lodal is crawling with media.”
He said nothing, just tapped his chin with his clasped hands.
She didn’t stand up long against his unflinching stare. He’d find out soon enough anyway. “I’ve been approached to describe those last few minutes I spent alone with The Major.”
“You mean on TV?”
“Yes. The network wants the anchor to interview me on the evening news.”
“In New York?”
“No, from here. Via satellite. Preferably live.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“What would decide you?”
“For or against?”