“You have to ask?”
He was taking to the idea exactly as she had predicted he would. With resistance. “I’m sensitive to how you might feel about it. That’s the main reason I’m hesitant to do it.”
“Oh. Your hesitancy has everything to do with my feelings and nothing to do with the fact that you’re a material witness—the only one—to the attempted assassination of a public figure.”
“I’m also a newswoman.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, ah! I have a career, Trapper. This is what I do.”
Now that she’d had hours to consider it, she acknowledged that Gracie’s points were valid. Her career could be irreparably damaged if she refused. Since their conversation this morning, Gracie had called twice to ask if she’d thought it over and come to a more sensible decision. “But no pressure,” the producer had quipped.
Now Trapper was applying pressure from the opposing side. Challenging him, she said, “Why are you so against it?”
“Common sense. It’s a bad idea. Have you discussed it with Sheriff Addison or anyone investigating the case?”
“Not yet. It’s only been proposed. I haven’t committed.”
“If you do it, you should be committed. Going on TV and talking about the minutes leading up to the shooting?” He shook his head in a way that said she was nuts. “I don’t think it’s sunk in with you the danger you’re in, the threat you pose, the—”
She held up her hand to stop him from feeding her fear, which his parting words the night before had engendered, which his presence here now reinforced. “I don’t pose a threat to anybody. If I do the interview I’ll underscore that I couldn’t identify the guilty parties because I didn’t see them. That’ll be the end of it.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. I don’t know what more I can say.”
“Say you’ve told me everything.”
“I’ve told you everything.” She enunciated each word, gave them time to sink in, then gestured toward the door. “Now, I’ve answered your questions, which you have no authority to be asking. I’m tired. Please leave.”
“All right. Just one more question and I’ll go.”
His capitulation had been too easily won, and her suspicion must have showed, because he added, “I promise.”
“What’s the question?”
He used the padded armrests to push himself out of the chair and came toward her, not stopping until she could feel the soft denim of his jeans against her bare legs draping the side of the bed. Her eyes tracked up the row of pearl snaps on his shirt, along his throat, to his face. His expression was inscrutable.
She repeated, “What’s the question?”
He placed his bent index finger beneath her chin and stroked the bruise there, following it up over her jaw until his knuckle rested against the corner of her lips where the delicate skin was abraded. “Does that hurt?”
“A little.”
He lifted his hand to his mouth and kissed the pad of his thumb with slightly parted lips, then brushed it against the injured spot. The unexpected touch was tender and sweet. Yet the thrill it elicited low and deep was purely erotic.
Even after removing his thumb, he continued to stare at the spot his stroking had left damp. Then he reached into his jacket and removed something from the breast pocket. “I believe you’re the rightful owner. You were wearing it during the interview.” He lifted her hand and dropped the object into her palm.
Dumbfounded, Kerra was held captive by his eyes. Then without another word, he turned and went to the door. Kerra continued to watch him until it closed behind him.
She looked down at her open palm. On it lay a single gold earring, which, after the interview, she had removed and placed with its mate in an inside pocket of her Louis Vuitton shoulder bag.
The deputy on guard duty was at the water fountain at the far end of the hall when Trapper came out of Kerra’s room. They’d introduced themselves when Trapper arrived. Now they met at the halfway point of the corridor, and the deputy asked, “She like the flowers?”
“She liked them okay.” Trapper was less sure about Kerra’s opinion of him. They’d touched tongues. Now she recoiled every time he got near her.
“How’s she doing?”
“As well as can be expected, I guess,” Trapper said. “She took quite a tumble.” Kerra was banged up, but the worst of her ailments was fear. At hiding it, she wasn’t as good as she thought.
“She talk to you about what happened to her?”
“No. She’s been instructed not to talk about it.”
“Ongoing investigation.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want to hinder that.” Trapper rolled his shoulders and popped his neck.
“Pardon me saying so, Trapper, but you look beat.”
“I am. But I’m going upstairs and check on The Major one more time before shoving off. I leave you to your duty. Keep a close watch on her.”
“Count on that.”
“I know I can. Have a good night, Jenks.”
Chapter 10
Trapper rolled over and snatched his chirping cell phone off the nightstand. Each time it rang, he feared hearing the worst. After leaving Kerra’s room last night, he’d stayed in the ICU waiting room for hours but was allowed to see The Major only once. His condition was stable and unchanged.
The nurse in charge convinced Trapper there was no reason for him to hang around. She got his cell phone number and assured him that if there was any reason to call him, good or bad, she would.
But it wasn’t she or anyone from the hospital calling now. He answered by saying, “You’re paying me back for those untimely calls.”
“You have a naked woman in bed with you?” Carson asked.
Trapper looked over at the empty space beside him and thought about the promised delights he’d detected under Kerra’s thin hospital gown. “No.”
“Then I’m not quite paying you back. But I’m calling early because one of my contracted associates—”
Trapper chuffed.
“—found something I thought you’d be interested in learning right away.”
Trapper scrubbed his face with his hand to wipe away the dirty thoughts he was entertaining about Kerra’s topography and how he’d like to explore it. “Listening.”
“When you got crosswise with the ATF, weren’t you investigating a guy named Wilcox?”
Trapper went absolutely still.
“Thomas Wilcox?” Carson said.
“It was covert,” Trapper said. “How’d you know about it?”
“You got drunk one night. Mumbled on and on about this big shot over in Big D.”
He didn’t recall venting his spleen to Carson, but he didn’t doubt that he had. The mere mention of Wilcox’s name aroused feral impulses. “What about him?”
“When Kerra Bailey signed on with the Dallas TV station, he was one of her first interviews.”
After a sustained silence, Carson said, “Trapper? You still there, buddy? Did you get that?”
Trapper cleared his throat. “I’m here. I got it.”
“Don’t know if it means anything. But, six degrees of separation. All that.”
“Right. Thanks, Carson. I’ll be in touch.”