“You’d almost lost your father that day.”
Trapper was thinking that he had lost his father that day, but he didn’t say so.
“Why was he in the hotel?” Kerra asked. “We didn’t cover that in the interview.”
“After retiring from the army, he went to work for a software developer. A lot of their clients were government agencies, so his military background was useful. The day of the bombing, he and other middle management were courting a potential client. They decided to break for pie and coffee in the Pegasus’s dining room. It was a two-block walk from their office.
“When Mom saw the news bulletin on TV, heard that nearby buildings had been damaged by the explosion, she called him, concerned that his workplace was so close to the hotel. She had no idea that he was in the Pegasus until two policemen showed up to tell her that he’d been taken to the hospital.”
“She must have been frantic.”
“I missed that. I was at school. She was still shaking and crying when the three of us were reunited in his hospital room that evening. He had bumps and bruises, but kept asking the medical staff about the fate of the others in his group, and when he heard, he and Mom both had breakdowns. It was a bad scene.”
“None of them survived?”
“Only two besides The Major. One lost a leg. Never really recovered. Died within a couple of years. The other didn’t suffer any serious injuries but succumbed to survivor’s guilt. He killed himself.”
“Lord.” She took the time to clear her mind of that, then asked, “What put you and The Major on the outs?”
“Several things, but all relating to the Pegasus. At work, I was being reminded that the perps were dead and buried, so what was behind all this poking around, nosing in where I didn’t belong? I was ordered to drop ‘that nonsense,’ move on, and work only on assigned cases.”
“That’s when you quit.”
“Before they could fire me,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “Seconds before.” He checked the road in both directions. It was still dark, no vehicles in sight. Sleet pecked against the windshield. Snow swirled.
“Around the same time,” he continued, “The Major was approached about writing a book, followed by a movie based on it. He’d had similar offers many times over, but this one had serious money behind it and sounded like more than just hype by a Hollywood asshole.
“When it looked like it was actually going to happen, I panicked. I sat down with him, confided my theory, told him I’d become convinced that the individual responsible for the bombing was still out there, and, I was damn sure, monitoring survivors to make sure none ever questioned the outcome of the investigation.
“I told him to scratch the book and movie idea. In fact, I urged him to shut the hell up about that bombing altogether, stop going on TV and talking about it, or the real culprit might get the idea that The Major saw and heard more that day than he even realized, that he might wind up with a bullet in his head to guarantee he wouldn’t reveal an incriminating detail while waxing eloquent at a Rotary Club luncheon.”
“He denounced your theory?”
“In spades. He said I made the whole thing up because I was jealous of his fame. Nobody was after me to write a book, were they? Nobody wanted to make a movie based on my life, did they? Unless it was a porn flick. Furthermore, I was ‘trashing my career’ as well as making a laughingstock of myself with this ridiculous fantasy. No wonder the ATF had fired me. The family could boast only one hero, and he was it.”
“Trapper.” Her expression turned sorrowful, almost pitying, and he couldn’t countenance that.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said with terse emphasis. “He said what he thought, and it was ugly, but I didn’t want to see him dead. Since he refused to listen to reason, I resorted to another means of shutting him up.”
“What?”
“Blackmail.”
She flinched.
“I’m not proud of it,” he said.
“What did you blackmail him with?”
“Mom’s journal.” Kerra blinked but didn’t say anything, so he went on. “He denied she kept one. I asked how he would know, since on every page she wrote about the other side of Major Franklin Trapper, the one who neglected his wife and son while he went off heroing for weeks at a time. I told him that if he signed this book deal, I’d make a deal of my own with the tabloids and shatter the myth of how fucking fabulous ‘The Major’ was.”
“Would you really have done that? I think he loved your mother.”
“I know he did. But that didn’t keep him from making her a distant second to his celebrity.” He stared into middle distance for several seconds, then said, “Anyway, he took the threat to heart. He stopped. Cold.”
“Until I came calling,” she said softly.
“You dangled the carrot. He didn’t have to take it.”
“It’s clear to me now why you tried so hard to get rid of me. You’re still protecting him.”
“Yes. Whether or not he ever speaks to me again, I’d prefer him to die of natural causes at a ripe old age, still a hero in everyone’s eyes. But he’s not the only one who needs protection, Kerra. You showed up out of nowhere and announced your intentions, and my gut dropped to my boots.”
He reached across the console and brushed his thumb over her beauty mark. “You had a jewel of a secret and couldn’t wait to show it off. But you were setting a deathtrap for yourself. This somebody never worried about that little girl in the photo. Didn’t even know her name until Sunday night. She turns out to be not just a grown woman with a memory, she’s famous. A newscaster, no less. A reporter who gets to the bottom of things.
“When he learned that, he wasted no time, did he? You and The Major were on TV talking about your shared experience, then hours later two gunmen showed up to silence him forever. They failed. Worse, they squandered an unexpected opportunity to kill you, too.”
“I’ve told you, I’m no threat to anyone.”
“He won’t see it that way. He’s got to be nervous about what you and The Major discussed when the cameras weren’t rolling. What did you two talk about? Will you make another startling revelation during tomorrow night’s interview? If not tomorrow night, when?”
He reached for her hand. “Kerra, do you get what I’m telling you? You’re like that egg timer to him. He’s not going to let it blow up in his face.”
Her eyes were wide and still. They gazed into his as though she’d been hypnotized. Before either of them spoke again, his phone rang, causing her to flinch.
“That’s probably Glenn calling to ask if I’ve seen you.” He pulled his phone from his coat pocket. It was Carson. Trapper clicked on. “Is this important? I’m busy.”
“Two things. First. Did you know about Thomas Wilcox’s kid?”
Trapper shot a glance over at Kerra, whose ears perked up when she heard the familiar name. “His kid?” Trapper said. “No, what about him?”
“Her. Died a year and a half ago.”
“How old was she?”
“Sixteen. Light of his life. Apple of his eye. Pride and joy.”