by Pamela Clare
“If you say so.” The cop stood and walked off.
Outside, sirens signaled the arrival of the ambulance.
Reece knelt down and spied Connor backed into the far corner on his belly, teddy bear clutched to his face. “Connor, buddy, it’s me. It’s Reece. It’s safe now. Your mommy sent me to find you.”
Connor looked up, his eyes wide with fear, and he hiccupped. Then, as if his life depended on it, he crawled forward on his belly and threw himself into Reece’s arms. He smelled like baby shampoo, and his little arms were wrapped tightly around Reece’s neck.
Some unfamiliar and fierce emotion surged from Reece’s gut. He hugged Connor tightly and whispered reassurances in his ear. “You were a very brave boy. Your mommy is going to be so happy to see you. But she’s got to go see some doctors now.”
“The b-bad m-man hurt her.” The child was quaking like a leaf.
Reece found himself wishing he’d pulled the trigger that had brought that bastard down. “Yes, but he won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
“The p-policeman shot him.”
Why did a child have to know any of this? Reece stroked his downy hair. “Yes, he did. They came to help you and your mommy. Now it’s all over, and you’re safe. Would you like to stay with me until your grandma comes?”
Connor nodded.
WHERE WAS Reece? He had been here. She was sure of it.
And where was Connor? Dear God, was Connor okay?
Kara’s mind drifted between numbness and pain, oblivion and fear. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to open her eyes. It hurt to talk. But still she called for them.
She was cold, so cold.
A man in a white shirt put something over her mouth and shined a light in her eyes.
“Pupils responsive. BP is seventy over forty. She’s going shocky. Let’s get an IV started.”
What had happened? “Reece!”
She felt hands reach inside her nightgown and tried to fight them off.
“It’s okay, darlin’.” The man’s voice was soothing. “I’m just hooking you up to the monitor.”
Monitor? Nothing made sense. “Reece!”
“Possible right pneumothorax. Possible skull fracture. Let’s get her under transport.”
She was hurt, and they were taking her to a hospital.
She felt herself being lifted and cried out against the pain.
“Sorry, darlin’. I know it hurts. Let’s go.”
Cold air brushed her face, then a warm hand.
“We’ll be right behind you, Kara.”
She opened her eyes and saw them—Reece and Connor. Reece had wrapped Connor in a blanket and was holding him.
She reached for her son, tried to smile, and winced as she took air into her lungs to speak. “I’ll see you later, pumpkin. Reece, take care of him.”
He kissed her hand. “You know I will.”
When the darkness sucked her down again, she gave in to it, let herself go.
REECE SAT across from Lily McMillan in the hospital dining room and watched as she cut up her grandson’s pancakes. It had been a long night for all of them. Connor at least had gotten some sleep, much of it on Reece’s lap.
Reece had reached Lily on his cell, and she’d met them at University Hospital, her face white with worry for her daughter. He’d told her what he knew—that an armed man twice Kara’s size had broken into her home and that she’d somehow fought him off long enough for the police to arrive and save her life and Connor’s.
“Did he rape her?” Lily had asked, a woman’s knowing fear in her eyes, eyes that reminded Reece so much of Kara’s.
Rage had burned hot in his stomach. “I don’t know. It looked like he at least tried to.”
They’d whisked Kara off for a CT scan and X rays, giving Reece an hour or so to talk with Lily, who, beneath her granola exterior, had a sharp mind and loved her daughter fiercely. When the doctor had emerged, his face drawn with fatigue, she had slipped her hand through his—whether to offer support or seeking it, he wasn’t sure. But he’d liked how it had felt.
The doctor had then explained that Kara had a concussion, two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, some trauma to her trachea, and dozens of scrapes and bruises. Though they’d feared she was bleeding internally, nothing had been picked up on the CT scan. The rape kit they’d performed on her was inconclusive. Although bruises between her thighs made it clear her attacker had tried to sexually assault her and they’d seen live sperm on the slide, there had been no visible ejaculate and no vaginal trauma.
“I’m inclined to think she had sex in the past couple of days and the sperm we found are hardy survivors.”
Reece felt it was his responsibility to speak. “I was with her last night.”
He felt Lily squeeze his hand, a gesture of unity.
The doctor nodded. “That makes perfect sense, then. I’m disinclined to believe she was raped. He was so rough in every other way, I can’t believe that he could have penetrated her without causing tears or bruising.”
Thank God. At least she had been spared that.
“She’s going to be here for at least a few days, possibly a few weeks. With head injuries it’s sometimes hard to know how a patient will be affected. The concussion is probably her most serious injury, though a bruised trachea is also serious.”
Lily’s voice had quavered slightly, just as Kara’s did when she was fighting tears. “Bruised trachea?”
“He tried to strangle your daughter, ma’am. We’re observing her closely to make certain her trachea doesn’t swell and cut off her breathing. If it does, we’ll have to intubate her or perform a tracheotomy. Right now, she’s sleeping comfortably. We’re giving her morphine. You can go see her if you’d like.”
Lily had spent the night in Kara’s room with Connor, sleeping on a cot, while Reece had paced angrily in the waiting room, waiting for dawn.
He drank his coffee and finished his breakfast, while Lily listened to Connor’s retelling of his scary night.
“You were a very brave boy, Connor. Your momma is so proud of you!”
Connor smiled shyly, his lips curving beneath a milk mustache. Then as quickly as it appeared, his smile faded. “Why did the bad man hurt Mommy?”
Reece leaned down and met the boy’s gaze. “I don’t know, buddy, but come Monday, I’m going to find out.”
HIS EXHAUSTION held at bay by anger and caffeine, Reece strode into the state attorney’s office Monday morning, past the startled administrative assistant, and directly into his private office.
His head jerked up at Reece’s intrusion. He was in the midst of a phone call and glared at Reece. “Can I put you on hold? I’m sorry.” He clicked a button on his phone console. “Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing barging in here?”
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Senator Reece Sheridan from the Legislative Audit Committee. I’m here for a list of all open-records requests made by reporter Kara McMillan over the past six months, and I’m not leaving until I have the information. Please, finish your call. I’ll just make myself comfortable.”
TOM WAS behind on tomorrow’s editorial. The team had taken news of the attack on McMillan poorly, all but accusing him of not taking the threats against her seriously. But there was no proof Northrup was behind the attack, not yet. He’d tried to explain that newspapers deal in facts, only to have Novak and Alton storm out of the meeting.
They acted like he didn’t care. But he did. McMillan was his best reporter, and it bothered him to know she’d been hurt. Smart, efficient, a great writer, she could digest complex information like most people digested their own spit. If he was hard on her it was only because he expected great things from her. When she won the Pulitzer, she would thank him.
He reassured himself of this fact and tried to force his mind back onto the words on his screen. He’d added another two hundred or so when Paula from HR stepped into his office, an incident report in her hand. He didn’t have to a
sk what it was. He’d finished writing it just yesterday.
In her fifties, Paula hadn’t let herself go the way some women did. From her carefully manicured fingernails to her carefully colored hair, she gave the impression of being in her forties. Regular trips to the gym kept her slim. When she wasn’t babbling about her grandchildren, she was even intelligent. Of the women his age in the building, she was undoubtedly the most attractive. They’d had sex off and on for years, ever since she’d gotten divorced.
She glared at him. “What the hell is this?”
“An incident report.”
“You’re writing Kara McMillan up for insubordination?”
“That’s correct.” He turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing her.
“Look at me, Tom.” She raised her voice a notch.
He faced her and said nothing.
“I’ve got half a dozen witnesses who said you berated Ms. McMillan for dating a state senator, using foul language, and—let me make sure I’m getting this right—calling her companion her ‘boytoy.’ As I understand it, you accused her of compromising the paper and told her you’d respect her if she were fucking him for secrets, is that correct?”
When he said nothing, she continued.
“It’s my understanding Ms. McMillan became upset with you, called you a dick and said, and I quote, ‘Does anyone here question you when you choose to screw members of your own staff? That’s worse than sleeping with the enemy. That’s a lawsuit. Talk about compromising the newspaper.’ ”
Tom felt the angry flush creep up his throat onto his face. His own staff was turning against him, quoting him to Human Resources. Reporters!
“At this point you told her you were writing her up, is that so? Answer me, Tom.”
“That’s essentially accurate.”
“Why is none of that on this form? All it says here is that she was insubordinate, not that you provoked her, insulted her, and harassed her. You’ve taken her alleged insubordination out of context and placed it in her permanent file. Would you do that in a news story?”
She had him there. “No. But my sex life was not making headlines.”
“Not yet, it hasn’t. Wait till one of those nineteen-year-old interns you like so much decides to sue. Now hear me: I won’t put this in McMillan’s file! She’s absolutely right. Until you quit screwing the help, you can forget criticizing anyone else’s choice of bed partner. Got that?” Paula tore up the document and scattered the pieces on his desk.
“Got it.”
“And while I’m here, you might want to explain why you knew she was being threatened but chose to do nothing to protect her. The publisher wants to know.”
From out in the newsroom came the sound of cheers, whistles, and applause.
CHAPTER 20
* * *
KARA DRIFTED in a narcotic haze, beyond pain but not quite beyond nightmares. At times she could feel his hands around her throat or hear his voice. Then she would fight him only to open her eyes and find her mother or Reece beside her, holding her hand, stroking her hair.
Outside of her dreams, she knew she was alive. She knew Connor was safe. But everything else seemed to blur. Holly, Tessa, and Sophie had come to visit her, though she couldn’t remember what they’d said—something about Tom getting in trouble with Human Resources. Then Tom had come to see her personally, and she thought she’d heard him say he was sorry—surely a drug-induced delusion.
The police had also come to visit. They’d asked her questions, and she had tried to answer. But with painkillers syruping through her veins, details from the attack were fuzzy. When they’d asked her about the story she was working on, she’d refused to speak and told them to talk to Tom.
More than once she’d awoken, sure there was something she needed to do, someone she needed to check on, but when she’d opened her eyes, all that remained was a niggling sense of urgency. What was she supposed to do?
“Sleep,” Reece told her, then kissed her forehead. “Just sleep, sweetheart.”
And so she slept.
REECE KISSED her cheek, pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, and watched her drift off. He hoped the last dose of pain medication she’d been given would last long enough to give her some hours of deep sleep. He could tell fear stalked her in her dreams, and he felt powerless to stop it.
He’d almost lost her. It had been so close. By the cops’ estimation, another handful of seconds and the bastard would have succeeded in raping her. Another two minutes, and she’d have been dead. Who knows what would have happened to little Connor.
Reece knew without knowing that Kara had lasted as long as she had because she’d been fighting to keep her son safe. It touched him in a way he couldn’t express, pushed a sore spot deep in his chest, perhaps because his own mother had never seemed to spare a thought for him, much less put her life on the line. It made Kara all the more precious in his eyes and gave him another in a long list of reasons to admire her. She loved her boy down to the last drop of her blood. It was as simple—and as beautiful—as that.
When he’d heard the call for a body bag and the medical examiner, a terrifying pain had lanced through him, the kind of pain he’d known only once before, when the state patrol had called to say his father had been killed. He’d run into her house, sure for a sharp string of seconds that she was dead. Then he’d seen her, battered and beaten, but alive. And a raging fury had pushed fear aside.
He was going to find out who was behind this, and if it was someone in the state government, Reece was going to use his authority as a member of the audit committee to make certain that person served a long prison term and never worked in government again.
No, it wasn’t an abuse of power. It’s what his authority was for in the first place.
He watched her sleep and felt an odd tenderness stir in his belly. He hadn’t been searching for a relationship. He hadn’t been looking for someone. But he’d found her just the same. How had she come to mean so much to him so quickly? He’d only known her for a month, and already she was essential. When she was healed and this was all over, they had a lot to talk about.
A middle-aged nurse dressed in blue scrubs stepped into the room and walked over to check the IV pump. “How’s she doing?”
“I think she’s having nightmares.”
The nurse nodded and pushed a few buttons. “Poor thing. I’ll be back with her next dose of pain meds in about three hours. In the meantime, you ought to try to get some sleep yourself.”
“Yeah.” Except for a few hours yesterday evening, he’d spent all his time these past few days either at the Capitol or at the hospital, and he knew he looked pretty ragged around the edges.
His sister had said as much when she’d dropped by earlier this evening. Melanie had seen the photo of him shouting in Prentice’s face in the newspaper and had gotten worried about him. She’d tried to reach him at home that night. Of course, he hadn’t gone home. Except for a quick shower and change of clothes, he hadn’t been home since Kara was attacked.
Melanie had finally caught up with him on his cell and surprised him in Kara’s room with Vietnamese take-out. “It’s healthier than hospital cafeteria food,” she’d said.
She’d stayed with him for a few hours, fussed over how tired he looked, admonished him for losing his temper with Prentice, and then contradicted herself by praising him for ripping Prentice’s head off. Then she’d given him a hug and taken off to spend the evening with her new boyfriend. It was the most time they’d ever spent together outside of the holidays.
He wasn’t used to having a sister around, but he thought he could get to like it.
Miguel had called, too, expressed his concern, and asked Reece again if getting involved with Kara was such a good idea. “She seems to come with trouble.”
This time Reece hadn’t bothered to hide his irritation. “This wasn’t her fault, Miguel.”
The public had poured out its love for her, filling the room with flowers a
nd cards wishing her a speedy recovery and expressing admiration. In fact, so many people had sent flowers, that they couldn’t all fit in the room, and Lily had taken it upon herself to distribute a dozen or so bouquets to patients around the hospital who, according to the nursing staff, weren’t getting visitors or flowers of their own—old people with no family, people dying of cancer, homeless people.
Reece brushed a strand of hair from Kara’s bruised cheek, glanced at his watch, and saw that it was already past ten. He walked over to his briefcase and opened it, careful not to let his loaded nine-millimeter Sphinx semi-auto show in case a nurse came unexpectedly back in the room. Even with his concealed-carry permit, weapons weren’t allowed in the hospital. But he’d be damned if he was willing to leave Kara undefended again.
Reece retrieved the folder file containing the documents the state attorney had given him yesterday and sat in the chair, determined to figure out who was behind this. The trouble was that Kara was damned good at her job, sticking her nose into everything like a conscientious reporter should. Over a six-month period, she’d filed thirty-seven open-records requests.
Videos and state health department documents.
That’s what she’d told Chief Irving. Of course, as she handled the environmental beat, most of the requests she’d filed had been with the state health department. If he eliminated all but those, however, that cut it down to twenty-six. He’d take it in chronological order under the assumption that if someone wanted to kill Kara, she had to be pretty deep into the story.
He reached for the cup of lukewarm hospital swill that was supposed to be coffee and settled in for another long night.
KARA STARED into the hospital bathroom mirror and tried to come to grips with the stranger she saw reflected there. Her eyes were dull from narcotics and nightmares. An IV tube ran from a plastic bag on a pole into the back of her left hand. Her hair was tousled, tangled from four days in bed. And there were bruises.
She ran her fingers over her left cheek and felt the crushing blow of his fist. The bruises were fading from purple to red and yellow, but the flesh was still swollen, giving her a slightly lopsided appearance. A ring of purple around her neck showed where hands had tried to choke the life from her—big hands, a killer’s hands. They had squeezed so hard, squeezed until her lungs burned and the world had turned to black spots.
