by Pamela Clare
She slipped off the hospital gown and saw the dinner-plate-sized bruise where her ribs had struck against the coffee table, driving the breath from her body, collapsing her lung. A bandage covered the wound left by the chest tube they’d used to re-inflate her lung. A saucer-sized bruise marked where the toe of his boot had caught her belly.
But the hardest thing to see were the twin bruises on her inner thighs made when he’d slammed into her with his knee and forced her legs apart. Vague flashes of the ER doctor examining her came into her mind—her feet in stirrups, the cold stretch of a speculum, the doctor combing through her pubic hair for evidence, swabbing for semen. They’d done a rape kit on her, she realized—one last violation.
She would heal. She was alive, and Connor was safe, and that’s what mattered. But even as these thoughts filled her mind, she began to tremble, nausea uncoiling like a snake in her stomach. She could still smell his breath, hear the hatred in his voice, feel his hands hurting her.
They said he didn’t rape you, McMillan. He’s dead. Pull yourself together!
She leaned against the sink and took deep, steadying breaths that hurt her ribs. Behind her was the shower. Before she could admit to herself what she was doing, she’d pulled the IV from her hand, dropped her hospital gown on the floor, stepped into the shower, and turned the water on as hot as she could stand.
How long she stood there under the spray, she didn’t know. But gradually as the scalding water bathed her skin, her nausea and trembling subsided. She took up the courtesy soap, tore open the package, and began to wash herself, wincing as the water drove against her bruises with the force of a hammer. Finding little bottles of shampoo and conditioner, she washed her hair also, willing her terror and the darkness of her memories to slide down the drain with the suds. She was clean again. She was herself again.
It was only after she’d turned off the water and reached for the towel that the weakness set in. She found herself fighting dizziness as she dried off and slipped back into her hospital gown. By the time she’d brushed her teeth, she was forced to lean against the sink to keep from collapsing.
That’s how Reece found her, her dark hair dripping wet, her face pale as death, and looking as if she were going to faint. Her IV dangled uselessly, dripping onto the floor. Steam covered the mirror, the walls, the faucet. She must have been in the shower for a long time. “You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice, proof she hadn’t heard him enter, hadn’t heard him call for her, hadn’t even heard him open the bathroom door. “I wanted . . . a shower. I . . .”
He scooped the sweet weight of her into his arms as her knees buckled and carried her back toward the bed. He understood why she had wanted the shower—she was reclaiming her body. But it still angered him that she had taken such a crazy risk. “If you fall, you’re going to become a permanent resident, you know.”
Her head rested against his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be helping me.”
“Why not?” He laid her gently down in the bed and tried to avoid putting any pressure on her broken ribs.
“I’m investigating you.”
“I know.” He pulled up the blankets, ignored the flicker of anger in his gut. “I’m getting the nurse.”
He strode out of her room, down to the nurses’ station, flagged one of the nurses, and then watched as she took Kara’s vitals and inserted a new IV.
He’d found her open-records request this morning. It was crammed into his inbox with a stack of other neglected faxes that had come in over the past three days. He’d recognized immediately what it was, and it had hit him like a fist—not the fact that she had requested documents from him, but the fact that she hadn’t trusted him enough to simply ask. He’d have been happy to give her or any other reporter any document in his possession, from his campaign finance records to a record of his cell phone calls, without anyone having to use legal muscle to get it. He wasn’t a goddamned crook, and he had nothing to hide.
He’d known it was her way of keeping their relationship separate from their careers, but it had felt like a blow just the same. He’d read through it and tried to figure out what she was after.
Under Colorado Revised Statute § 24-72-202(3), I am requesting all documents written or received by you pertaining to the state health department and/or environmental enforcement actions at the state health department. These documents will include, but are not limited to: Legislative Audit Committee correspondence, letters, memorandums, e-mails, inquiries, reports, and requests for information, as well as notes from meetings or phone conversations.
He’d had to grin at her thoroughness. She wrote like a kick-ass lawyer. But did she truly believe he or someone else on the audit committee was interfering with the health department’s ability to do its job?
The next sentence had jarred something in his mind.
I am also requesting any correspondence between you and any individual employed by or under contract with Northrup Mining, Inc., as well as any document of any kind that mentions Northrup Mining, Inc.
He’d seen the name Northrup before. But where?
He’d grabbed the folder with the state health department documents in it and searched through it until he found an open-records request dating back to January, the week after he’d met her. It was a request for any and all documents pertaining to Northrup Mining, Inc., dating back to the day the company opened operations in Adams County. In that instant, he’d known he’d found what he’d been looking for. Without meaning to, she’d given him the clue he’d needed.
It was a clue he was going to follow. He was meeting with the director of the state health department tomorrow. He’d take a look at Northrup’s file himself.
“Next time you want to get out of bed, young lady, you buzz the nurse first. Are you in pain?”
Kara shook her head. “No more pills or shots. They make it hard to think.”
“That’s the concussion, honey. Let me know when you change your mind.” Then the nurse walked out of the room and left them alone.
Kara felt his hand stroke her wet hair. She opened her eyes and forced herself to meet the gaze of the man who’d been at her bedside for the past four days, the man who’d comforted her son, the man who’d stood up for her against Galen. The man she was investigating. “I needed a shower. I needed to . . . be clean again.”
“I understand.” His eyes told her that he did, indeed, understand. “I just wish you’d waited until either I or your mother were with you.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” She had to say it. Someone had to say it.
“Why not, Kara?”
“Because I’m investigating you. Because it’s a conflict of interests.” She felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes and turned her face away from him. “Because it’s not right for me to need you so damned much when all this stands between us.”
“Do you need me?”
She hated herself for being so weak, so pathetic. She choked out the answer. “Yes.”
His lips pressed warm against her forehead. “Then we’ll worry about the rest later.”
FOR KARA, later came sooner than she had expected.
Tom arrived after Reece had gone back to the Capitol, a file folder in hand and a stack of papers tucked into his armpit. “You’re looking . . . better.”
“Really? Holly told me I look like something off the cover of a tabloid.” Kara couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s ill-chosen words. “OJ’s latest girlfriend, I believe she said.”
Tom cleared his throat, shifted awkwardly, and Kara realized how out of place he was outside a newsroom or a bar. “Yes, well, at least it’s not permanent.”
If her ribs hadn’t hurt like hell, she might have laughed out loud.
“I saved the papers, figured you’d want to see the ink you’ve been getting.” Tom tossed them onto her lap.
“INDY REPORTER ATTACKED” was the headline of Tessa’s story—all caps and sixty-point type. T
he other papers hadn’t played it up quite as much, though she’d still landed on the front page. “Reporter assaulted.” “Reporter stable.” “Journalist on the mend.”
She skimmed quickly over Tessa’s article and then the others. They had all interviewed Reece, who’d been very cautious in his comments, acknowledging only that he and Kara were friends and voicing his confidence that the police were handling the case competently and professionally. But while any other victim of an attempted sexual assault would’ve been granted anonymity, her name had run in every paper, together with details from the police reports. The logical part of her knew it was the price of being a public figure, but it still turned her stomach to see phrases like “no vaginal trauma” next to her name and head shot.
The man who’d tried to kill her had a name—John David Weaver.
She turned the papers over.
“The cops are threatening to charge me with obstruction of justice or some damned thing if I don’t reveal to them the nature of your investigation. We’ve got legal working on it. We’ve got to wrap this up quickly, McMillan. Once the cops have it, everyone will have it. I’ve been doing a little research myself.” He handed her the file folder. “Thought you’d want to see this.”
Kara opened the file and saw the full printout for a bill. She read through it and saw that it would amend state law to allow the burning of tires as a fuel source for industry. She knew some people felt it was a better way to recycle tires, as it kept them out of landfills and decreased the need for coal mining. She glanced up at Tom, puzzled. “I see that Reece is the sponsor, but I don’t see what this has to do with my investigation.”
“Look on the last sheet.”
She pulled the last page out and put it on top. It was a list of people slated to testify in committee on behalf of the bill. She read down the list, and her pulse began to pound in her ears. She didn’t recognize the names, but under “Title/Place of Employment” two of the witnesses had listed Northrup Mining, Inc.
“This is circumstantial evidence.”
“It could be coincidence, but it does tie him to Northrup. He’s been a member of the Legislative Audit Committee for two years and has frequent contact with the health department.”
“I’m in touch with the health department on a weekly basis. Does that mean I’m trying to corrupt them? Perhaps he’s just doing his job.” It couldn’t be Reece. His environmental record was stronger than that of any other senator. Why would he protect a polluter? Kara’s head began to throb.
“There’s more. I got a phone call from a source in the state attorney’s office today. It seems that about a week before you were attacked, Sheridan contacted them and demanded a comprehensive list of all open-records requests you’d made to the state over the past six months.”
“What? Why would he do that? If he’s in bed with Northrup, he’d already have a copy of my open-records request. He’d already know what I’m after.”
“I have no idea what your politician is up to, McMillan, but I figure you’d best find out.” He glanced at his watch. “Now when are they letting you out of here?”
CHAPTER 21
* * *
KARA SORTED impatiently through a pile of newspapers while she waited for the doctor. They were supposed to discharge her today. And it wouldn’t be a moment too soon. She was tired of lying in bed like some hapless victim, tired of being afraid, tired of being away from Connor. She wanted her life back. She wanted to get back to work, to finish the investigation, to expose Northrup and whichever senator was playing dirty on Northrup’s behalf. At least then she would be doing something. She wouldn’t feel so damned helpless.
She’d lost so much time on the investigation. She’d snuck in a call on her cell phone to the whistleblower and had been relieved to know that he and his family were still safe. But she couldn’t shake this growing sense of urgency. She needed to wrap this story fast.
Her mother had called to say she was coming over with Connor and a bag of clothes for Kara to wear home. Not that Kara was going to her own home. Although a crime-scene cleanup crew had removed the mess and her mother had seen to it that a new sliding glass door had been installed and the bullet holes in the wall had been repaired, Kara couldn’t bear the thought of being in that space again—not yet.
Memories from that terrible night played in her mind like scenes from a video that wouldn’t stop. She found herself jumping at unexpected noises, her adrenaline on full blast, her heart rocketing around her chest, fear whipping through her belly. The woman from the Denver PD’s victim assistance program who’d come to visit her told her that was completely normal and had suggested she get counseling. But Kara didn’t want frigging counseling—she wanted to find the bastards who’d tried to have her killed and print their police mug shots on the front page of the paper. Then she’d be able to get on with her life.
A knock at her door had her bolting upright, then wincing at the shooting pain in her ribs and skull. Tom walked in—accompanied by Chief Irving.
“You can only tie this up in court so long.” Chief Irving pointed an accusing finger at Tom’s face. “This is bullshit, and you know it. Our guys put their lives on the line to save one of yours. This has nothing to do with First Amendment rights. It has to do with attempted murder!”
“We’re all grateful the cops felt like doing their job that night, Irving, but we have our job to do, too. We can’t share our sources with you, period. And we can’t risk you giving information away to the other papers.”
Kara watched the two big men argue and saw the door nudge open again. Her mother peered into the room, then stepped tentatively inside, followed by Connor. Tom and Chief Irving didn’t seem to notice, not even when Connor crawled up onto the bed and into Kara’s lap. They still stood face-to-face, both well over six feet tall, separated only by Chief Irving’s protruding abdomen.
“How do I know one of your boys won’t slip up and pass the info along to the other papers? We know how easy it is to loosen lips at the DPD.”
“You saying my officers can’t be trusted?”
Kara realized what her mother was going to do a second before she did it.
“Excuse me!” Her mother forced her five-foot-four self in between the two men. “If you two bulls would like to continue this territorial dispute, perhaps you could lock horns outside. Or perhaps you could urinate around your respective territories. Either way, this is a hospital, so if you want to stay in Kara’s room, shut up!”
Kara had never seen Tom looking quite so astonished in all the years she’d known him. He glared down at her mother. “Who are you?”
“I’m Kara’s mother, Lily McMillan.”
To her horror, Kara watched as Tom’s gaze dropped from her mother’s face to her mother’s . . . breasts. And she knew exactly what he was thinking. The topless protest photo.
“Good to meet you.” Tom reached out his hand and continued to check out her mother, his gaze sliding over her as if she were the latest reporting intern. “I’m Tom Trent, edit—”
Her mother shook his hand, a look of disdain on her face. “I know who you are. Kara’s told me what an ass you can be at times. I see it’s true.”
Tom flinched as if she’d hit him, and for the second time a look of complete astonishment crossed his face. He wasn’t used to being dressed down.
Kara’s stomach turned. “Thanks, Mom. Now I need a new job.”
But no one seemed to hear her, except Connor, who looked up at her confused. She kissed the top of his head and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
“I’m Chief Irving, Lily. I apologize for disturbing your daughter, but it’s her safety we’ve come here to discuss.”
“Can’t it wait until I get her home?”
Tom and Chief Irving looked at one another and shifted uncomfortably.
Tom spoke first. “We don’t think she should go home with you.”
Kara and her mother spoke at the exact same moment. “What?”
T
om placed what was ostensibly a reassuring hand on her mother’s shoulder. “The newspaper is very concerned about McMill . . . about Kara’s safety. I agree with Chief Irving here that she would only be putting all of you in danger if she were to stay with you.”
Chief Irving cleared his throat, looked as if he were getting ready to drop a bomb. “Lily, it’s probably best if you and Connor were to go out of town for a few weeks—”
“At the newspaper’s expense, of course,” Tom added.
“—until this is over. In the meantime, we’ll put Kara up in a safehouse.”
Kara felt fear roll over in her stomach, and she hugged Connor more tightly. She started to speak, but Tom cut her off before a single word made it past her lips.
“A safehouse? I thought we agreed on a secured hotel.”
Chief Irving shook his head. “No, we agreed on a DPD safehouse.”
As the men began to argue again, Kara met her mother’s gaze and saw fear in her mother’s eyes. What had she gotten them all into?
REECE CHECKED in at the security desk at the state health department, received his visitor tag, and was escorted back through a maze of hallways to the director’s office by Director Owens himself. The man oozed friendliness that didn’t manage to quite cover his nerves.
“We’re glad you’re here, Senator. We’re proud of the work we do, and it’s not often that we get to show it off.”
“I’m here on specific business, Mr. Owens.”
“Yes, I understand you’ve requested to view one particular file.” The words were spoken with studied blandness.
“The Northrup file.”
“I believe it’s waiting for you on my desk. May I ask what your interest is in this particular mining operation?”
