Seeing Red

by Sandra Brown

  “By bringing your secret to light, what do you hope to achieve?”

  “Achieve?”

  “Come on,” he said. “You caught me drunk, but I’m not dense.”

  “Is that the second thing you want to know? What I hope to achieve?”

  “No. I’ve got that figured.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You want to rock the world.”

  They were interrupted again when the waitress returned with a sizzling platter of grilled meat, which she set in the center of the table then crowded the side dishes around it. Kerra passed on his offer to share the enchiladas, but they each built a fajita.

  “Delicious,” she mumbled around the first bite.

  “You oughta come to Cowtown more often. In Dallas you get Tex-Mex with mushrooms.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Second thing I want to know.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “How long have you been sitting on this?”

  “A while.”

  “A while. That’s vague enough. Why jump on it now?”

  “It’s not as sudden as it seems,” she said. “I’ve been trying for months to contact The Major. He wouldn’t have it, and now I’m out of time. This coming Sunday is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the bombing. Perfect timing. It would make for amazing television.”

  “Ratings, all that shit.”

  “Shit to you maybe, Mr. Trapper. Not to me.”

  “Just plain Trapper.” He ate for a time, then, “You realize that Sunday is six days from now.”

  “The clock is ticking. When The Major hung up on me yesterday for the thirteenth time, I looked you up. I’m desperate.”

  He stopped eating. “Well, that explains what brought you tap-tap-tapping at my chamber door. Desperation.” When she didn’t deny it, he made a scornful sound and went back to his food. “I already told you, nothing I say will sway him.”

  “Fair enough. Escort me as far as his threshold. You do that, I’ll take it from there.”

  He bounced his fork against his plate and looked her over in a way that made her feel uncomfortably hot inside her clothes. She reached for her margarita and sipped through the salt rim. “How long did it take you?”

  “To figure it out, you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “Longer than it should have. I’m out of practice.”

  Despite the mule’s kick of the margarita, she took another sip for courage. She was approaching a slippery slope. Or more like reaching for the lion’s tail dangling from between the bars of his cage. “There’s quite a bit about you online.”

  At first he didn’t act as though he’d heard her. He finished a bite, washed it down with a swig of beer, then looked across at her, his eyes like blue flame. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “You were with the ATF.”

  “Um-hm.”

  “For five years.”

  “And seven months.”

  “Before your anger issues got you fired.”

  “I quit.”

  As the waitress passed by, she paused and asked if they needed anything. Without taking his eyes off Kerra, Trapper thanked her, but gave an abrupt shake of his head.

  After she moved on, Kerra said quietly, “You told me today that The Major’s overnight celebrity had no effect on your life. But it did, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Huge. I was the only kid in my grade who got fifty-yard-line tickets to all the Cowboys’ home games. Couple of times we were invited to the owners’ suite.”

  “If you weren’t influenced by the Pegasus, why did you choose a career with a federal bureau that investigates bombs and explosions?”

  “The group insurance. Most plans don’t include dental.”

  She frowned. “Please stop joking. I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” he said in an angry whisper. “Stop interviewing me. I’ve got nothing to say to you about this.”

  “Then why’d you call and meet me tonight?”

  He didn’t have a ready response. Score! She mentally high-fived herself. “You’re an investigator by profession and inclination. You like puzzles and can’t tolerate one going unsolved. When you were with the ATF, you worked cases tirelessly until you had the answers, found the culprits. You were let go because of insubordination, not for lack of talent or initiative.”

  “My, my. For somebody who’s never laid eyes on me until a few hours ago, you sure know a lot. Or think you do, anyway.”

  “I know that you couldn’t help but be intrigued by the challenge I left you with today. I also know that what you discovered was much more significant than what you bargained for. Wasn’t it? Trapper? Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  He didn’t say anything, just took a drink from his beer and held on to it when the busboy arrived to clear away their plates. Kerra used her credit card to settle the tab as soon as the waitress brought it.

  Through all that activity, a hostile silence teemed between them. When they were left alone again, Kerra shook the ice cubes in her glass. She used the wedge of lime to draw circles around the rim of it. When she next looked across at Trapper, his eyes were tracking the motion, and it made her feel…funny. She placed her hands in her lap under the table and took a moment to get grounded. “What were you angry about?”

  “When?”

  “When you got fired.”

  “I quit.”

  “Before they could fire you. What was it over?”

  “Didn’t you research that part?”

  “I didn’t get to the specifics.”

  “Nobody else did, either.” He mumbled that as though to himself. Then he shifted his legs beneath the table and leaned forward again. “I got really specific the day I walked out. I told my boss where he could shove his job.”

  She could believe it. He looked coiled and ready to strike now. Speaking softly, she said, “I think you still have anger issues.”

  “I do. Big time. And what pisses me off quicker than anything is being played by somebody who thinks she’s real cute and clever. Why didn’t you just come out and tell me?”

  “Did you actually use a magnifying glass?”

  He scowled at the taunt and tipped his head toward her drink. “You gonna finish that?”

  “No.”

  He picked up the glass, tossed back what remained of the margarita, then pointed her out of the booth. His wide hand stayed at the small of her back as they wove their way through the crowded restaurant. Kerra felt as though she was being herded but didn’t make an issue of it, not wanting him to know she was even aware of his hand.

  As they walked past the hostess stand, the young woman gazed at Trapper dreamily and wished them a good night. Outside Kerra inhaled a deep breath to counteract the effects of the tequila.

  “Thanks for dinner,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “We haven’t settled anything.”

  “Hell we haven’t. Where’s your car?”

  “I Ubered here.”

  He took his phone from the pocket of his jacket and pulled up the app.

  “I can order my own car.”

  Ignoring her protest, he asked for her address. She gave it to him. He ordered the car.

  “He’ll be here in two minutes. Ralph in a silver Toyota. Let’s wait over there out of the wind.”

  Taking her elbow, he guided her around the corner of the building. “This is better,” she said, shivering inside her poncho. “The temperature has dropped—”

  She broke off when he placed his hands on her shoulders and backed her against the exterior brick wall. Before she recovered from the shock of that, he leaned in, and she forgot all about being cold. But she struggled less against his hold on her than she did against her reaction to it. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from me.”

  He lowered his face close to hers. “You listen and learn,” he said in a low thrum. “I’m not him. I’m not noble, not a gentleman, not a hero, under
stand?”

  “That wasn’t so hard to deduce.”

  She thought the putdown would anger him, but he retaliated by gently placing his palm against her cold cheek. He brushed his thumb across her beauty mark.

  “I noticed this right off, and the whole time you were sitting there in my shabby office, wearing your city get-up, acting all sassy and know-it-all, you want to know what was going on in my mind?” He ceased the stroking motion of his thumb, stopping it right on the small mole. His mouth lowered to within a hair’s-breadth of hers and he whispered, “Figure it out.”

  Then he released her and said over his shoulder as he sauntered away, “Ralph’s here.”

  The minute he got to his apartment, he went into the bedroom, tugged off his boots, stripped down to his jeans, and, sitting on the edge of the bed, called his friend Carson Rime.

  The defense lawyer had a ground-floor office in the same building as Trapper’s. His practice was on the wrong side of the freeway to attract criminals who bathed regularly and stood accused only of white-collar malfeasance. But being close to the courthouse, county jail, and bail bondsmen, the location was convenient for Carson’s clients who were unwashed and felonious.

  Trapper had to call him three times before he answered. “What the hell, Trapper? Stop calling me. I’m on my honeymoon, for crissake. Or have you forgotten I got married last Saturday?”

  “Like that’s a big deal. Isn’t this your fourth?”

  “Fifth. Have fun at the wedding?”

  “Not the wedding. The reception.”

  “What I meant. Quite a blowout, huh? You catch the garter?”

  “No, the bridesmaid.”

  “Which one?”

  “She was blond.”

  “Big tits or the skinny one?”

  “I can’t remember. Have you ever heard of Kerra Bailey?”

  “The one on TV?”

  “You know who she is?”

  “Sure. She’s a local reporter, but she also shows up every once in a while on that—”

  “She came unannounced to my office today.”

  After a stunned silence, his friend chortled, “Holy shit! Are you kidding?”

  “No.”

  “She came to see you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What for?”

  Trapper withheld mention of the photograph and its startling revelation. He told Carson only that Kerra wanted to interview The Major. “She asked me to pave the way for her.”

  “To which you said?”

  “Several expletives that boiled down to no. But she’s not done asking.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She gives off a vibe.”

  “She vibrates? This just got interesting. Hold on.” Trapper could hear Carson murmuring an apology to the new Mrs. Rime, followed by several seconds of rustling, then a closing door. “Tell me everything.”

  Over the sound of Carson noisily peeing into the toilet, Trapper gave him a condensed version of Kerra’s unexpected arrival. When he finished, Carson asked, “Does she understand that you and the pater aren’t exactly simpatico?”

  “She does now. But that didn’t sway her. She still believes I could be useful.”

  “Are you going to help her?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Look, Carson, I realize it’s your honeymoon and all, but if I hadn’t taken you to happy hour at that topless club, you and your bride never would’ve met.”

  Carson was quick on the uptake. He sighed. “What’s the favor?”

  After he and Carson disconnected, Trapper shucked his jeans and got into bed, but he took his laptop with him.

  He went on to YouTube and watched every story and interview featuring Kerra Bailey that he could locate. He had wished to find fault, had hoped to see a struggling amateur. But on camera she came across as poised, smart, and informative, but also warm and personable. She had a sharp wit, an incisive toughness without meanness, but she didn’t allow professionalism to overshadow compassion.

  After watching clips for almost two hours, Trapper paused a video on a close-up of her face and stared at the beauty mark, the giveaway, the thing he’d seen ten thousand times, but had never really looked at until it had been magnified ten thousand times on his computer screen.

  Though he hadn’t known her name until today, he had resented her since he was eleven years old when she had replaced him as the most beloved child in his father’s heart.

  Because of her, Trapper had lost his dad to the world.

  Because of her, his life had become one long game of catch-up at which he continually lost.

  Because of her: the little girl his father had carried from the burning ruin of the Pegasus Hotel.

  Chapter 3

  Kerra was switching between networks to get a sampling of the morning news shows when her cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “I’m outside.” Those two words, and Trapper hung up.

  Kerra tossed her phone onto the bed, muttering, “Rude jerk.”

  She had already showered, so it didn’t take her long to dress. But she dawdled an extra five minutes, not wanting it to look like she’d rushed down in response to his ill-mannered summons. She should ignore him altogether and find some other way to breach The Major’s self-imposed seclusion.

  But she’d already lost another day. Between now and Sunday, every minute counted.

  Besides, she couldn’t let Trapper think that he’d intimidated or scared her off with his manhandling last night.

  The condo building’s revolving door emptied her into brilliant sunlight and a frigid north wind that made her eyes water. Even so, she couldn’t have missed Trapper. Directly across the street from the building, he was leaning against the passenger side of his car, recognizable by the deep dent in its grill roughly the size of a parking meter post. He exuded supreme confidence that she would appear as summoned.

  He was dressed as he’d been the night before except that, beneath the leather jacket, today’s shirt was blue chambray, and he’d added a pair of sunglasses. Ankles and arms crossed, he looked impervious to the wind whipping his dark hair.

  She amended her earlier summation: He was a sexy rude jerk.

  She waited for a delivery truck to lumber past, then crossed the street mid-block and walked straight toward him. “Isn’t Texas supposed to be hot?”

  “Not in February.”

  “I moved here from Minneapolis–St. Paul to get away from winter.”

  “Live here long enough, you learn we have weather extremes.” He opened the passenger door and motioned her in, then went around. In order to get in on the driver’s side, he had to squeeze past a no parking sign.

  Kerra called his attention to it. “Your car could get towed.”

  “They’re welcome to it. Smoke has started coming out from under the hood. I figure the radiator’s busted.”

  “It fared better than the parking meter.”

  He didn’t comment on that as he propped his left shoulder against the driver’s window and turned toward her. After looking at her for what became an uncomfortably long time, he said, “For twenty-five years people have been trying to identify the little girl in that picture.”

  “You were so annoyed last night, you never told me exactly how you discovered the birthmark.”

  “I took a picture of the picture with my phone, downloaded it onto my computer, and enlarged it to the max. I went over it a square inch at a time with a freaking magnifying glass. Twice. More than half your face is buried between The Major’s chest and arm, but in the part that’s visible you can see the speck near your eye.”

  “Eureka!”

  “That wasn’t my first reaction,” he said. “My first thought was that you’d doctored the print.”

  “You doubted my integrity?”

  “Doubted? No. You drop out of nowhere and hit me with this? I was sure you were a fraud.”

  “What convinced you otherwise?”

  �
�I checked other prints, early ones, including the cover of Time. If you know to look for it, the mark can be seen on every reproduction of the photo. Not as large or as dark as it is now, but there. You’re about to put an end to all the speculation about the mystery child.”

  “Some of the theories regarding my identity were pretty wild,” she said with a soft laugh. “I heard a TV preacher once say that I wasn’t flesh and blood. That I was an angel who’d been miraculously captured on film. That I’d been sent to escort home all the children who’d died in the explosion. Can you believe that?”

  “I don’t believe in miracles.” He paused, then added, “You’re definitely flesh and blood, and I’m also willing to bet that you’re no angel.”

  She hadn’t expected an answer to her rhetorical question. She certainly hadn’t expected his answer to feel like he’d lightly scratched her just below her belly button. Because of the dark sunglasses, she couldn’t read in his eyes whether or not he’d meant the remark to be suggestive. She was probably better off not knowing.

  He continued. “It didn’t irk you when imposters came forward, claiming to be you?”

  “Amused more than irked.”

  “Amused, because you knew they’d have their fifteen minutes and then be debunked. They couldn’t prove their claim. You can.”

  She touched the spot beneath her eye. “It’s irrefutable.”

  “I should buy stock in magnifying glasses. Once you make the big reveal, there’s sure to be a run on them.”

  “Oh, so we’ve circled back to what I hope to achieve.”

  “Fame and fortune would be my guess.”

  “Well, you’d be wrong.”

  “You don’t expect to benefit?”

  “Naturally I’ll benefit.”

  “No shit.”

  “But that’s not the only reason I’m going public.”

  “Then enlighten me.”

  “I want to thank the man who saved my life,” she said with heat. “Don’t you believe The Major is due my gratitude?”

  “Past due. So what’s taken you so long? Oh, wait, I know. You’ve been waiting on the twenty-fifth anniversary for the big ta-da.”

  “No, I’ve been waiting till my father died.”

  Whatever he’d been about to say, he bit back. He looked aside for several seconds, then removed his sunglasses and flicked a glance at her. “Recently?”