Seeing Red

by Sandra Brown

  “What’s the name of the motel?” Gracie followed the question by mumbling, “I can’t believe that word is even in my vocabulary, much less that I said it out loud.”

  Kerra laughed. “It’s not The Mansion, but not too bad.”

  “Indoor plumbing?”

  “Only in the executive suites,” Kerra teased.

  “I’ll start assembling a crew tonight,” Gracie said, “but when I tell the news director what I want them for, he’ll green-light every request. That is, he will after his heart attack, which he’s sure to have. I’ll try to have us up there by tomorrow night. Thursday midday at the latest.”

  Kerra said, “In the meantime I’ll be busy. The Major—” A knock on the door interrupted her. “Oh, hold on, Gracie. My pizza’s here.” She pressed the phone against her chest and pulled open the door.

  It wasn’t her pizza.

  She’d never had a pizza delivery man standing with his hands braced high on the jamb, leaning in, filling up the entire opening and looking ready to go to war.

  “I’ll call you back.” Before Gracie could object, she disconnected and silenced her phone. “I thought you were the pizza man.”

  Trapper’s frown grew sterner. “You opened the door without checking?”

  “I wasn’t expecting anybody but him. I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Bad things happen when you least expect them.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I called your apartment building to see if you were back yet.”

  “They wouldn’t tell you that.”

  “The concierge would if you’d flirted with her and confided that you and I had a thing going.”

  “We don’t have a thing going.”

  “Right, but she’d seen us this morning sitting together in my car for—what? Half an hour? When we said goodbye, she hadn’t heard you tell me to go to hell.”

  “Which you deserved.”

  “You’re right. I did. I said the thing about kissing only to provoke you.”

  “It worked.”

  At that, his stern expression relaxed. He almost smiled.

  But still provoked, Kerra placed her hand on her hip, as if that stance would block him from entering the room if he was of a mind to. “What happened to you?” she asked. “You disappeared.”

  “How long did it take you to notice?”

  “I didn’t,” she lied. “The Major did,” she lied again.

  Trapper seemed to know it. He gave a cynical snuffle. “Whatever. It didn’t look like you were returning to Fort Worth tonight, and choices of places to stay in Lodal are limited. This was the second place I checked, spotted your car in the parking lot, and had the desk clerk confirm that you had checked in.”

  “He gave you my room number?”

  “I’m a licensed PI, don’t forget.”

  “That got you my room number?”

  “That and a five-dollar bill.”

  “Does anyone ever say no to you?”

  He looked rueful and amused at the same time. “Yes. The people who really count.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that.

  He looked beyond her, his gaze lighting on her open suitcase on the bed, her laptop being charged on the table, her personal belongings already on the dresser. “You came prepared to stay.”

  “I was optimistic enough to pack a bag and bring it with me.”

  “Must’ve gone well with The Major,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here and all…” His eyes scaled downward from her messy topknot all the way to her fuzzy slippers, taking in the flannel pajamas in between. “Settled in.”

  She told herself that his languid survey had nothing to do with her folding her arms across her chest. “It went exceptionally well. That was my producer I was talking to on the phone. We do the interview live on Sunday evening from The Major’s house.”

  “Can’t get any chummier than that. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  Then for several moments they just looked at each other. Finally, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, cold air is getting in.”

  “Sorry.” But rather than let her close the door on him as she’d intended, he shouldered past her and came into the room.

  “Trapper—”

  “Is he looking forward to it?”

  Her mind had to backtrack to pick up the thread of their conversation. “The Major? Yes. He is. Surprisingly.” She told him about the preliminary meetings they’d scheduled. “He promised to cook me his famous chili.”

  “That alone ought to send you back to Dallas.”

  She laughed, asking, “Is it that bad?”

  He nodded, but she wasn’t sure he was paying attention. Since coming into the room, he’d been prowling it. He’d peeked into the bathroom, slid the closet door open and shut, looked down into the rumpled contents of her open suitcase. Some articles she’d rather him not see, and those were the ones he seemed most interested in. She went over and flipped down the top of the suitcase.

  “I need to finish unpacking, and my food will be here any minute, so—”

  She was about to evict him, but the words got stoppered when he went over to the table near the window and opened her laptop. He looked at the screen, then over at her, then turned the laptop around where she could see what was on it, although she already knew: a newspaper article about him with an accompanying picture.

  He cocked his eyebrow.

  She said, “I was doing research for the interview.”

  “You’re not interviewing me.”

  “But you’re part of—”

  “Nothing. Leave me out of it.”

  “Relax, Trapper. You don’t have anything to worry about. The Major stipulated that his family is off limits. I was doing that”—she motioned toward the laptop—“strictly for background.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask me what you wanted to know?”

  “Because you wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Depends on what you ask. Give it a shot.”

  “All right. Tell me about your mother.”

  “Name, Debra Jane. Date of birth—”

  “I already know all that. Tell me what she was like.”

  “Didn’t The Major cover that with you?”

  “Some. Enough so that I got a sense of her personality. Is there anything you can contribute without getting your back up and looking for ulterior motives beyond my curiosity?”

  He thought it over, then said, “She was a great lady. She didn’t sign on to be a celebrity’s wife, but when the role was thrust on her, she accepted it. Growing up, I was a handful and—”

  “I can imagine.”

  “—her husband was deployed twice overseas. One year in Kuwait during the Gulf War. When his tour was over and he retired from the army, she was grateful to have him home and out of military life. And then the Pegasus happened.”

  He shrugged, but Kerra wasn’t convinced of the indifference it was meant to convey.

  He said, “I suppose being an army wife had prepared her for being left alone a lot of the time to handle house and home and me by herself.”

  “That’s almost word for word what The Major said about her.”

  “God help me if I start sounding like him.”

  “No chance of that. The Major doesn’t bite my head off when I ask a question he doesn’t like. He courteously told me ahead of time the topics I’m to avoid.”

  “Me and what else?”

  “Hunting.”

  “Hunting?”

  “I asked if he would consider removing the mounted trophies from his walls before the interview, and he said, ‘Hell, no.’ There are several subjects on which he and I have agreed to disagree.”

  Sardonically, he repeated, “Me and what else?”

  “Actually he and I are in total agreement about you. You’re sarcastic, defensive, and hostile.”

  “You left out wicked.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to ca
ll you wicked.”

  “Somebody already did.”

  “Who?”

  “A cute redhead.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling a dart of resentment. “What had you done?”

  “Told her I wanted to marry her.”

  Kerra laughed, although she halfway believed him, and his grin—which was decidedly wicked—said he knew that, too.

  There was a knock on her door. This time she did check the peephole, and it was her pizza delivery. She paid the young man, closed the door against the wind, and nudged her laptop aside to allow room on the table for the box, from which heavenly aromas were wafting. “Want some?”

  “No thanks. I’ll go and leave you to it.”

  But rather than move toward the door, he went to the nightstand and bent over it. She couldn’t help but notice the ragged hole in the rear pocket of his jeans or the way the leather jacket stretched across his shoulders.

  Using the stubby pencil provided by the motel, he scrawled something on the notepad beside the telephone. When he finished, he tore off the sheet and brought it over to her. She read, “Sheriff Glenn Addison.” He’d written a phone number under the name.

  “The Major’s friend for life and all-around good guy,” he said. “After leaving The Major’s place, I went to see him, told him about you and the interview.” He held up a hand when she was about to interrupt. “I didn’t tell him everything. If he learns who you are in the context of the bombing, he’ll hear it from The Major, not me.”

  “Initially you were certain The Major would turn me down, yet you went straight to the sheriff as though the interview were a sure thing.”

  “At that point, it was. The photo made all the difference. I saw his reaction to it. His ego wouldn’t let him pass up the opportunity to be a hero.”

  “He’s already a hero.”

  “But now he’s the man who saved Kerra Bailey, TV personality. Anyhow, I felt the sheriff should be alerted to the arrival of a TV crew and the excitement that will generate. Lodal is the county seat but basically a small town.”

  She’d been in the area for only a few hours, but already she’d gotten a sense of place. The town and surrounding ranch land were far removed from the metropolitan sprawl of Dallas and Fort Worth, not only geographically but in atmosphere and mind-set.

  “I’m afraid our presence will create a stir,” she admitted.

  “News of the interview will spread like wildfire. By noon tomorrow everybody will know. Put the sheriff’s number in your phone, so you can call him immediately if you need him.”

  She laughed. “I doubt there’ll be that much of a stir.”

  “I’m not joking, Kerra. Put Glenn’s number on speed dial.”

  Mystified, but subdued by his no-nonsense tone, she promised she would.

  He looked like he had more to say, but he glanced at the pizza box. “It’s getting cold.”

  She followed him to the door. “Will you be watching Sunday night?”

  “No.”

  He hadn’t given it a moment’s consideration, which was unsurprising but disappointing. Feeling awkward and illogically deflated, she said, “I guess this is goodbye, Trapper.”

  “Guess so.”

  “Drive safely.”

  “I’m stone sober. Parking meters can rest easy tonight.”

  She gave a quick smile and stuck out her hand to shake with him. “For any inconvenience I’ve caused you, I apologize. I know I was an unwelcome and unexpected intrusion into your life.” Then, quoting him, she said, “Bad things happen when you least expect them.”

  “So do good things.” The low pitch of his voice caused heat to blossom in her middle. Rather than shake her hand, his right one curved around the back of her neck and pulled her up until she was on tiptoe. “What I said about kissing you…”

  “If you had it to do over?”

  “Happens I do.”

  Her mouth was stamped with all things wonderfully masculine: the agreeable prickliness of scruff, the sureness of lips that knew what they wanted and how to get it, the deft and possessive slide of tongue.

  All too soon it was over. He set her away from him but kept his hand clamped around the back of her neck for a few seconds longer, his eyes searching hers.

  Then Kerra was struck with a blast of cold air, and he was gone.

  Chapter 6

  The present

  Jesus, who’d’ve believed it? Only a few hours after that interview, now she looks like she’s been run over by a tank, and The Major…”

  The whispered words drifted toward Kerra through the fog of semiconsciousness, and she resented the intrusion. She preferred being wrapped in the warm cocoon of oblivion.

  The voice continued with a question. “Have you seen him?”

  “They wouldn’t let me in yet.”

  “Just as well. He looks bad. I won’t shit you.”

  “Thanks for calling me when you did, Glenn.”

  “Soon as I got out there, saw the mess. God, it was awful.”

  “I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  Kerra wanted them to stop talking. She’d been kept in what the medical staff had called a twilight state. She’d been able to respond as they’d assessed and treated her injuries: Kerra, can you lift your arm? Does this hurt? This may sting a little. Lie still so we can get a good image.

  After what had seemed like hours of torture, she’d been left alone and allowed to sleep. But now wakefulness was encroaching, and she didn’t welcome it. She was reluctant to return to the bright, cruel place where horrible memories lay in wait.

  But avoidance was cowardly. She pried open her eyes.

  Two men stood at the foot of her bed.

  The one in uniform was Sheriff Addison. The two times she’d met him this week, he’d been wearing the cowboy hat he was now holding at his side.

  Beside him was Trapper, looking directly at her with eyes as piercing and incisive as laser beams.

  The sheriff was saying, “After the interview, she’d stayed behind while the rest of them went to fuel up their van. According to her producer, Kerra wanted to say a private goodbye to The Major and thank him for giving her the ‘holy grail of interviews.’ That’s a quote.” After a pause, he said, “John, when you came to my house the other night, did you know she was the kid in the picture?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Wasn’t my secret to divulge.”

  The sheriff sighed heavily. “I guess Kerra and The Major didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  Trapper said darkly, “They got their surprise, all right.”

  Kerra’s heart constricted. It hadn’t been a nightmare, then. The Major was dead, and she’d heard the gunshot that had killed him. She closed her eyes again and wished she could will herself back into the dusky bliss of forgetfulness.

  But the disruptive recital continued.

  “When the crew came back for her, they found The Major lying across the threshold of his front door. Called 911. First responders told me that when they got there, those people were huddled in their van, freaking out. Not only had they seen what nobody should ever have to see, but for all they knew the killer was lurking around, and they were scared for their friend here, who was nowhere to be found.

  “Meanwhile, I was working late at the office catching up on paperwork. A deputy tapped on the door and told me there was an emergency situation out at The Major’s place. I asked him the nature of the emergency, and he said he didn’t know. But he did, because he couldn’t look me in the eye.

  “As I walked through the squad room, somebody, I don’t even remember who, tried to waylay me, told me that our detectives were already on the scene and would handle things, that I didn’t need to go. They said Hank had been notified and was on his way to me.

  “But I needed to act, to do something, not hold hands in a prayer circle. I gotta tell you, though, w
hen I walked up the porch steps and saw The Major, the sight nearly brought me to my knees.” He made a strangling sound and coughed.

  Silently Kerra implored him to please stop there. She didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to know.

  But once he’d composed himself, he continued. “Dealing with that was tough enough, but along with it was the missing woman. That small bathroom in the hall? The lock was busted all to hell. The window was open. Ground outside showed scuff marks. We hoped she’d managed to get away, but truth is, we were expecting to find her body, because the bastards meant business. One of my deputies—”

  “Hold on,” Trapper said. “Bastards, plural?”

  “We think there were at least two. The Major was shot with a nine-millimeter. But something bigger than a pistol had shattered the door lock. I’m thinking the stock of a shotgun, because it appeared that one took out the top of a tree and blasted a boulder. Probably fired from the bathroom window.”

  A silence ensued before the sheriff continued. “Kerra was finally spotted by one of my deputies. You know that drop-off behind the house that goes down to the creek bed? Looked like she went sailing right over the edge and didn’t stop till she hit bottom, which is essentially a rock pile unless it’s rained real hard. She was banged up, near to freezing, but alive.” He paused for a few seconds. “She got lucky. Guess we did, too. We have a witness to whoever shot The Major.”

  Needing to disabuse him of that, Kerra opened her eyes and tried to focus on him. When he realized that she was awake and aware, he took a step closer to the foot of the bed. “Ms. Bailey. Do you know where you are?”

  “Hospital.”

  “That’s right. You recognize me?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’ve met Trapper here.”

  “Yes.”

  Trapper didn’t move or speak.

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Few hours. It’s going on four a.m. Monday.” The sheriff’s voice was gentle, but he got down to business. “Do you remember last evening? The TV interview and what happened after?”

  Tears collected in her eyes, and she had difficulty swallowing. She managed to nod, but the head movement made her dizzy.