Читать книгу The Second Son - Joanna Wayne - Страница 13

Lacy shifted beside Branson and then dissolved into a spasm of ragged coughing. He turned toward her, the muscles in his arms straining as he pushed against the mattress that had collapsed on top of them. “Are you all right?”

“Probably not.” She sucked in a gulp of air and raised her knee, giving herself a little leverage with the mattress. “But I’m alive.”

“Good. If you want to stay that way, we should get out of here. Fast.” He scooted toward the edge of the bed, holding up the mattress so that she could follow.

He watched while she stood. She was a little unsteady, but he didn’t see any blood or signs of bruising. And fortunately, she’d traded the yards of satin for jeans and a sweater, and the nosebleed heels for a pair of loafers.

Grabbing one of her hands, he pulled her through the door and into the open hallway. His eyes stung from the haze of black smoke that hit him in the face. He squinted, making a quick assessment of possible escape routes.

Flames licked and sputtered around the sofa and were racing in a jagged line toward the front door. That left the back door, a path through thick smoke, broken glass and who knew what else. A gas leak from any appliance could send the kitchen portion of the house, including the back door, orbiting into space at any second.

Lacy muttered a word she hadn’t learned in Sunday school. “I say we run for it.”

She tried to wrestle her hand from his grasp. He held on and turned back to the French doors that led off the bedroom. “How are you at leaping from second-storey balconies?”

“I’ll leave that to you and superheroes. I’ll take the patio door.”

“Too dangerous.”

She fell into another bout of coughing. He took that opportunity to drag her back into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. She stumbled after him, tripping once on the dress she’d shed just in the nick of time. He pushed the French doors open and gulped in a lungful of semiclean air. She grabbed the doorknob and held on, resisting his attempts to coax her onto the balcony.

“You’re not going to go coward on me now, are you?” Branson pried her hand loose. Manhandling women was not his style, and he got no enjoyment from it. But there was no time to argue when she had no choice.

She shook her head doubtfully. “If we jump from here, we’re going to break something, possibly my skull.”

“Break or burn. It’s your choice.” It was a rhetorical option, and he didn’t wait for her answer. He let go of her hand and leaned over the railing. It was a fairly long drop, but all they really had to do was crawl over the guardrail, hold on to one of the pickets and dangle until they could wrap their legs around the main support column. From there it was just a fireman’s slide to the ground.

He described the procedure to Lacy. She grasped the handrail with both hands.

“Ladies first,” he said, not trusting her to follow if he left her up here by herself.

“Always the gentleman.” Her voice was hoarse, the effects of the smoke and her recent bout of coughing.

But he could read the resolve in her eyes and the serious jut of her jaw. She’d do what she had to do. He climbed over the railing and then helped her do the same.

“Wrap your hands around my forearm,” he said, holding on to the railing with his left hand and extending his right arm.

A shock wave rumbled through the house. The flames had found something they liked. Probably aerosol cans or paint. The result wasn’t nearly as strong as the original explosion but enough of a shudder that Lacy dropped her hesitancy.

She grabbed his arm. Her grip was sure, stronger than he’d expected. A second later she was dangling, swinging her long legs until they hugged the post. She let go of him, and by the time she hit the ground he was riding the same stick horse to safety.

She looked around as his feet pounded the earth. “I suppose you have a car around here somewhere.”

“My truck is out back.” Not stopping for further explanations, he pulled her along, loping over the grass and rounding the back side of the house. The frightening crackle and pungent odor of burning wood dogged their movements.

Branson stood by the truck, checking out the situation. So far, the flames were contained in the one town house, but if the fire wasn’t extinguished quickly, the blaze could spread to neighboring residences.

“Who lives next door to your sister? Invalids? Kids? Anyone who would be home during the day?”

“It’s vacant. It’s been for sale ever since she moved in.”

He breathed a little easier. At least no one else was in danger. He ran to the front of his truck, jumped into his seat and reached for his cell phone. But someone had beat him to the 911 call. By the time an operator had answered, the scream of sirens was already closing in on them. He broke his connection just as Lacy slid into the passenger seat.

“Close the door and buckle up. I’d just as soon be gone when the local law officers get here.”

She reached for the seat belt. “A cop who doesn’t trust cops. I knew there was something I liked about you.”

“I thought maybe it was because I just saved your life.” He fit the key into the ignition and yanked the gear to reverse. “Besides, I didn’t say that I didn’t trust cops,” he clarified, backing out of the parking space. “I’m just not interested in explaining to them right now why I’m involved in an explosion on their turf.”

“That’s right. You’re not from around here. Not really a cop either. Cowboy Sheriff Branson Randolph. It has a nice ring to it.” She put three fingers to her temple and massaged. “Or maybe the ringing is just in my head.”

A fire truck came racing toward them. He stopped to let it pass and then took the first left. “So, are you still up for a trip to the hospital, or would you rather call your new husband and get him to take you?” He pointed to the cell phone that rested on the seat between them. “You’re welcome to use my phone.”

She offered a tentative smile. “You’re not backing out on me, are you, cowboy? How was it you put it, turning coward?”

“Why would I?”

“For starters, we almost got killed back there.”

“I doubt seriously the explosion was meant for you. Or do you live there, too?”

“No. Kate lives there with her boyfriend. It’s actually his place.”

Branson kept his eyes on the road, but his concentration was centered on Lacy. He knew that how a person reacted to questions was as important as the answer they gave. “Exactly how much do you know about Kate’s life?”

“Kate’s thirty-three, six years older than I am. I’m not her keeper.”

Avoidance. He wasn’t surprised. A bride still in her wedding dress who wasn’t interested in even calling her husband probably had a few secrets of her own.

“I didn’t mean to offend you with my answer,” she said when he didn’t question her further.

“You didn’t.”

“Something did. You’ve got that hard-as-nails look on your face again, the same one you had when you walked in on me in Kate’s bedroom.”

“I just don’t like playing games when I don’t know the rules or the desired outcome. Someone shot your sister and then blew up the house where she resides. You pretend to be all worried about her, but when I try to help, you evade me with ‘I’m not her keeper.”’

“See. I knew you were offended. But, you see, Sheriff, I don’t know if you’re just the good-old-boy lawman you’re pretending to be or one of the brutal boys I read about in the paper. I don’t know if you’re out to help Kate or arrest her.”

“And what might I be arresting her for?”

“I’m not sure. You’re in the business. You’d think of something.”

“I wouldn’t say her arrests in the past have been all that creative. Writing bad checks. Shoplifting.”

“I never said she was a saint.”

“No, you haven’t said much of anything. If you really want to help your sister, it’s time you did.” He measured his words, wondering what it would take to get through to Lacy. “The stints your sister has done behind bars before would be nothing compared to the sentence she’d get if she were to be convicted on kidnapping charges.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Kate is not a kidnapper.”

“That’s a start. Is your sister involved in something illegal or just something that could get her killed?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, rubbing a spot under her left ear. “I’m sure you aren’t going to believe me, but I really don’t know where that baby came from or who shot Kate. All I know for certain is what you’ve told me, substantiated by the fact that she didn’t show up for my wedding.”

“So your story is that Kate missed the wedding, you came looking for her, and that’s when I hit you with the bad news?”

“Something like that.” She clasped her hands in her lap, nervously entangling her fingers. “Believe me, if I’d known Kate was in the hospital, I’d have been right there beside her.” Lacy turned to face him. “I just wish I had known sooner that Kate had been shot.”

“Even if you’d been at her bedside the whole time, your sister wouldn’t have known it,” he assured her. “She hasn’t been fully conscious since she collapsed at our ranch.”

“But she would have known somehow that I was there. And even if she hadn’t, I would have known.” She reached to the ball of hair on top of her head and started pulling out pins. Shiny auburn curls shook loose, falling around her shoulders, wild and tempestuous. She raked through them with her fingers, but her attempts to tame the tangle were futile.

Branson watched the transformation and then forced himself to look away. No married woman should look that good, especially one sitting in his truck. One he had undressed.

He stuck a finger under the collar of his shirt and tugged it away from his neck. The truck was suddenly way too warm.

Lacy leaned back and closed her eyes. Her muscles were taut, her face strained. She had the look of someone fighting demons in her mind. But were they her demons or Kate’s? Either way, Branson had a strong suspicion that they’d become his demons before this was all over.

And the key to Baby Betsy’s true identity lay somewhere in the muddle of facts and danger surrounding these two women.

LACY CLOSED HER EYES and tried to deal with the problems at hand. Ricky and Kate’s town house going up in smoke. Kate shot and lying in a hospital all alone.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not after she’d agreed to the bargain just to keep Kate safe. Only now she’d broken her bargain with Charles. But only temporarily. She’d have to go back to him. There was no way out.

“We’re about two blocks from the hospital,” Branson announced, breaking into her tormenting thoughts.

Lacy sat up straight and pulled down the visor. There was no mirror. Probably just as well since she didn’t have a comb or even a lipstick on her. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered right now except seeing Kate.

“Do you think they’ll let me see my sister if visiting hours are over?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. My badge will get us by the front desk, and the floor nurses will be thankful someone in the family is there to visit the patient. You can probably stay the night with her if you like.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” Anything to put off the inevitable confrontation with Charles. He would be livid. But she pushed worries about Charles to the back of her mind the second Branson pulled into the well-lit parking lot.

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER, Lacy and Branson were trotting along behind a tall nurse who had introduced herself as Carol Roust. The intimidating woman had jumped right in and taken control of the situation, insisting she talk to them before Lacy saw Kate.

Lacy was only a step behind her when Carol stopped at the door to the nurses’ lounge. “We can talk in here,” she said, standing back while they entered. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot on the counter. Help yourself if you’d like some.”

Lacy dropped into the nearest chair, nodding yes when Branson poured a cup for himself and offered to pour one for her. Carol declined his offer of the same and took the chair opposite Lacy, crossing her legs.

She waited until Branson joined them at the table before she started talking. “The doctor was here earlier. He said Miss Gilbraith was making a remarkable recovery in every way but one.”

“Which way is that?” Lacy asked.

“She is still not responding to questions or to any attempts to get her to talk. She appears not to be aware that we are in the room with her.”

Branson took a sip of his brew. “So, she’s still in some sort of coma?”

“Not exactly.” The nurse pursed her lips. “Ideally, the doctor should be talking to you about this, but he just left the hospital and I don’t think he’ll be returning tonight. He stressed before he left that any family member visiting Kate be advised of the situation. He wanted you to know about the problem as well, Sheriff.”

“What problem?” Lacy spoke the question quietly, though she wanted to scream it at the nurse. The woman’s passion for melodrama had Lacy’s stomach churning and her patience strained to breaking.

“We think your sister’s inability to respond to verbal stimuli may not be physically induced.” She lay her hands on the table. “To put it bluntly, we think she may be faking.”

Kate, performing? That certainly sounded like the sister Lacy knew and loved. For the first time since she’d heard of Kate’s injury, she felt a little relief.

“That would be a good sign, wouldn’t it, Miss Roust? I mean, if Kate is only faking a coma, then she is recovering in that area as well.”

“Playing games with a hospital’s medical staff is never a good thing, Miss Gilbraith.”

Lacy straightened her shoulders, more than ready to be finished with the conversation. “I agree that it’s probably not the best scenario, but someone did attempt to kill my sister. If what you suspect is true, maybe Kate has her reasons for not talking.”

Lacy looked over at Branson and then stood up. “Now, if there’s nothing else you feel you must tell me, I’d like to see my sister. And I’d like to talk to her doctor as soon as possible.”

The expression on Nurse Roust’s face left no doubt that Lacy had made a new enemy. But what was one more to a list that was growing steadily as the day wore on?

Speaking in clipped tones, the nurse gave them directions to Kate’s room and sent them on alone. The room was the third from the end of the hall. Lacy stopped for a second and read her sister’s name from the card at the door along with instructions that Kate was to have a soft diet with extra liquids.

Lacy knocked softly on the closed door. She didn’t expect an answer and didn’t wait for one. Taking a deep breath and trying to prepare herself for seeing Kate in this condition, she pushed through the door and walked to the side of the bed.

“Kate, it’s Lacy. I would have been here sooner. You know I would have been with you if I’d known you were injured.”

The bulge under the covers didn’t move. A motionless lump without even the top of Kate’s sun-bleached blond hair poking out.

Suspicion tugged at Lacy’s mind. She stepped closer and clasped the edge of the hospital blanket. She knew what she would find when she jerked the blanket down, but she held on to the hope that she was wrong.

She wasn’t. Kate Gilbraith was gone.

LACY STOOD at the top of the stairs in front of the hospital. A young couple hurried down the steps in front of her. An elderly gentleman, shoulders bent, stared at her as he shuffled past.

She envied them that they had somewhere to go, a purpose to their movements. She had none. Had no clue as to where to find Kate. All she knew was that her sister was in danger and that she had to find her.

“Do you have any idea where your sister might have gone?”

Lacy jumped at the sound of Branson’s voice. She’d been so lost in her misery, she’d forgotten he was still standing beside her.

“No. The only one she’s really close to besides me is her live-in boyfriend, Ricky. That was his town house that just got blown up, so there’s no telling where he is.”

“She must have friends.”

“Not really. She’s pretty much a loner, except that she’s always involved with a man. The only female I remember her being close to moved out of town about a year ago and never got back in touch with her. Kate took that as a betrayal. And most of her life has been a series of betrayals.”

“Maybe she needs to pick a different kind of friend.”

Lacy looked up at Branson. The artificial lights cast shadows on his face, highlighting his rugged features. For the first time she noticed how young he was. Probably in his early thirties at the most, but the aura of authority he wore made him seem much older.

He shifted his stance, and she realized he’d grown uncomfortable under her assessment.

He tugged his hat a little lower. “I put out an APB on her. I want her picked up as quickly as possible. Kate could be involved in a kidnapping. Even if she’s not, she’s likely still in real danger.”

She swallowed hard, but for once didn’t try to camouflage her true feelings. “I know she’s in trouble. I just don’t know how to help her.”

“I might, if you’d level with me.”

He glanced at the parking lot for a second and then stepped closer. “You think because I carry a badge that I’m the enemy, Lacy. You need to think again. I’m not the dirty coward who shot her in the shoulder. Not the one who airmailed a bomb through the window of her town house.”

Lacy took a step backward and leaned against a concrete pillar, suddenly so tired she could barely stand. Branson wasn’t totally right, but he wasn’t totally wrong either. She didn’t think he was the enemy. She knew who he was.

He was the law, and the law had never protected or looked out for her or for Kate. Besides, she knew the law from the other side, from the office of attorney Charles Castile. The law favored the people with money and clout.

No matter that she ached to trust someone, she couldn’t let it be Branson. She couldn’t be taken in by his seeming concern. Couldn’t respond to the strength of him or the rugged charms of the cowboy who’d saved her life.

Branson placed a hand on the pillar, a spot just above her left shoulder. “I think you’re making a big mistake, Lacy, but I can’t force you to talk.”

“I never thought you law types admitted that.”

“Is that what you want, Lacy? Do you want me to take you to some intimidating interrogation room and harass the truth out of you? Would that make you feel justified in choosing not to help your sister just because helping her means talking to a cop?”

“No.”

“Good, because that’s not my style. And, I don’t know why I’m worried about helping you or your sister when you’re so dead set against working with me.” His eyes softened. “Maybe I’m just not used to saving brides on their wedding day.”

He reached over and took her right hand in his. The unexpected intimacy of the touch surprised her. Even more, she was amazed that she wanted to tell him the truth, at least as much of it as she knew.

But she didn’t dare trust the law. Not in this. Ricky had warned her. The only one she could go to now was Charles and pray he would forgive her for running out on their bargain.

She shifted her gaze from Branson to her feet. “I can’t tell you anything.”

He let go of her hand. “Then I guess we may as well call it a night. Can I drop you somewhere?”

Her insides quaked sickeningly at the thought of returning to her future husband.

Branson’s gaze was fastened on the darkened parking lot. He was probably convinced she and Kate were both kooks. Frankly, she wasn’t sure at this point that he was far from wrong.

Branson took her by the elbow and led her down the steps and over to the parking space where they’d left his truck. “Don’t look now,” Branson said as he opened her door, “but we have a fan sitting a few cars to the right of us in a red Jaguar. He’s been watching us ever since we walked out of the hospital.”

Her heart plunged to her knees. “Early forties, sandy hair and wearing glasses?”

“Bull’s-eye.”

She twisted in her seat and located the last man she’d expected to see in the hospital parking lot. The reality of the fact twisted in her brain, sending stabbing pains to both temples, destroying her resolve. Did Charles know Kate was in this hospital? And if he did, how did he know it and why hadn’t he told her that Kate had been shot?

Branson brought the engine to life. “I take it the man is someone you know?”

“Apparently not well enough. That’s Charles Castile.”

“Your husband?”

“No. The groom I left at the altar.” She lay a hand on Branson’s arm. “I’ve changed my mind, Sheriff. Buy me a steak, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Well almost, anyway.