Big Shot (12 page)

She clicked on a random article and began to read. The information boggled what was left of her memory-deficient mind. Her simple cowboy was anything but.

Not that he’d ever told her he was a cowboy, but when she’d called him one, he hadn’t denied it and certainly hadn’t seemed offended by it. How could she have guessed he was the CEO of a corporation worth billions?

She’d been completely unaware of his status, but she was certain no one else was. Certainly not Detective Smart or the nurses and techs who seemed to look for reasons to come into her room and check him out.

Dr. Levy must know, as well. Durk Lambert was as well-known in Dallas as the Cowboys or the grassy knoll.

Pulling her feet up Indian-style, she clicked on a collection of Durk Lambert photos. In most of them, he was not in jeans or boots, but in designer suits.

He was pictured with past and current presidents, dignitaries from around the world and with a large group of wounded servicemen who had apparently been hired by Lambert Inc. or its subsidiaries.

Last year he’d received the Texas Man of the Year Award. Last February the Bent Pine Ranch had bid and paid over half a million dollars for a grand champion steer raised by a fifteen-year-old physically handicapped boy.

Rich. Powerful. Influential. Magnanimous. Socially prominent. Incredibly handsome. That in a nutshell captured the essence of CEO Durk Lambert.

Strangely, it didn’t begin to capture the essence of the protective and sensual man in his jeans and boots that she’d come to know over the last twenty-four hours. She set down the iPad and studied his profile in the soft, golden glow of her night-light.

He was snoring lightly, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, his shirt bunched under his chin, his chin dotted with dark whiskers. His family had billions and yet he was as natural as rain. No pretense. No affectation. No pompous demands.

He was the kind of man any woman would be thrilled to have park his boots under her bed. So why in the world had Meghan let him get away?

It seemed now that Meghan Sinclair was the real mystery. She changed the search to Meghan Sinclair, Dallas P.I.

It didn’t talk long to figure out why Detective Smart didn’t trust her. It took even less time to realize that dozens of people had reason to want her dead.

She kept reading until her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep with Durk’s iPad still in her hands.

* * *

M
EGHAN SAT ON
the edge of the bed, trying to portray as much dignity and authority as she could while wearing a shapeless hospital gown and sporting a partially shaved, bandaged head.

“I appreciate your concern, Dr. Levy, but I’m not moving to a new room at Grantland Hospital.”

“I know it’s an inconvenience,” he said. “But our telemetry beds are limited and you don’t actually need one now. Other than the amnesia, you’re making excellent progress.”

“I know, which is why I’m leaving the hospital. As long as I don’t participate in any strenuous activities, I should be fine. Many patients with concussions are released after twenty-four hours.”

“Every patient is different, Meghan.”

“I realize that, but I’m having fewer and fewer dizzy spells. I’m not nauseous. I ate and kept down a substantial meal last night and this morning. My headache is almost gone. And I’m sure that I’ve passed all the recent miniscreenings the nurses and techs have been conducting—well, except for the ones requiring memory functions.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Levy agreed, his tone and manner suggesting he wasn’t looking for a fight. “But you had a serious concussion and you’re still feeling the effects of it. Your body must have time to recover. That means rest and avoiding stress for at least two weeks. If you don’t get that, the symptoms may persist and cause long-lasting complications.”

“I’ll see that I get plenty of rest.”

“If you don’t, you could prolong the recovery process by weeks and that includes the amnesia.”

“I certainly don’t need that.”

“No, you don’t. My professional opinion is that under the circumstances you need more hospital recovery time.”

“What if she has someone with her at all times?” Durk asked.

“Like a babysitter? No, thanks.” Meghan yanked the stupid droopy neckline of her disgusting gown back into place. “I don’t need to be spoon-fed. I just need a quiet place to stay until I’ve fully regained my strength and memory.”

“That won’t be your condo,” Durk said. “It’s still off-limits by police order.”

“Another bit of overkill,” she said. “No one was murdered in my condo and physical attacks without life-threatening injuries don’t necessarily warrant the crime scene being barricaded by the police.”

Dr. Levy scribbled something on her chart. “You’re a veritable wealth of information this morning, Meghan. Are you certain you haven’t regained some of your memory?”

“She got hold of my iPad last night,” Durk said. “I think she spent most of the night doing research.”

“I can understand that,” Dr. Levy said. “If I didn’t remember who I was, I’d be trying to find out as much as I could, too. But if you were up half the night, you need to get some sleep today. I suggest we discuss your release again when I make afternoon rounds.”

She shook her head. “I’m not staying another night. The hospital gives me nightmares.”

“I suspect it’s the situation that gives you nightmares,” the doctor said.

But Meghan wasn’t giving in. “I know my rights. Either you release me or I walk. All I need are the clothes I was wearing when I came in.”

“Actually, the police took them as evidence. But I doubt you want them back. They were bloody and soiled with vomit.”

She gagged a bit at the image. “I’ll call Neiman’s and have one of the clerks courier me over a new outfit.”

Dr. Levy hugged the chart to his chest. “Why Neiman’s?”

“I have an account there and—” She stopped mid-sentence. “I do have an account with them. At least I think I do. I wouldn’t know that unless I was starting to get my memory back, would I?”

“Not likely.”

Meghan’s optimism soared. “This changes everything,” she said. “Even you have to admit that there’s no reason for me to spend another day in the hospital now.”

“Actually, it doesn’t change my mind, but I’ll consider releasing you today if you convince me that you have somewhere nonstressful to go and someone to keep an eye on you.”

“I have a three-bedroom condo in downtown Dallas,” Durk said.

“I’m not moving in with you, Durk Lambert.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

The answer was no for too many reasons to count, including the fact that she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him for any length of time. She already found him attractive and that was with a trauma-weakened libido.

Of course, she looked like Queen of the Zombies with her botched hair and bruised face. So obviously, this was not about sex for Durk.

“I have the perfect solution,” Durk said.

“So do I,” Meghan countered. “It’s called a hotel. I’m a successful private investigator. I must have money somewhere. I’ll just have to track down information on what bank I use and what credit cards I have. And I should at least check out the damage to my condo. And see when Ben’s funeral will be held.”

“I wish you would hear and see yourself, Meghan. You’re already exhibiting symptoms of nervousness and guaranteeing stress.” Dr. Levy turned to Durk. “What is your perfect solution?”

“Meghan can stay at the Bent Pine Ranch. She can have a private suite with a computer for her research and plenty of time and space to relax. I’ll hire a nurse to oversee her recovery.”

A nurse following her around every second. She’d go nuts.

But the idea of a private suite didn’t sound half bad—except… “Who else lives on the ranch? You said your whole family lives there. Are you sure you’d have room?”

“It’s a very big house.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. She’d read and seen pictures of the house and ranch online last night. It was a working ranch with a huge sprawling home that had sheltered generations of Lamberts.

Several thousand head of cattle grazed the acres and acres of fenced pasture land. Their stables housed quarter horses, Appaloosas and Tennessee walkers. And the ranch had endless hiking and riding trails along Beaver Creek and Indian Ridge.

“I know Carolina Lambert quite well,” Dr. Levy said. “If you agree to spend a week at the Bent Pine Ranch, I’ll feel comfortable releasing you from the hospital.”

And in spite of what she claimed, Meghan did still need Durk’s help, at least until she could drive again.

“Okay, Durk. I haven’t the faintest idea why you’re choosing to get involved in this, but if you get approval from your family, I’ll stay at the ranch for a week—as long as we can stop by my condo and pick up some of my things on the way out of town.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just stop at Neiman Marcus?”

“I’m certain. Crossing the police barrier to enter my own condo doesn’t bother me in the least.”

“Then we have a deal.”

Dr. Levy gave her dismissal instructions, including how to tend the head wound and when to come back and have the staples removed.

She opted to borrow Durk’s trench-style raincoat until she could choose something to wear from her own closet. When they were ready to leave, she wrapped herself in it and cinched it tightly since she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

Durk waited with her for the wheelchair the nurse insisted she ride in to Durk’s car—hospital rules. It was as good a time as any to get a few things off her mind.

“Why did you let me go on believing you were a simple cowboy, Durk?”

“You never said you thought I was simple. I would have called you on that. But I am a cowboy.”

“You’re a businessman. I bet you haven’t touched a cow in years, much less branded one.”

“You’d be wrong on both counts. I help out on the ranch every chance I get. It helps keep me sane, and I love working alongside my brothers. I think of myself as every bit a cowboy as they are.”

“Why?”

“Because being a cowboy is more than branding a steer or stamping through cow patties. It’s a creed that affects every aspect of our lives.”

“What kind of creed?”

“The unspoken rules we live by. A cowboy does what has to be done and he does it well. He’s a man of his word. If he makes a promise he keeps it. He’s respectful of women. He has a passion for wide-open spaces. Though he didn’t teach it as a list of rules, Dad made sure that my brothers and I understood them. Mom made sure we lived them until they were as much a part of us as breathing.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“As serious as I get.”

“Is that creed why you’re standing by me now?”

“I don’t know why I’m here, Meghan. I honestly don’t know. But right now this is what I have to do and this is where I want to be.”

That was reason enough for now.

* * *

T
HIRTY MINUTES LATER
, Durk parked his Jaguar in the parking garage attached to Meghan’s condo complex. As she stepped out and onto the pavement, anxiety pitted in her stomach and sent an icy blast through her veins.

Durk put a hand on the small of her back. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“No, but I have to go through with it.”

“Somehow I knew you would.”

Chapter Ten

Durk followed Meghan onto the elevator. He could tell she was nervous but it didn’t keep her from noticing every security camera they’d passed and commenting on the key card entrance to every door.

When the elevator doors closed, she reached out to the keypad and punched five. The move surprised him.

“Strange that you don’t remember the complex, but you just punched the button for the fifth floor.”

She looked puzzled. “What number should I have punched?”

“Five. I just didn’t expect you to know that.”

He was starting to wonder if Smart could be right about her faking the amnesia so that she could go after the killer herself. Blurring the lines between her job and the police’s had always been her modus operandi.

Meghan stepped to the back of the elevator. “I guess punching the number is ingrained like using a computer or doing the other everyday things I do without thinking.”

That was one explanation. When they exited the elevator, he stood back, watching to see which direction she chose. She started walking toward her condo at a brisk pace, then stopped as if she’d forgotten something.

She turned back to him. “Where do I go from here?”

“Keep walking. It’s the last door on the right.”

She slowed and waited on him to fall in step with her. “How is it you came to keep a key to the parking garage entrance and my condo when we broke up?”

“You never asked for them back.”

“And I didn’t change the lock. Apparently I trusted you. Then again, your family owns half of Dallas, so it wasn’t like you’d sneak in and steal my silver.”

“I don’t recall you having any silver. Now had I been into ladies’ shoes…”

“Great. I have shoes. I can shed these horrid slippers you bought me.”

“The woman in the hospital gift shop said they were all the rage.”

“For six-year-olds.”

“That’s why real men don’t buy women’s shoes.”

The lightness was all staged and not working. Meghan’s muscles visibly tensed and her pace slowed to a crawl as they neared the end of the hallway.

“The police tape is gone,” she said as they reached her door.

“Thoughtful of Smart,” Durk said. “Now you won’t even be breaking the law when you open your own door.”

“It wasn’t the detective’s idea.”

Durk spun around at the voice. An attractive young woman in a dark blue fitted suit stood in the doorway just across the hall. A dog almost as tall as she was strained to break away from her fingers that clutched his studded collar.

“Settle down, Bitsy. These are our new neighbors.” Bitsy continued to strain to break free.

“My husband is the mayor’s brother,” the woman explained. “He had his brother pull a few strings. We’re having my whole family down from Memphis for Thanksgiving. They’re arriving tomorrow and, let’s face it, the tape made this look like we’d moved into a ghetto.”