Big Shot (3 page)

Durk understood rules, but he’d never been too keen on following them. “I’m the only one here to make sure she’s taken care of. You want me to cooperate, then do the same,” he said.

It was a bluff. He’d cooperate and do what was best for Meghan no matter what they did or didn’t tell him.

“Wait here,” the nurse said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A couple of minutes later, she returned with a man in a white physician’s lab coat. The apprehension on the man’s face as he stuck out his hand was anything but reassuring.

His handshake was firm as he introduced himself as Dr. Levy.

“I’m Durk Lambert, and I appreciate you talking to me.”

“I understand you’re a close friend of Ms. Sinclair,” the doctor said, his voice matter-of-fact.

“Yes,” Durk agreed even though it was an exaggeration. “How serious are her injuries? I mean, are we talking critical?”

“All I can tell you now is that her condition is being assessed.”

“Exactly what does that entail?”

“Examination, routine neurological tests and a CAT scan.”

“Is she conscious?”

“She’s alert, but exhibiting altered mental status.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s confused. That frequently goes along with a concussion. But we do need to contact a family member. That’s the one thing you can do at this point to help your friend.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Durk said. “In the meantime, I want to make certain that Meghan receives the best care possible, even if that means airlifting her to a different facility.”

The doctor’s brows arched. “At your expense?”

“Yes. I can sign whatever is needed.”

“That’s a very generous offer, Mr. Lambert, but there’s no reason to move her at this time.”

“In that case, when can I see her?”

“That depends on her progress and the test results, but likely within the next several hours. It will be good for her to hear a familiar voice—unless there’s some reason why seeing you would upset her. There isn’t, is there?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll let you know when you can see her.”

Durk reconsidered his answer to that last question as he walked away. He and Meghan hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Not that she’d made a scene. Meghan Sinclair was not one to lose control. But she’d clearly dumped him.

That had been two years ago. When he’d recommended her professional services to his brother Tague just months ago she’d accepted and done a bang-up job.

She’d moved on. For all he knew, she was in a serious romantic relationship. The thought bothered him, though it shouldn’t. He’d bow out quickly enough if he found out that was true.

It wouldn’t change the fact that he planned to make damn sure that whoever did this to Meghan would not get off scot-free.

But the first order of business was contacting Ben Conroe. He searched for a quiet space. When he found none, he walked outside and into the gathering twilight. The siren of an incoming ambulance punctuated the brisk air as he called Meghan’s office.

He got a busy signal instead of the answering machine, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, that meant Ben was still at work. The office was on the second floor of a three-story office building across the street from a strip mall only a few blocks away.

Durk jogged to his truck and a few seconds later was heading out of the parking lot. He dialed the number again as he sped toward her office. The line remained busy.

He glanced at his watch as he parked in the mostly empty lot. It was ten before six. He entered and raced up the stairs to the second floor. He tapped on the closed door to her office. When no one answered, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

Ben was there, but he was not on the phone. He wouldn’t be talking—not now and not ever again. A bullet had apparently ripped through his brain.

Durk went into defensive mode instantly, reaching for the pistol that lay near Ben’s body, listening and looking for any sign the killer was still on the premises.

The office remained as quiet as death.

Feeling a bit more confident that he was alone, Durk stepped closer to the body. Ben’s eyes were open, staring and lifeless. Durk stooped and checked Ben’s pulse, knowing there wouldn’t be one. The body was still warm. He’d missed the killer by mere minutes.

Reality burned in the pit of his stomach as he tried to assess the situation with some degree of clarity. Ben was dead. And whoever had killed him had probably planned the same fate for Meghan. Something had apparently stopped him before he could finish the job on her—possibly the neighbor who’d called the ambulance.

Fury and determination strained every muscle as Durk took out his phone and dialed 911. He gave the operator the information. She asked a few questions, assured him the cops were on their way and warned him not to touch anything before they arrived.

A little late for that since he was likely already holding the murder weapon. Survival topped crime scene protocol any day. Too bad he hadn’t thought to grab his own pistol from the car, but then he hadn’t expected to crash a murder scene.

He let his gaze roam the small outer office. File cabinet drawers were open, loose papers strewn about the floor and across what had been Ben’s desk.

Gun still in hand, he crossed the room and, using the tips of his fingers to hopefully keep from destroying possible fingerprints, he cautiously turned the knob and opened the door to Meghan’s office. The usually neat space was a total wreck.

Whatever the murderous bastard had wanted, Durk assumed he’d found it. Otherwise, he’d have still been here when Durk showed up.

When the cops arrived, they’d take over. From that point on, everything in the office would be in their possession and Durk would be the outsider—or possibly even a suspect since his prints would be all over the Smith & Wesson still clutched in his right hand.

He’d deal with the suspicions, but the idea of losing control disturbed him to the max. The least he could do was locate the insurance information for the doctor so that they could check for a history of allergies.

He made his way to the ravaged file cabinet, stepping over scattered files and loose papers as best he could. Before he could locate the insurance file, the office phone rang. Durk answered quickly.

“Hello,” the female voice responded. “Is Meghan around?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Lucy. Who is this?”

Durk’s mouth went dry. Exactly who he needed to talk to, but he hated the news he had to deliver. “I’m a friend of Meghan’s,” he explained, working to keep his voice steady. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Lucy. There’s been an incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

“Meghan was attacked in her apartment this afternoon. She’s in the hospital.”

He heard the gasp and then the tremble in the voice. “Oh, no. How bad is she hurt?”

“They’re running tests now to determine the seriousness of her condition.”

“What hospital? I want to talk to her.”

“Grantland, but she can’t talk just yet. Her doctor is eager to hear from you, though. He needs to know if Meghan has any drug allergies that he should be aware of.”

“Where’s Ben? Is he with Meghan?”

Durk considered his answer. He hated to throw even more at Lucy when he knew so few facts. “Ben’s not available, but I’ll be with Meghan until she’s out of danger.”

“Who are you?”

“Durk Lambert. We’ve never met, but I’m a friend of Meghan’s.”

“Yes. I know who you are.” Her tone told him she’d not only heard of him, but that he had at least two strikes against him in her book.

“How are you involved in this?” she demanded.

“By chance. I was at the emergency room checking on my aunt when Meghan was brought in. And it doesn’t really matter what you think of me right now, Lucy. The only thing that matters is Meghan, and I promise you that I will see that she has the best of care. Right now you need to call Dr. Levy. Do you have a pen or pencil handy?”

“Wait.”

He could hear her muffled voice talking to someone else. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone. A few seconds later a male voice addressed him. “This is Johnny Delmar, Lucy’s husband. Give me the doctor’s phone number.”

Durk did and then gave Johnny his number, as well. “I’d like permission to hire a private nurse around the clock if that seems warranted.”

“I don’t see any problems with that,” Johnny said. “Except I’m sure Ben Conroe will see that Meghan has whatever she needs.”

“That won’t be possible.”

“Why not? Doesn’t Ben still work for Meghan?”

Durk hesitated, hating to get into a drawn-out explanation when the cops would arrive any second. But better that Johnny be there when Lucy heard about the murder. “You may as well know now as later. Ben’s dead. He was shot in the head.”

A few seconds of silence followed that pronouncement. “Were Ben and Meghan together?”

“No.”

“What the hell is going on down there in Dallas?”

“I’ve told you all I know. I’m expecting the cops any second, but right now Meghan’s medical concerns top the priority list.”

“Absolutely. We have a problem here, as well,” Johnny said. “Lucy is going to want to catch the next flight to Texas, but she’s eight months pregnant. She’s having some complications and her obstetrician has ordered total bed rest until the delivery.”

“Keep Lucy in Connecticut,” Durk encouraged. “When I leave here, I’m going straight back to the hospital and I’ll be there as long as Meghan is at risk. Count on it. I’ll keep Lucy informed of everything.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not sure how much faith Lucy has in you.”

“I understand that. But I still consider Meghan a friend. Nothing that happened between us changed that. I’ll make certain Meghan gets the best of care.”

Durk heard footsteps in the hallway. “I’ve got to go now. The cops are here.”

He hung up the phone and walked into the outer office, leaving the murder weapon behind him on Meghan’s desk.

“Hands over your head and face the wall,” one of the cops demanded. All weapons were drawn and pointed straight at him.

For once in his life, Durk followed orders without as much as a blink.

Chapter Three

Bearing a family name well-known in Dallas’s social, business and philanthropic circles frequently offered significant perks and dismaying pitfalls. In this situation, it definitely worked to Durk’s advantage.

The cops were actually giving him a chance to explain the circumstances instead of just hauling him off in a squad car to be interrogated at the local precinct.

He detailed every move he’d made since he’d first spotted Meghan at the hospital, giving particular attention to his actions at the crime scene. But even though they listened to his account, he wasn’t sure they were convinced of his innocence.

“Check it out for yourselves,” Durk said. “Talk to the cops who answered the 911 call to Meghan Sinclair’s apartment. Talk to the E.R. staff at Grantland. They’ll tell you I was there to see my aunt when they brought Meghan in and that Dr. Levy specifically requested that I help them gather needed medical and insurance information.”

“And so you rushed to the office of a woman you admittedly hadn’t seen for two years?”

“I figured her assistant was the best source of the information they needed. Like I said, I remembered she didn’t have any family in the area.”

One of the cops scratched a craggy jaw that was sporting a five o’clock shadow. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to call the assistant instead of rushing over here?”

“I did, but the line was busy. Besides, I figured this was the kind of news better delivered in person.”

“How long has Mr. Conroe worked for Ms. Sinclair?”

“At least two years,” Durk said. “Probably longer.”

“Did Meghan mention any problems between her and Ben?”

“No, they appeared to be very close, but like I said, I haven’t actually talked to Meghan in a couple of years.”

“Yet here you are,” one of the cops noted. “A busy executive like you, rushing in to help an ex-girlfriend.”

The sarcasm didn’t warrant a response.

“Were Meghan and Ben romantically involved?” another cop asked.

“Not to my knowledge.” At least they hadn’t been two years ago. “As far as I know they were just coworkers and friends,” he added, though he couldn’t imagine what relevance a relationship between them would have to the case. It wasn’t as if Meghan had shot him and then beat herself up.

But Meghan was going to take the news of Ben’s murder hard. And knowing her, she’d be out looking for the killer the second she was released from the hospital—if not before.

A middle-aged cop with salt-and-pepper hair, a nose that showed signs of being broken more than once and a spare tire that hid his belt had asked most of the questions. His was the only name Durk had caught in the noisy confusion that accompanied their arrival. Officer Jordon.

Durk addressed his next question to him. “Do I need to contact my attorney or are you going to release me to return to the hospital and check on Meghan Sinclair?”

“First off, I need to request a crime scene unit. Then I’ll make a few calls to verify your story. If everything checks out, you’re free to go—for the time being. However, I expect you’ll be contacted shortly by a detective. Are you staying in town for the Thanksgiving holiday?”

“Yes, I’ll either be at my home or at the hospital. And you can assure the detective I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. If he thinks a reward will help flush out the perpetrator, I’ll supply the funds.”

Durk waited while Officer Jordon made the calls, his mind struggling to make sense of the attack and murder. Had the killer come to the office first, killed Ben and then gone after Meghan?

Had he gone to both places looking for something in particular—like files on one of her cases? Had he found them, or had Bill Mackey frightened him away before he could fully search her condo?

Or was this someone Meghan had helped put away coming back to exact revenge?

At this point, those were all merely theories. Hopefully when Meghan was talking again, she’d be able to explain everything and identify the man who’d assaulted her and killed Ben.