Cold Target (33 page)

Perhaps two weeks ago that would have surprised her. Now it didn't. He cared far more about his job, and about people, than he wanted anyone to think.

In dying, Rick Fuller had hurt still another person who had tried to help her.

She only wished she didn't want to see Gage so badly. That she didn't wish he would appear at the door.

But she was only too aware of the procedures after a shooting incident. Add to the fact that the victim was a cop, he was likely to be tied up all night.

As she waited for the paperwork, including some prescriptions, she wondered again whether the violence was really over. She wished with all her heart she could believe that. But she couldn't dismiss the possibilities that something more sinister was at play. There was the sudden disappearance of everything in the attic to explain … and her father's last words to her. His fear and despair. Fuller had nothing to do with that.

Was she still a danger to everyone she met?

She wasn't going to take the chance.

From now on, she planned to proceed on her own.

She had two avenues left in her search for her sister. The photo. And Memphis, where neighbors of her great-aunt might recall something.

Both were long shots.

But finding her sister now was her driving force. She felt that in some way she had pushed certain people into action. Maybe it was Fuller. Maybe someone entirely different. She only knew she had to find out which.

She signed papers and dutifully accepted prescriptions for painkillers and an antibiotic, then used her cell phone to call a cab. For a fraction of a second, she wanted to cry. But tears wouldn't help.

She could think of only one thing that would. Her family had been taken by disease and malice. But she still had a half sister somewhere.

No matter what it took, she was determined to find her.

Then perhaps she could reclaim her life. Get back to the practice of law.

B
ISBEE

Holly finished the letter. She wrote in longhand since she didn't have a computer, and what she had to write couldn't be done on the library computers. It was too dangerous.

Writing it in her own handwriting might be an advantage.
If
it was ever seen.

She had asked Marty for names of some reputable attorneys in the area. She needed a will now that she was Harry's sole parent.

Marty had given her several names but recommended one especially highly.

Holly called him and made an appointment in two days' time, the first slot he had available. It would give her time to perfect a story. Even with client-attorney confidentiality, she didn't dare trust too much.

She stared at the letter. This was her third try. The other two had gone into a wastebasket and would be later torn into tiny pieces and flushed down the toilet.

She was no writer. But she carefully detailed everything that had happened the day she had left New Orleans. She described the phone call she had overheard, then the intruder. She explained how the man had a gun in his hands, the code to the security system and a key to the house.

When she was finished, she had three pages. She took Harry with her to a store where she made three copies, then put the contents into envelopes and sealed each of them.

Then she went to see Marty.

She waited until Marty was alone in the store. She drew her friend aside to a place where she could keep Harry in sight, yet out of his sometimes too keen hearing.

“I have an appointment to see Mr. McIntyre,” she said. “I want to make provisions for Harry in the event anything …”

Marty nodded.

“I don't have anyone,” Holly said starkly. “I know it's a great deal to ask but would you—could you—be my executor? Would you look after Harry's interests?”

Marty searched her face. “There's no one else? No parent? No sibling? Perhaps your husband's family …?”

Holly shook her head. “No direct relations, and those who aren't, well, I wouldn't want them near my boy.”

“I'm sixty-five years old,” Marty said.

“The youngest sixty-five I've ever known.”

“Still …”

“I am not asking you to keep him,” Holly said, her heart aching at the thought of an abandoned little boy. But she had thought and thought and thought. There was no one else she could trust.

Marty's eyes bored into hers, seeking to go deeper than Holly intended to allow.

“Nothing will happen,” Holly sought to reassure Marty. “But everyone should have a will.” She hated lying to Marty. She hated not telling her that there was a possibility that something
could
happen. If it did, her husband's family might get control of Harry after all. But at least she could try to do something.

Perhaps the desperation in her face reached Marty. She nodded her head slowly, then asked in a soft voice, “Is there something I should know, Liz?”

There was. There was a lot she should know. But Holly couldn't tell her. Not now. What if she disapproved of murder, even in self-defense? What if she didn't believe her?

She didn't know if she would believe someone with that kind of tale. Why not go to the police? That would have been her first reaction.

So instead she thanked Marty. She gave the shop owner one of the sealed envelopes. “It's not to be opened unless something happens to me.”

Marty gave her a searching gaze, her eyes worried. Then she nodded.

One of the other two envelopes would go to her attorney. The third would stay in her possession.

Harry approached her, and his hand clutched hers tightly. His small earnest face reflected worry. Apparently her tension had seeped into him.

“Let's go someplace special,” she said.

He looked up at her with big, round eyes. “Where?”

“It's a surprise.”

“Can we take Caesar?”

“Not this time, but we'll take him for a walk when we get home.”

She had been wanting to take him to a nearby town for days, but she'd been afraid to drive. Now, with her newly obtained license, she could give him some of the adventures he craved.

Work could wait until tonight when he was asleep.

She settled him into the car seat and looked around at the houses as she drove out of town.

Days were rushing by. She loved working on her sculptures. She loved the walks she took with Harry and Caesar. She liked her easy relationship with Marty and her growing friendships within the city.

She had even missed her morning trip to the library today. She had been intent on seeing Marty, yes, but she wondered whether it wasn't also a sign of growing confidence that she and Harry were safer. The visits to Marty and to the attorney were insurance. Nothing more.

Harry chattered as they drove. He saw a cow and exclaimed.

They reached Tombstone and his eyes grew even larger as he gazed at the Old West exteriors. The town had daily re-creations of the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral with Wyatt Earp. She wasn't crazy about the violence, but she knew Harry would love the actors in Old West garb. And the horses.

They had a sarsaparilla in a mock saloon, and joined the other tourists to watch the drama.

She flinched as one of the bad guys fell, and her stomach suddenly revolted.

For a moment she was back.…

She turned away.

“Mommy?”

Harry's face was confused. Uncertain.

She straightened up.
This is make-believe
!

“I'm okay,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment, then seemed to relax and turned back to the action.

She glanced around at the other tourists. Families. Children. All enjoying the fictional re-creation of an American legend. Did any of the others have cold, clammy hands?

This is for Harry
.

She forced herself to stand through the rest of the performance. The sound of gunfire. Blanks. She knew they were blanks, but …

Someone reached out and she found herself jerking away.

“Are you all right?” someone asked.

An older woman with a kind face and an elderly gentleman stood there with three children.

“Yes, thank you. The heat …” It wasn't heat at all. A flashback. It wasn't the first time.

They insisted that she and Harry accompany them into a restaurant, where she ordered iced tea for herself and Harry a root beer. She held her hands in her lap so no one would see them shake.

Mr. and Mrs. Dan Weston were taking a two-week trip with their grandchildren. They chattered about their adventures as she finally managed to steady the fingers of one hand enough to bring a glass to her lips without dropping it. Harry eyed the western hats the grandchildren wore with envy but thankfully he was unusually silent, awed probably by the older boys.

Thirty minutes later, they were going their separate ways.

She went into a souvenir shop and purchased a cowboy hat and sheriff's badge for him.

“Now I'm just like Sher'f Doug,” he said, his small chest puffing out.

“Yes, indeed, you are.”

“I wanna be a sher'f.”

“A fine ambition.” But her heart pounded a little louder. How would he feel if he ever discovered his mother was a fugitive? That some day she might even be charged with murder? She shuddered inwardly at the idea.

“I think we had better go home and see Caesar,” she said. “He's going to miss us.”

“I miss him, too,” he said, putting his little hand in hers.

She looked down at him. He was bursting with excitement. He loved his blue jeans and his T-shirt that said “Little cowhand.” And now he beamed from under the new hat.

She was glad for her son's sake that they had come here today.

But she hadn't realized how much it would affect her, how it would be a vivid reminder of something she wanted to forget. She knew now that she never could.

She felt a sudden relief from the sun and looked up at the sky. Dark clouds were moving in, one eclipsing the sun.

A shiver ran through her body even though the air was still hot.

A sense of foreboding filled her.

Because of the mock battle she'd just witnessed?

Or something else?

twenty-one

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Meredith put her pain pills in the medicine cabinet and took several aspirin instead. After all that had happened, she didn't want to sleep too soundly.

Just before she went to bed, she tried to call Gage, but his cell phone was apparently off.

She left a message. “Thank you.” If it hadn't been for him, she probably wouldn't be alive tonight.

She took the phone off the hook to avoid reporters who had been calling. Her friends could still reach her on her cell phone. Then she made sure her revolver was next to her. She invited Nicky up on her bed; she needed the comforting presence of the dog.

Gage's face was the last thing she remembered until the first light of dawn woke her. The moment she moved, Nicky started to lick her. He obviously wanted to go outside.

Meredith groaned as she moved and hit her wounded arm against the side of the bed. Then Nicky's tongue reached out and licked her again.

“Okay,” she said reluctantly. She looked at the clock. Six
A
.
M
.

Then everything flooded back. Her father's death. Mrs. Starnes. The funeral. Rick Fuller pointing a pistol at her. The crack of gunfire.

For a moment, she wanted to sink back into bed and close her eyes. But she had things to do today.

First, she had to see her mother and make sure that the private duty nurses knew their services were to continue despite her father's death. She wanted to make sure someone was with her mother every second.

Then she would see Gage. She knew he would be exonerated from any fault but she also knew that suspension wouldn't be his biggest problem. She would never forget that look of anguish on his face when he almost willed Fuller to breathe again.

She rose, carefully protecting her arm. She looked outside and saw a car in front. Someone was sitting in it. Whoever it was wasn't trying to hide.

Meredith ran a brush through her hair, then pulled on a pair of jeans. She decided to forego a bra for the moment and put on a loose shirt. She went down to the front door, taking Nicky's leash and snapping it on his collar.

Then she walked him out the door and to the car parked in front.

The driver got out and met her. “Ms. Rawson?”

“Yes.”

“Detective Gaynor asked me to look out for you today. I would have let you know earlier, but he said you'd had a bad night and I didn't want to wake you.”

“And you are …?”

“Mack Thomas. Private investigator. Used to be a cop. Gage has helped us out several times. We're only too happy to return the favor.”

“When did you talk to him?”

“Late last night. He told me to get my ass over here. He was stuck at headquarters.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“About the shooting? Yeah. Bad stuff when a cop's involved on both sides.”

He looked to be in his fifties but his body was hard and lean, and she would bet her practice that he worked out daily.

“How long did he employ you to watch me? I want to pay it.”

“Hell, I wouldn't take his money. I owe him big time.”

“I'd like to hear about it.”

“Maybe later. Will you be staying here or going somewhere?”

“I plan to see my mother at the hospital, then I'm going out of town for a few days. I appreciate your help, but the danger may be over now.”

“Gage doesn't think so.”

In her heart, she didn't think so, either.

“How can I reach him?”

“I imagine he's tied up with his old friends in Public Integrity.”

She nodded.

“Nice dog you have.”

“He's not mine. I'm just keeping him … for a friend.” She turned to go back in. “I'll be leaving in about thirty minutes. You can take off then. I'll be all right.”