Collector's Item (8 page)

She picked up the phone, changed her mind and put it down. A half-hour later, she picked it up again, only to put it back down. She knew she should call her father to let him know she was okay, but she just could not face the angry questions and the inevitable demand that she return to the compound. She would call him as soon as she knew Peyton was in the clear.

She had the phone in her hand for the third time when the surgeon walked into the room. He pulled his surgical cap off his head. KT put the handset on the cradle and waited.

“Ms. Marant, I’m Dr. Williams.” He shook her hand and then crossed his arms. “Captain Peyton is a lucky man. The bullet in his chest didn’t collapse his lung, and the other two didn’t hit anything vital.”

The doctor’s words echoed in her head, but mostly, her brain kept repeating “lucky man” over and over. She gripped her hands tight. The pain helped her focus on the rest of the doctor’s report.

“He’ll be moved to a private room in a little while. Right now he’s in Recovery. I’m sorry, but only immediate family is permitted,” Dr. Williams said. “If you’d like, I could get someone to take you upstairs. You could wait there.”

The vise in KT’s chest loosened and she took a deep breath before she stood up. “Thank you.”

Dr. Williams smiled. “Listen, if you’d like, we can lend you some scrubs. You could change in Captain Allers’ room. There’s a shower in there. I can have a nurse set everything up.”

Why is everyone so concerned about her personal grooming? She nodded anyway. “That would be kind. Thank you.”

In Peyton’s room, she showered, used liberal amounts of the hospital shampoo and conditioner, and emerged feeling much more herself. The generic green scrubs hung on her like pajamas.

She wadded up her clothes and stuffed them in the trash can. She never wanted to see them again. Besides, they were ruined. She washed her socks by hand and draped them over the handrail in the shower. They’d be dry long before Peyton needed to use it. Barefoot, she padded into the hospital room.

The private room held a typical hospital bed, a chair that reclined, a sofa, a wall-mounted television, and a rolling bed table. She turned off the overhead light, left the bathroom light on, door half closed, and curled up on the sofa. She picked up the phone and braced herself for the coming conversation.

As she dialed her father’s private number, she marshaled her arguments. Yes, she was fine, no need to rush home. No, she was staying until Peyton regained consciousness. Yes, she had acted rashly when she followed him outside, but she had her reasons. No, she wasn’t willing to discuss her reasons on the phone. She imagined his reactions, the anger, the accusations, the demands, and steeled herself to hold onto her own temper. The phone rang once and his voice poured into her ear.

“KT? KT, is that you?” Anxiety and love flowed through the connection like a salve and she cradled the receiver with both hands. The tone washed away the worst of her fears, and she slumped against the cushions with relief.

“Hello, Father. I’m fine.”

Chapter Seven

KT stood watching the lights coming on in the neighborhood below the fifteenth floor dayroom. A day of sitting beside Peyton’s bed had both cleared and confused her thoughts. She’d finally sought some peace watching twilight descend on the city.

“I don’t know if I should shake you or hug you.”

She turned to see her father in the doorway. A man of average height and weight, Anton Marant’s mere presence filled any room with a sense of strength. Right now, however, his emotions were tightly controlled and she couldn’t get a read on him.

She tried to keep her voice steady and held her head high. “Actually, right now, I’d prefer a hug.”

A smile cracked through Anton’s shell and he opened his arms wide. She rushed into his arms and breathed deep his familiar scent.

“If you
ever
try something so crazy dangerous again, I’ll have you salison-chipped,” her father threatened, his voice muffled against her hair as he hugged her tight.

Andi cringed beneath KT’s skin, but KT leaned against her father recognizing the love behind the threat. “I’m fine. Peyton was there to protect me, along with an entire platoon of rangers.”

“If it hadn’t worked. If Torne had managed to take you—” Anton stopped and squeezed her tighter.

“I’m fine.” KT rubbed her father’s back and he eased his grip on her. “Peyton’s still out.”

Anton’s voice took on a more natural tone of authority. “I’ve talked to his doctor. Captain Allers is getting the best of care. They assure me he’ll make a complete recovery.”

“He hasn’t woken up for more than a few moments since they brought him upstairs,” she said into the lapel of his suit. Peyton had been so still and pale when they wheeled him in from recovery. “They’re keeping him heavily sedated. Something about paranormals, particularly military-trained paranormals, trying to get out of bed far too soon.”

Anton chuckled against the top of her head. “I’ve heard it’s a compulsion of all military-trained, human and paranormal. Too stubborn or gung-ho to listen to the doctors.” He gave her a final hug before he released her. She stepped back and gestured to the couch.

When they settled down, side by side, she could not help contrasting his freshly laundered suit and her rumpled, borrowed scrubs. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

“He’s an interesting man, your Peyton Allers,” he said, his voice warm with approval. “I looked into his record. He’s had over a dozen commendations for bravery and valor. And almost two dozen formal reprimands for insubordination and failure to follow orders.”

See, your sire knows.

KT pushed away from her father’s, and Andi’s, assertion. “He’s not
my
Peyton Allers.”

Her father nodded as he let his arm slide off her shoulders. “Of course not. A figure of speech, nothing more.”

His voice sounded too smooth, too politic. She looked at him, but he turned toward the door and motioned. “I brought you some clothes.”

His bodyguard/assistant, Clemmons, stepped inside the open doorway, a garment bag folded over his arm. Her father turned back, his gaze encompassing her clothes. “While I know scrubs are a sub-cultural fashion statement, I thought you’d prefer your own clothing.”

“Glad to see you safe and sound, Miss KT.” With a nod and a smile, Clemmons put the bag on a chair before he resumed his post outside.

“Thank heavens!” KT gave her father a quick hug and sprang to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Later, her hair smoothed into a chignon at the base of her neck, and wearing a pair of fresh jeans with a light weight sweater, KT returned to find her father reading a financial paper.

Two thick porcelain coffee mugs sat on the low table in front of him. One held black coffee, espresso strong, if she knew him, and she did. A metal travel thermos stood to one side, with matching sugar and cream dispensers. A cardboard box, lid flexed open, revealed a stack of golden croissants. KT sank onto the cushions, torn between fixing her coffee or taking a bite of pastry.

“Go on. Eat something.” Her father set his paper aside and picked up the empty cup. He filled it from the thermos, added two scoops of sugar and a liberal dose of cream before placing it in front of her.

KT picked up a pastry and bit into the flaky crust. Rich, dark chocolate melted on her tongue amid flakes of airy crust. She purred with pleasure. “Cynthia made these,” she said, the words only slightly garbled.

Cynthia Dyson was their cook, back at the compound. She was a world-class chef, but her first love was pastries. KT had spent hours in the kitchen watching the older woman create the most delicious desserts.

“Of course. She wouldn’t let me leave without them,” her father replied as he picked up his own mug.

KT could well imagine Cynthia pushing the box of pastries into her father’s hands “for the trip, and that wild-hearted child,” as she liked to call KT. KT ate two pastries while he sipped his coffee.

Over the years since her brothers moved out, she and her father had developed this little game of “patience.” Learning to remain silent was a crucial skill in life, diplomacy, and politics. The first one to break the silence “lost.”

Now, the silence stretched out between them. A voice paged a Dr. Morton to Pediatrics. A pair of interns marched by the open door of the dayroom, trailing undecipherable medical terms in their wake. A nurse hustled past in the other direction, her arms full of charts. KT could see a sliver of Clemmons’ navy suited form just past the door jamb.

KT swallowed the last bite, refreshed her cup and sat back, her hands wrapped around the heavy mug. Everything must have come from the family jet. She savored the taste and feel of home.

“Our plane leaves at five,” her father said.

Point to me,
she thought, and then. “Our plane?” She turned and raised one eyebrow at him. “I have to pack my things. The apartment has to be let.”

“Being packed as we speak. The landlord has been paid a generous fee for letting you break your lease.”

KT’s temper started to inch upward. “And you were going to tell me this when?”

“Now.”

Her fingers tightened around the mug and she forced them to ease. “I appreciate your consideration, but what if I’m not ready to return to the compound?”

He set his mug back on the table with a solid clunk. “That’s not the issue.” His voice began to take on that “Marant edge” that so successfully cowed many a business opponent into submission. “You could be the one lying in that hospital bed, instead of Peyton. I agreed to let you try to force a crack in this case and you’ve done it. I won’t reiterate my disapproval of your methods, but you and Peyton did get results. The Alliance is working with the human authorities to obtain a search warrant for Torne’s ranch and other properties. We’ll find Patricia.”

KT tightened her grip on her temper at her father’s high-handedness and focused on the situation at hand. “I don’t think they’ll find Aunt Patricia at Torne’s ranch.”

Anton frowned. “Why not?”

“I saw her at the hangar. She was in the car with Torne.”

Her father spun to face her, his surprised anger filling the room. “Why didn’t you tell someone about this before?” Clemmons turned to look into the room and Anton waved him back into position.

KT lifted her chin. “Because at first, I wasn’t sure. Then,” she had to look away, “I didn’t want to believe it.”

Anton took a breath and let it out. “Are you sure? It was dark and you had to be pretty far away from the car.”

She started to ask how he knew and then stopped. He would have demanded, and received, a full briefing on the flight to New York. “There was a light at that end of the lot, and she turned to look back.” KT met her father’s skeptical glance with a steady stare. “I know what I saw, and it was Patricia. She must have been trapped in the car.”

Her father turned to stare toward the window. “You’re assuming she was a hostage. Could she have been there of her own free will?”

“I’ve been going over and over it in my head.” KT also stared at their reflections in the window, night having fallen outside. “I don’t have enough information to make a firm decision either way. And, as you said, it was dark and I was upset.”

She ducked her head for a moment and pushed away the emotions to assess the facts. Her father waited. She raised her head when her thoughts were clearer.

“I only got a glimpse, just her face. But, if she was a hostage, why was she out there? Why wouldn’t he have her locked up on his ranch or wherever? Why bring her to a public place where she might try to escape? Why didn’t she try to escape?” KT heard the plaintive tone in her voice and paused to take a deep breath. She had to say it. “Unless he was confident she wouldn’t try to escape at all. Unless she was there willingly.”

Her father nodded and turned back to face her, the muscles around his eyes and mouth tight. Anger simmered just beneath the surface of the Marant Alpha’s blank expression. “My thoughts exactly. I agree that Patricia’s presence in Torne’s car is highly suspicious. Someone in the Alliance is helping the Collectors, and Patricia is about as well placed as anyone.” His expression softened. “Your mother would be shattered.”

KT sank back against the cushions. “I know. And, horrible as it may sound, I pray we
do
find Aunt Patricia locked up somewhere on that compound. I can’t believe she’s a traitor.”

Her father slipped his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him. “You were both so close at one time.” He rubbed her arm, his hand warm on her skin, comforting. “In the meantime, I want you to come back to the compound. If you saw her, she certainly saw you, and she’ll know she’s been tagged. You’re going to be a target.”

For a moment, KT wished she could do what he asked, wished that she could go home and let her father take care of everything, but those days had ended the morning she left the compound to come to New York. The last of her confusion and denial faded and her mind cleared.

Those days ended when I met Peyton Allers
.

“I have to wait until Peyton is awake and on the mend,” she said, her voice carrying her own version of the “Marant edge.” “Patricia and Torne aren’t going to do anything right away. I’ll come home in a few days. If the apartment is packed up, then I’ll stay at the penthouse. I’ll even accept a body-guard.”