Remote Consequences (17 page)

I needed to get out of here. I needed to get home. I needed to check on Paget and to get out of this skimpy hospital gown. I needed to brush my hair and my teeth. In the midst of all my thoughts, I suddenly had the realization that not one but two of the hottest guys I'd ever known had both seen me in this disheveled state. Oh my.

Ugh-a-riffic.

I pressed the nurse call button.

No one responded.

I pressed it again.

Still no response.

I managed to sit up in the bed and swing my legs out over the side of it. My head was a little woozy from the effort, but it was so good to stretch my back that I didn't mind.

I pushed the button again, and this time someone answered. "Yes, how may we help you?"

"Great. Sorry to bug you, but can you please page Dr. C.? I'd like to talk to him about being discharged."

There was a pause. "Oh, you've already been discharged. We're just waiting on transport."

"A transport? To where?"

"To jail."

You must crack the nuts before you can eat the kernel. –Irish Proverb

Ten fingerprints, two mug shots, and a pat-down later, I sat in a small jail cell staring at the grungy floor. Had the pat-down really been necessary? I mean, come on. I'd been in a hospital gown. What was I gonna have on me?

I wondered if the State of Alabama would still issue me a license to practice medicine with a criminal record hanging over my head. The nausea that I'd fought off a few hours earlier was rearing its ugly head.

The fact that I sat in a jail cell was just my kind of luck. I was feeling more than a little sorry for myself. A yawn crept onto my lips, and I didn't hold back.

"You know what they say?"

I sat up a little straighter as the voice pulled me out of my nodding off.

"What's that?" I asked as I eyed the white-haired officer who strode up to the cell door.

"They say that a guilty person rests easy—knowing that he's already been caught, he has nothing more to worry about." He tapped the cell door with his ink pen before sliding it back into his pocket.

"Oh, really. Well, what do they say about citizens who are falsely arrested for a crime they didn't commit?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Rare."

I swallowed. This man, whoever he was, was out to get me.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the captain around here, and I also happen to be close personal friends with the Mills family. I didn't know you or your family before you left, off to doctor school. But I do know that we believe that filing a false police report should come with ramifications. I intend to see that this matter is settled in short order. I'll do anything to protect the good people of this community—particularly fine men like Dougie Mills. We don't like messes around here, Ms. Murrin." He stretched out the syllables of my last name, and I didn't like the way it sounded on his lips.

"And I guess I just poisoned myself and left threatening notes on my own car, too?"

"Well, stranger things have happened. As I understand it, you would once have done anything to gain the attention of our Detective Dempsey. Maybe this whole thing is some grand gesture of a lonely girl." He turned to leave. "Have a good rest now. Sleep tight."

What was this all about? Filing a false police report? They'd found the body, hadn't they? Alas, it wasn't where I'd said it would be, but that was no fault of my own. If this captain-whoever was determined to wrap this case up around blaming me, I might be in serious trouble. And now he thought I was some pathetic girl who'd set up my own drink tampering just to get the attention of Ty Dempsey?

I lay down on the bunk. For a second I wondered what kind of germs might be living on it, and then I decided to forget about germs for just a few minutes. I was still tired from my hospital stay, and I just couldn't focus. There was way too much espionage and estrogen flowing around in my brain.

"I see you're making yourself at home." The familiar voice sounded in my tired ears, and I didn't even stifle my second yawn at the sound of it. I wasn't just physically tired. I was tired of the whole darned case.

"What do you want, Ty? Want to cause more problems for me? Want to send me to prison so that you can be the big hero cop?"

 He didn't take the bait, and instead reached in his pocket and extracted a key card that looked remarkably like a hotel room entry card. I saw that he'd changed clothes since the throw-up incident earlier. He was wearing a fresh pair of jeans that were clean but had seen better days. He had on a powder blue T-shirt that was tight fitting over his rather large, bulging biceps. Biceps that could lift a girl onto the hood of a car and…

Oh, Mandy, stop it already.

He slid the card down the crease of a black box and a green light and single beep followed. The door to the jail cell opened to the left, and Ty entered the cell.

"I'm here to take you home. I posted your bail. I know Judge Holley, and he owes me a favor. And I called Randall Jamison for you."

The name Randall Jamison stirred a little blood flow to my heart. He'd been best friends with my father once upon a time. He'd been one of the first on the scene when my parents had died. I sucked in a little breath and then shook my head, as if to erase the train of thought that was stirring up things better left buried deep inside me.

I stood up. Perhaps a little too suddenly, as I surprised both Ty and myself by wobbling a little. He leapt forward to steady me by placing his hand on my back.

I looked up into his face. There was stubble on his chin, and I had the sudden urge to run my fingers across it. I chewed the inside of my cheek. What was the matter with me?

"You okay?"

I swallowed. "I'm okay. Thanks for getting me out of here. Not a fan of this place."

He looked around the gray cell and smirked. "Let's get you home. You need some rest. Randall wants to see you tomorrow."

"Ty…"

He put his arm around my back and started walking me forward gingerly. "Yep."

"I didn't have anything to do with this case—other than finding the body. You know that, right?"

"I know that, Mand. There's something bigger than you and me going on here, and I intend to find out just what the hell it is."

I nodded. I felt better already. But I wasn't quite sure if it was because Ty believed me or because his arm was around me, and I liked it. A lot.

Well, la dee dammit!

*  *  *

I didn't argue when Ty helped me into the house and to Aunt Patty's bedroom. How he knew that I'd been sleeping in that room, I didn't know—and I didn't ask. I was too tired to even get into another discussion.

We'd stopped by Ms. Lanier's house for just a moment. Just long enough for me to get a timid hug from Paget, who looked more scared than I'd seen her since Aunt Patty's funeral. She stared at my darkened hair and then back and forth between me and Ty. She was out of sorts. She'd wanted to come home with me. She told me so, but then stayed with Ms. Lanier without putting up too much of a fight. Ms. Lanier had convinced her to spend one more night together to allow me a chance to rest.

She'd promised them that they could make cookies and play Monopoly. Both of these things rated at the top of Paget's list of favorite things to do.

Even though it was only lunchtime, I had such a need to rest that I melted into the pillows as Ty covered me with the oddball afghan and instructed Pickles to lie beside the bed rather than on it. The dog obeyed, but not before sniffing me for good measure.

My eyes were heavy and my spirit drooped. All of this was just too much. I didn't even want to talk about it anymore. I just wanted to make it all go away.

"I should have stayed with you, Mandy. Even though things turned out the way they did. I should have stayed. I got what I deserved."

"Hmmm?" What was he talking about now? My head was heavy. The pillow pulled me down deeper and deeper by the minute.

"That night. I should have handled the whole thing differently. You were scared and alone, and I was caught up in my own stuff. We never should have even done what we did. I was stupid. I'm sorry, Mand."

I heard the words, and they were the words that I'd wanted to hear for all these years. But, even now, I couldn't be sure I'd heard them. Maybe I was dreaming them.

But before the bedroom door clicked into place, I thought I heard him say something. Something like, "I'll make this right, Mand. Like I should have done before."

I tried to smile, but my face wouldn't cooperate. So I slept.

*  *  *

Some time later, I awoke to find Colin sitting in Aunt Patty's rocking chair, reading an issue of
Seventeen
magazine. I chuckled.

"What? They have some helpful tips in here," he said as he grinned at me and set the magazine down on the nearby dresser.

"What kind of tips? Like how to decorate your locker or the perfect lip gloss for the perfect date?"

He gave me a wink. "You never know when you'll need to think like a teenager."

"Do men ever really stop thinking like a teenager?"

"Touché."

I sat up slowly and stretched my arms over my head. He walked up to the edge of the bed and offered me his hand.

"You know. It might be considered weird in most situations."

"What's that?"

I took his hand and stood. "Waking up to find you in my room—not once but twice in the last day."

"Oh, that?" He shrugged it off. "That's just my way. Does it frighten you?"

I looked up into his drop-dead gorgeous face. "It should."

He smiled. I smiled back.

He let go as I made my way toward the kitchen and the smell of something mouth-watering. I was a woman on a mission, and my super sniffer rarely disappointed.

"Did you bring food?"

He didn't answer, but I could feel his grin behind me as we made our way down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Señor Drool lay on the floor beside his empty bowl. But he wasn't waiting to be fed—he was recovering from stuffing his huge body full of food. I could tell by the way his tongue lolled out of his mouth and made a sizable puddle of drool on the hardwood floor.

"I see you bribed my guard dog."

"Yes, we have an arrangement. It's a good thing you don't count on him for security—he's quite easy to bribe."

I laughed. There was something about being around Colin that was so easy. No pressure. No fear. No past.

Maybe that was all it took to make my life simpler. Just leaving my past behind. If only I could…

"I come bearing news and a full selection from the dinner menu at the café. I wasn't sure what you'd be in the mood for, so I brought one of everything."

My jaw dropped significantly lower than what was attractive, I was sure. But the kitchen table was covered end to end with to-go boxes. Some moist on top from the heat inside. Some bulging with contents unknown. But all filling my nose with promises of pure heaven to be consumed.

"You may just be the man of my dreams."

I turned to look at him, and could have sworn I saw him blush. But then it was gone. Maybe I was imagining things. Surely, uber-cool secret agent types didn't blush.

"Come on, then. Have a seat and eat. I'll talk."

Who was I to argue?

"So, I got the results back on your glass."

I shoved in mouthfuls of fried okra and glazed ham. I looked up at him to continue, but I was too busy chewing to chat.

He continued, "My trace guy found two sets of fingerprints on the glass. One was yours and the other was Matson Mills."

I swallowed down a clump of food and chased it with some sweet tea. "Matson Mills?" Damn. "I can't believe he was right there and I didn't even see his face. I wasn't even paying attention. I'd hoped that they would reveal some pertinent information about the case and give us a nudge in the right direction, but this is totally weird. Why would he want to spike my drink?"

"Honestly, from what I've seen of the kid, he doesn't seem smart enough for all this by a long shot."

"Yeah. I know what you mean, but we really don't know him that well. Maybe he has accomplices who are doing all the brainwork. I mean, I saw him and Trask chatting it up at Mills Landing. Do you think they could be in on this together?" I asked around a mouthful of banana pudding.

He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. "You know, Trask and Matson are sort of brothers. They could be in on this together, and Trask had the perfect opportunity and easily the means to plant my father's body in the mayor's office."

I stopped my spoon midair. It was loaded with a follow-up bite of banana pudding, but this had my total attention. "What do you mean by 'sort of brothers'? You mean in a frat-house sort of way?"

He gave a quick grin with a flash of that captivating chin scar. "No. I mean, as in a stepbrother situation. You knew that Trask was Amika's son, right? She brought Trask with her to America when she came to work for the Mills. He grew up right alongside Matson. I hear they are quite close."

My eyes did a sort of bulging thing, and the bite of banana required two swallows to get it down. "Uh, no. I didn't know that useful bit of information. Thanks for mentioning it. I thought Amika was German or something—where did the name Trask come from?"

Trask and Matson? Amika was Chubby's mother? The matching set of crystal blue eyes danced a jig around my brain.

"I think I read that their real surname is Traskbauer. They shortened it, I guess."

"You read? Where did you read that?"

He gave a little hand rotation as if he was waving off the question. "I've seen some company files on them—from when they were non-citizens."

"Company files, huh?"

Company as in CIA?

He did a head tilt from side to side, but didn't respond. I decided to drop it for now. This was the most forthcoming he'd been with me to date.

"So, what would Trask's motive be? Is he jealous of not having a real father present, or is the mayor a real jerk of a boss, or what?"