You Belong To Me (29 page)

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Authors: Patricia Sargeant

BOOK: You Belong To Me
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As silently as she entered, the nurse left.
“Did you see the license plate number?” Fairway asked, his pen poised to record new information.
“No,” Joyce said. “The car was moving so fast.”
“Even a partial plate would help,” Miller pressed, his pen also at the ready.
Joyce shook her head. “I'm sorry. I didn't see it.”
“Do you think this attempted hit-and-run is connected in any way to Mr. Austin's murder?” Miller asked them.
“I don't know.” Joyce gave Nicole a startled look.
“Detectives,” Nicole called for their attention. “I saw a silver BMW this morning when I went jogging.”
“What?” Malcolm turned to face her.
“Driver was male. Faded, baggy sweatpants. Baggy, hooded sweat jacket. Hood covered his face. Tall. Thin. Maybe six feet, a hundred sixty-five or hundred seventy pounds.”
“You have a good description of him.” The jaded Fairway sounded impressed.
“Was a reporter. Trained myself to observe people,” Nicole explained. Talking was increasing the pounding in her head, making her voice breathless again. She waited a moment before continuing. “I noticed him because he followed me to the jogging trail.”
As she described the encounter to them, she felt Malcolm's growing tension beside her. She regretted having to tell him this way. She knew the incident would upset him enough without his having to hear it in front of an audience.
“When the other runners and I arrived at my car, the BMW was gone,” Nicole concluded.
“And then a silver Beemer showed up outside my door as you were leaving,” Joyce added. “You're right. That's too much of a coincidence.”
Nicole looked at the detectives, who were still taking notes.
“You said this was about eight
A.M.
?” Miller asked.
“Closer to seven-thirty,” Nicole corrected, wondering if Miller were testing her to make sure she wasn't making up the encounter. She'd told them the time. She couldn't see him misunderstanding 7:30 for 8:00
A.M.
“Did you get the license plate?” Fairway asked.
“No,” Nicole admitted.
“Anything else?” Miller's pen hovered over his notebook.
“No.” Nicole sighed, trying to control the pain.
Fairway pocketed his notebook. “We'll run a report on four-year-old silver Beemers owned by men ages eighteen to thirty-five. See what we come up with. Call us if you think of anything else.” He paused and looked at Nicole. “You're very lucky, Ms. Collins. Speedy recovery.”
Without waiting for a response to his uncharacteristic sympathy, he turned and left. Miller nodded at the three of them, then followed his partner out of the room.
“Why didn't you tell me?” Malcolm demanded as soon as the detectives were gone. His voice was low but harsh.
“I think I'll step outside for a while.” Joyce looked at Malcolm. “Remember, she's not feeling well.” Then she left them alone.
Nicole turned to face Malcolm, bracing for the throbbing she knew would increase. “Was going to tonight.”
“You should have told me when you got back from your run this morning,” he countered, beginning to pace.
“Wasn't ready.” Nicole looked away from him. She wasn't up to monitoring his travels.
“Why not?” Malcolm turned to pace in the opposite direction.
“Thought I was being paranoid. Other joggers have paced with me during runs. Thought that's what he was doing.” She paused often to manage the throbbing in her head.
“Well, you were wrong.” Malcolm's tone was short, his anger growing. “Dammit, Nicky, something could have happened to you on that run. Have you forgotten someone broke into your apartment and trashed your stuff? Not to mention leaving behind messages threatening your life?”
Nicole winced as his raised voice cued the snare drummers in her head. She pressed her left hand against her pounding head and tried to catch her breath. “Mal, I hear just fine. And, no, haven't forgotten.”
“I'm sorry.” Malcolm lowered his voice. “I'm just angry with myself.”
Nicole frowned. “Yourself? Why?”
“I should have gone with you this morning.”
Nicole sighed and lowered her hand. “Those quiet words make me feel more guilty than your yelling.”
“I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty.” Malcolm sounded surprised.
“None of this is your fault,” Nicole continued. “I promise I won't run alone again until the stalker is found.”
Malcolm arched a brow. “How about you join my gym and run on the treadmills there?”
“A gym?” Nicole sighed in disgust. “We'll discuss it when I get home. When can I come home?”
“I'm hoping to bust you out of here tomorrow afternoon. And I'm going to hold you to your promise to discuss joining my gym.”
“Fine,” Nicole huffed.
Malcolm regarded her in silence for a long while. Nicole grew wary of the serious look in his warm brown eyes. When he spoke, he sounded almost resigned. “Will you reconsider your decision not to return to New York?”
Nicole met his gaze. “No.”
Malcolm's chest rose and fell as he took deep breaths. “I was afraid you'd say that.” He pulled his hand through his close-cropped hair. “Nicky, someone tried to kill you today. Perhaps twice today.”
“I know,” she whispered, wondering how long it would take for her to stop being afraid.
“This isn't a movie,” Malcolm pressed on. “If the bad guy gets too close, I can't yell, ‘Cut!' so I can rush in to save you.”
“And what about you, Mal?”
Malcolm jammed his hands into his pants pockets. “I'm not in danger.”
Nicole turned away to stare at the ceiling. She spoke quietly, in part because she was on the verge of tears. She blamed her sappiness on the pain and the fear. “I'm not going to run away, Mal. I'm not going to lock myself in some safe house while you become this psycho killer's target.” She turned to capture his gaze. “We're in this together.”
Malcolm stared at her, his jaw set. “Your safety is important to me.”
“You're important to me,” she returned. She was desperate for him to see the truth of her words reflected in her eyes. She needed him to accept how much it meant to her to stand with him during this crisis. She wanted to be with him always, in good times and in bad.
“It's your decision.” Malcolm's tone left no doubt he wasn't happy with the outcome. He walked around her bed to leave the room. “I'll be right back. I'm going to call Rita and tell her you're all right. For now.”
Nicole closed her eyes and tried to relax. Their contest of wills had aggravated her headache. She was counting each pulsing throb in her head when her tally was interrupted by a discreet cough. She opened her eyes just enough to see a young, burly, blond man standing awkwardly beside her bed. He was wearing an orderly's uniform.
“Excuse me, Ms. Collins.” He spoke in a soft voice, his cheeks growing pinker by the moment.
Nicole glanced toward the door, wondering if anyone would come if she screamed. “Yes?”
The young man glanced nervously over his shoulder. Nicole could hear the orderly's rapid breathing and wondered if he was going to faint.
“I really shouldn't be doing this, but I wonder if you wouldn't mind, if it's not asking too much, could I ask you to autograph my book?”
Nicole spied the book in question. It was almost swallowed in his meaty grasp. She smiled up at him. “I would love to. Do you have a pen?”
A dazzling grin spread across his face, banishing the almost-painful shyness. He passed her the book and handed over the pen he'd pulled from his pocket.
“Scott,” Nicole said, reading his name tag.
Scott's grin grew brighter, causing an answering curve to lift Nicole's lips. She looked down at the cover and saw he'd given her the third book in her series. She noticed the blank patient record form peeking from the pages and realized Scott was using the form to mark his place. He was more than halfway through the story.
“I'm rereading it,” Scott offered. “I can't wait for the next one.”
“I'm very flattered. Book four is scheduled for release in the summer.”
“Oh.” Scott's smile dimmed. “Well, I'll have to slow down with book three, then.”
Nicole chuckled, then regretted the action because it increased the pounding in her head. “Thank you for the compliment.”
She finished signing his book and handed it back to him, moving gingerly because of the stiffness in her right arm. The wattage of his smile increased again as he read her message.
Scott, thank you for taking care of me in Los Angeles County General Hospital. Warm regards, Nicole Collins.
“Gee, thanks,” he gushed.
“It's my pleasure.” She returned his pen.
“Wait until I tell everyone in the chat room about this,” he said, almost bouncing in his excitement. In that moment, he reminded her of a lovable St. Bernard.
“What chat room?”
“There's a chat room set up in cyberspace where people go to discuss your books. It's not a big group, and we haven't been up for very long. But people in the group are huge fans.”
“I didn't realize I had a chat room,” Nicole said. “That's amazing. What kinds of things do you discuss?”
As soon as she'd asked the question, Nicole wondered if she really wanted to hear the answer. It was gratifying to know people enjoyed your work. It also could be a little hurtful when people picked your stories apart. She thought it would be similar to the way parents felt when someone criticized their children.
Something about that comparison gave Nicole pause. It poked at a memory that should be closer to the surface of her thoughts. But the connection was disrupted by the throbbing in her head and the sound of Scott's voice.
“We talk about our favorite characters. My favorite is the Nguin ambassador's attaché,” Scott said. “I love to hate that guy.”
Nicole chuckled softly. “So do I.”
Scott smiled. “Way cool,” he declared. “We also try to figure out what's going to happen next with certain story lines. Like some people are trying to figure out Senator O'Neill's next move.”
“Really?” Nicole mentally patted herself on the back. It seemed as though she'd captured some interest with her secondary plots. Way cool, as Scott would say.
“Yeah.” He cocked his head and charmed her with a boyish smile. “I don't suppose you'll give me a hint?”
Nicole forced back a laugh. She didn't think her headache would handle the action. “Sorry.”
“Okay.” His smile didn't fade. “Some people are also wondering if the commander and the captain are going to get together.”
Nicole wanted to shake her head in amused exasperation. She couldn't imagine why that question was getting so much attention. There wasn't any sexual tension between the self-contained captain and the fearless commander.
Scott regarded her closely. “I don't suppose you'll give me a hint on that one?”
Nicole hesitated, reluctant to commit herself. “I won't rule anything out.”
Scott nodded. “Okay. I can appreciate that. There's a lot of discussion about the movie, too.”
Nicole stiffened. “Really? What are people saying?”
“Some people are looking forward to it. They think you'll do a good job making sure the producers stay true to the story. Some people are pretty upset. They don't think you should have sold the movie rights because they think the producers will do whatever they want with the story.”
Are any of those people upset enough to kill me?
The thought made her headache throb even faster. “The producer is also an
InterDimensions
fan. He'll do an excellent job with the movie.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Nicole looked up at the sound of Malcolm's voice. She felt more relaxed with his return. She watched with appreciation as his loose-limbed stride carried him into the room. He extended his hand toward Scott and offered a smile. “Malcolm Bryant. I'm the producer who's going to do an excellent job with the
InterDimensions
movie.”
“Wow,” Scott exclaimed, grabbing Malcolm's hand. “I'm Scott Gannon. I'm a big
InterDimensions
fan. And I've seen some of your movies. Great stuff.”

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