A Bodyguard to Remember (22 page)

“A little, sometimes,” she said, distracted. She turned her attention back to me. “Cops aren’t easy to live with, you know. You might think it’s exciting now, but wait until he saves some other bitch’s life and she gets all his attention.”

I squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“I understand how it might seem like that, but Rick and I are cousins. That’s why he’s staying with us.”

“Us?”

“My kids and I.”

“But he said—”

“He just wanted you to realize that it was over between you. I was pretty angry about him telling you we were together.” Had I been? I can’t remember now. I gave Lorraine a rueful grin. “I don’t think he’s really good for you, do you?”

This gave her pause, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t think Richard is hot?” she asked, daring me to deny what it was she felt was as obvious as the sky being blue.

“I think he’s cute,” I allowed. “Not as cute as these firefighters though.”

Her eyes wandered over to the flaming car.

“No one,” she said, with a touch of reverence in her voice, “is as hot as a firefighter.”

We watched them put the fire out.

The police arrived. Parrino was there. I signalled him to wait a moment.

“Lorraine?”

“Hmm?”

I’m not positive, but I think she was picturing herself being rescued by one of the firefighters—the really tall one, given the way her eyes followed him. I tugged her hand to get her attention.

“It’s time to face the music. I don’t know you well, but you strike me as a woman who prefers to take the dignified route whenever possible.”

She nodded, pulling herself up to her full height.

“True.”

“Well, that means owning up to what you did.”

She smiled down at me, “I don’t think so. They’ll arrest me.”

“That will happen anyway, Lorraine. However, if you get yourself a good lawyer, tell the truth and make a plea for diminished capacity due to emotional stress, not only will you come off looking good, you’ll probably find yourself in a nice hospital, not sweating it out in a prison laundry. The important thing is to take the high road.”

“It’s the only road I ever take.”

Parrino stepped forward. He had heard every word and was now viewing me with awe.

“Lorraine Charles?”

“Ms. Charles to you, Detective.”

He didn’t roll his eyes, but I could tell he wanted to.

“We need you to make a statement, ma’am.”

“Of course,” she said. “Can . . .” She waved towards me.

“Prudence,” I provided.

“Can Prudence stay with me?”

No eye roll. Parrino’s eyes bugged.

“I don’t think so,” I said, when it was obvious Parrino had no ready answer. “I have to give my statement separately. However, before you go, Lorraine, there’s something I’ve always wanted to do . . . would you mind?”

She smiled.

“Go ahead, dear.”

She held out her hands and I cuffed her.

Parrino signalled the police officer who provided the hardware to take Ms. Charles away. I noticed that another uniformed officer was questioning Rick.

“You were very good with her,” Parrino said, shaking his head in that bemused male way. “No one would ever have guessed that she just tried to run you down.”

“She did run me down,” I said, not sounding nearly as calm as I did a minute ago. “I need a paramedic. Fast.”

I could feel the world recede. Parrino got a hand under my elbow. Someone else was on my other side. An acrid scent pulled me back from the brink.

“Smelling salts,” the Fire Department paramedic explained, giving me a warm smile.

I’m not positive, but I think he was in last year’s local firefighters calendar. Proofing the content pro bono was one of the ways I gave back to my community.

“We’re going to get you to sit down. Lean on me.”

I couldn’t sit. That’s where it hurt. The SUV hit the top of my thighs. The license plate ripped into my right leg. I could feel it bleed while I talked to Lorraine. Now, I was feeling cold and faint.

I either articulated that, or he worked it out.

“The ambulance is here,” he said. “We’ll get you lying down soon.”

I nodded.

And then I heard a familiar voice.

“Thought so,” he said. “Remember me? I’m Bob and you’re . . .

“Prudence Hartley,” I managed.

“Pru, right? I think we’ve met once or twice.” He gave me a wink. “Let’s get you out of the cold and I’ll look at that wound. Are you up to date on tetanus?”

I nodded. At this point, I was on the verge of tears from the pain, feeling nauseous, cold, and shaking from shock. Nodding was about all I could manage.

“We’ll need photos for evidence,” Parrino pointed out. Then I heard his voice recede as he shouted out orders to other people.

I let Bob get me onto the stretcher. He had me lie on my side so he could apply a pressure bandage to my cut. Rolled blankets supported me so that I was half on my back. Then I was wrapped and strapped.

Parrino came back to check on me. I grabbed hold of his sleeve.

“Is Rick okay?”

“He’s shaken,” said Parrino. “I don’t think he saw this coming.”

Bob touched my hand.

“You guys can talk later,” he said.

“Wait,” I said, pulling at Parrino’s arm. “I didn’t get the chance, can you call Merrick?”

He patted my hand.

“Already done.”

*    *    *

Walter must have been keeping an eye out for me because he came out as soon as the cab pulled up.

“You okay, Prudence? I heard about the accident.”

“I’m okay. A few stitches . . .”

Walter eased the pack off my shoulders and carried it into the house and through to the kitchen while I divested myself of my coat and boots.

 “Sit. I’ll make you tea. Did the collision open your wound? Did you crack your ribs again? Frankly, Prudence, you look liked death warmed over.”

I started to laugh, but I was too sore. It was times like this that you remember that the rib bones are connected to the backbone and the backbone is connected to the shoulder bones. I dug my painkillers out of my purse before answering Walter’s question.

“The dressing soaked through while I was being X-rayed for the second time today. The tech called a nurse who changed the dressing. She assured me that I could expect seepage to increase when I was stressed—something to do with my blood pressure spiking.” I gave him a weak smile. “I guess being almost run down counts as stress.”

“Poor Prudence. Do you want me to bring you some lunch? I made myself a tuna casserole. There’s some left over.”

“No, thank you.” I hoped I hadn’t said that too quickly. “I’m not sure I can face food yet. Tea is great.”

Walter nodded. As soon as the tea was made, he excused himself.

“You should go rest,” he said, heading for the back door. “Give me a call if you need anything.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He left and I let out a long sigh of relief.

Whatever came next, taking Walter’s advice made the most sense for now. Funnily enough, with all the various stressors, the one that really took it out of me was having my wound gush. It was almost as if I had been leaking fuel and now I was running on empty.

I checked under my dressing. It looked benign now, but appearances could be deceptive. Under the circumstances, I decided to leave my pack in the kitchen. As it was, I had to drag myself up the stairs.

Five minutes, I told myself, as I changed into an over-sized t-shirt. I’d lie down for five minutes—thirty minutes tops. Then I’d do whatever I had to do. I lay on top of the covers so I wouldn’t get too comfortable, then pulled half my duvet over top of me so I wouldn’t get chilled. Luxuriating in the feeling of release that came from letting go of my tension, my eyes drifted shut.

I wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but someone was shaking my shoulder. Groggy, it didn’t immediately occur to me to be worried. Then two little words took me from zero to sixty.

“Wake up.”

I was completely and absolutely awake—so awake I knew I had to be careful how I reacted.

“Huh?” I grunted. I sat up, pulling the cover up protectively. “Kallas? What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?”

It was dark except for the light spilling in from the hall. I shot a glance at my bedside clock. It was seven-fifteen. I’d been asleep for almost four hours.

“Get dressed. Time to leave.”

“What are you talking about?”

She backed away a couple of steps. For a moment, Kallas was silhouetted by the hall light. Then she flipped on my overhead. I winced at the brightness.

She wasn’t in uniform, but she had her tough cop face on, just as she had the night of the murder. I didn’t fool myself into believing that she was here on police business, however. If her reason for being here was legitimate, she wouldn’t be holding a gun on me.

“Delia, you can stand there, pointing that gun at me ’til the cows come home,” I said, in the role of nervous but mostly outraged friend. “I’m not going to move until you explain what’s going on.”

She picked up my portable phone and pocketed my cell phone.

“You’re not stupid, Pru. You know why I’m here. I have a call to make. You’ve got five minutes. I’ll be waiting outside your door.”

“Five minutes,” I said, nodding.

What the hell could I do in five minutes?

As soon as the door closed behind her, I threw back the covers, pulled on jeans, and layered a sweater over my t-shirt. As I scrambled, I tried to think. How could I let Merrick know what was happening?

Although neither Merrick nor Zeke went into depth about their investigations, I knew that almost everyone I knew, with the exception of Boone and Hope and the possible exception of my mother, were considered suspects. Merrick never said anything directly, but I think Rick was his favourite suspect right up until Lorraine tried to kill me. The poor way he handled her didn’t jibe with a spy master.

My money had been on Walter, which would have made me feel awful about now if I had time to worry about it. I’d really hoped it wasn’t Kallas, though it worried me how much she had inserted herself into my life and the investigation.

“Two minutes,” Kallas called through the door.

It reminded me of getting Hope and Boone off to bed. Like my kids, I looked for a way to prolong the inevitable.

“Why?” I asked. “What’s going on? Why two minutes? Why not three or ten or—”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” She sounded weary, disappointed. “It was a clever trap, but I discovered it. Fortunately, I’m prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

I jerked the door open, startling her.

“Why are you doing this? I thought you were my friend.”

For a moment, she looked sad and the hand holding the gun dropped a little. That was my cue.

I slammed my arm down on her. She yelped in pain and lost her grip on the pistol. I kicked it through the bathroom door and swung my arm into her shoulder, knocking her out of the way. Before she collected herself, I was behind the locked bathroom door. The iron bar, a leftover piece of hardware I kept under my bed just for an occasion such as this, slid down my arm and out my sleeve.

To think, my mother thought I was crazy, always having a blunt instrument under my bed. Seth joked that I’d use it against him one day. He wouldn’t laugh now. I kept the bar within reach and picked up the gun. Nate hadn’t turned me into a sharpshooter, but he’d taught me enough.

Mere seconds had passed. Kallas recovered and slammed against the door. It creaked, but held.

I shot—maybe on level with her hips if she was standing upright. I knew the chances of me hitting her through the door were slim, but I wanted her to know I was prepared to use the weapon against her.

For a moment, there was silence, except for the ringing in my ears.

“You’re making things difficult.”

“Then make it simple,” I shouted at the closed door. “Just go. You don’t need me. Go while the going is good. Take my cell phone and portable phones. I won’t be able to call out . . .”

“I do need you.” Her voice was calm, but loud enough to ensure I heard. “You’ve made it clear that Merrick is onto my little sideline.” Not accusing. Just stating the facts, ma’am. “You’re my insurance—you and your children. Even as we speak, I have operatives picking up the twins at their great-grandmother’s farm. If I don’t meet them at the appointed place—with you of course—they will kill Hope and Boone. Do you understand, Pru?”

The thought of Hope and Boone being kidnapped made my knees weak. I sat on the edge of the bathtub, forcing my mind to focus on the situation as it was, setting aside what might be.

“Open the door,” said the reasonable, helpful cop. “You aren’t in any danger as long as you cooperate.”

She meant to soothe me. I made her try harder. “How long do we have to be your hostages? How do I know my children are safe? If you want me to be reasonable, you need to give me answers.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Short answers will do for now.”

She blew out a sigh. Again, I wondered, why the hell didn’t she just cut and run. Surely, I wasn’t worth all this trouble. When I thought it was Walter, I assumed some sort of romantic attachment. If it had been Rick . . . he would never have threatened my children.

“You’ll be my hostages until we’re safely out of the country. Then you can go home and I’ll disappear. I don’t want to hurt you. This is business, not personal.”

Not personal? You don’t threaten my children and say it’s not personal.

“I need to talk to Hope and Boone first. I need to know they’re safe.”

“You can call them,” she said. “That’s a reasonable request. Open the door.”

I unlocked the door and stepped back, holding the pistol out in front of me, braced in both hands.

Kallas turned the nob and pushed the door open with her foot. She had a second gun pointed at me. Not overly trusting. That’s okay. Neither was I.

“I have Hope and Boone’s numbers on speed-dial on my cell phone,” I said, voice pretty steady, if I do say so myself. “You give me the phone, I’ll give up the gun.”

She pulled out my cell phone and placed it on the counter. I picked it up and lay down the pistol. She stuck the second gun in the waistband of her jeans and picked up the one I had relinquished. Meanwhile, I flipped open the phone, and hit the necessary buttons.