Mallory started coughing. His heart was racing and sweat poured from his skin. Dillon said, “He needs a doctor. He’s going into shock.”
Peterson stopped Dillon from pressing the call button. He leaned forward. “Mick, talk to me. What’s Merritt up to?”
“He…revenge. For Paige. He wanted me to kill him.”
Dillon pulled his arm from Peterson’s grip and pressed the nurse call button. Almost instantly one came in, checked Mallory’s vitals, and paged the doctor.
“You need to leave,” she said.
“Where’s Scott going now?” Dillon asked Mallory.
“I don’t know! I-” Mallory flopped on the bed. Two doctors rushed in and pushed Dillon and Peterson out of the room.
“Shit,” Peterson said, running a hand through his hair.
“Kate’s in trouble.”
“She’s in more trouble than from a killer on the run. I heard from my people in San Diego. Merritt is up here and he’s going to take her into custody.”
“No. She saved Lucy’s life!”
“There’s nothing I can do about it tonight, but tomorrow I’ll call in every favor I have.”
“She didn’t do anything.”
“She needs to answer for her actions, face the Office of Professional Responsibility. They’ll decide whether to prosecute or not.”
“But prison?”
“Merritt is high-ranking. I’ll do what I can. He crossed the line sending Mick Mallory into a deep undercover job. I’ll push Merritt, maybe get something we can cut a deal with.”
Peterson went down and Dillon went up three flights of stairs to where Kate had had her arm sewn up. She sat on the edge of her bed, alone. She was still wearing the white, bloody tank top. Her arm was bandaged. She was dirty, pale, and so tired it was all Dillon could do not to gather her in his arms and hold her.
“How’s Lucy?” she asked.
“Alive. Thanks to you.”
“And you.” She sighed. “No word on Scott?”
“No.” Dillon sat next to her, took her hand. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. The arm was nothing. More messy than anything. I just want to find a place to take a hot shower.”
“I have a hotel reservation.”
“What about Lucy? Aren’t you going back to San Diego?”
“She’s going back in the morning. She’s resting now. Peterson put a guard on her door. My sister Carina is with her now.”
“And you’re not going?”
“I’m going to talk to Roger Morton tomorrow morning. He called for his attorney, but Peterson and I are going to tag-team him. I’ve had experience interviewing killers.”
Dillon took a deep breath. “You need to know something. Your boss, the one you told me about, Merritt, is coming here. He wants to arrest you.”
“I expected it.”
Dillon turned her chin so she was forced to look him in the eye. “I will do everything in my power to make sure you don’t go to prison. Quinn Peterson will call in every favor. My brother Jack seems to know everyone on the planet. I’ll ask him to call the president of the United States if we have to.”
A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and Dillon wiped it with his thumb. Put his thumb to his lips and tasted her agony.
“I think you should do the right thing, face the board and tell them everything that happened five years ago. Including what you told me on the plane. That your partner wasn’t honest with you from the beginning. I know she’s dead, and she’s not here to answer the charges for herself. But she was your best friend. She would not want you to go to prison for something that wasn’t your fault. You acted to the best of your ability and knowledge. No one can expect anything more.”
“I-”
Dillon put his finger to her lips. “But,” he said, his voice low, “if you think the deck is stacked against you, if you think you can’t face it, I’ll help you disappear.”
“You’d do that for me? Why?”
He didn’t know why. A torrent of emotions assaulted him, feelings he’d never had. He’d never been an emotional man. He was reasonable, intelligent, professional. Reason over feelings, logic over emotion.
But here with Kate Donovan, his feelings refused to remain buried. He just didn’t know what to call them. He’d never experienced them before.
For a person who made his living working with other people’s emotions, Dillon was at a loss to understand his own heart.
“You saved Lucy,” he said simply.
“You’ll help me out of duty,” she said flatly.
“No, not duty. It’s more than that.”
She stared at him. “What? If not duty, why would you break the law to help me?”
“You’ve shown me more about myself than I’ve ever seen. You pushed me. You trusted me. You trusted me even when everyone you’ve trusted has let you down.”
“You’re a man who inspires trust,” she whispered, glancing down. “But do you trust me?”
He pushed her chin up again, his eyes falling to her lips. A small cut on her upper lip where the tree branch hit her was already healing. He leaned over and kissed it lightly. Then he kissed her again. Her hand came up around his neck and held him to her, a sob escaped her throat.
He swallowed her sob, kissed her again, opening her mouth, tasting her, pulling her tongue into his mouth. His arms went around her back, holding her. She molded perfectly to his body, her small breasts pushed flat against his chest, her hand clutching his hair.
He reluctantly pulled back. “Let’s go.”
“They haven’t released me.”
He smiled. “I’m a doctor. I’m releasing you.” He pulled her up, held her close. “Let’s see about that hot shower.”
Jeff Merritt started to walk into Lucy Kincaid’s hospital room and was stopped by a broad man in quasimilitary garb.
Merritt flashed his badge and started to walk past. The man put his hand out and held him back. “You can’t go in there.”
“I need to debrief the girl,” Merritt said.
“You are not allowed in there.”
“Out of my way, soldier.”
The man shifted his stance, from protective to offensive. “You need to leave,” he told Merritt.
“I don’t take orders from local law enforcement,” Merritt said. What did these people think he was? Some two-bit cop? He was an assistant director in charge in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He had more authority in his little finger than they had in their miserable lives.
The door opened and a woman stepped out. She shut the door firmly behind her and frowned at them. “What’s going on here? She’s sleeping.”
“I’m in charge of this investigation. I need to speak with the victim and get a statement.”
“Hell no,” she said, crossing her arms.
Merritt fumed. “And who are you?”
“Detective Carina Kincaid, San Diego Police Department. You’re not talking to Lucy until she’s ready.”
Merritt needed to find out what the girl knew, what Adam Scott had said or she had overheard. He had to find Scott. He couldn’t rest until that part of his life was over. He was so close, but once again Kate Donovan had
