emergency room. I was a bit over the edge myself at the time. Hysterical, I guess, though I hate to think of that word being applied to me. And the bloody bastard who raped her is doing nicely. He still likes young girls. He’s still got enough money to command a steady supply and charming enough so that rape isn’t necessary for him. He only seems to have problems when he leaves Italy. And that only once, with my little sister here, in Paris. I don’t pay much attention anymore. If it makes you feel any better, Taylor, I shot him. I did save her. A pity, but he pulled through.”
It was hard to stay calm, difficult not to strangle her. “If that was supposed to be an apology, it’s sadly lacking. Even as an excuse, it sucks. Maybe you can explain why you shot him and then turned around and accused Lindsay of seducing him. For God’s sake, didn’t you see him raping her?”
Sydney shrugged.
“Why did you turn around and attack her? Why did you let her father attack her? That’s what happened, isn’t it?”
“Stop being so melodramatic. For God’s sake, things are and were very complicated, particularly at that time.” Taylor watched her toss her coat over a hospital chair. She tossed her black purse on top of the coat. She walked back to the window. They were on the eleventh floor. “It’s very dark out,” she said after a moment. “I hate winter. It was very dark out even at five-thirty. I do hate the blackness.”
“Complications come out of lies. The truth is usually very simple.”
She turned. “A truism, Taylor? You really don’t know anything, you’re only guessing.”
“What do you want here, Sydney?”
Sydney suddenly smiled. “I called our father and told him Lindsay had been in an accident, evidently a very bad one. Would you like to know what he said? He asked me if Lindsay was going to live. I told him I didn’t know, didn’t have any details on her condition. He told me to call him immediately when I found out. If she was going to die, why, then, he would inherit all her money, and he needed to get the legalities under way.”
He was cold with rage. “And what did you say, Sydney?”
Sydney laughed. “Why, I told him I would call him back, naturally.”
“Her plastic surgeon is a Dr. Perry. Her other doctor is named Shantel. You may want to speak directly to Perry and to her. Lindsay will live, Sydney. She’s got broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and her face—I understand the bones were crushed but she’ll be all right. Be sure to tell her father that, won’t you? Tell the bastard for me that he can fuck his legalities. Tell him for me that if he comes near her, I’ll flatten him.”
“You don’t care for me much, do you, Taylor?”
“No.”
“You really shouldn’t hate her father. You don’t know him.”
“I don’t want to know him. He’s a shit.”
“You cared for Valerie, didn’t you? You were with her for three months?”
He said brutally, “I enjoyed fucking her, but only for a while. She was too possessive, too selfish. She had no control over herself. She was like a spoiled child who wanted everything her own way. I met Lindsay, and Valerie ceased to exist. I told Lindsay you reminded me of Valerie.”
Sydney picked up her coat and slipped her arms into it. She strode toward the door, her hand out for the knob, when she turned and said, “What happened to Lindsay’s face?”
“A falling beam struck her directly.”
She looked at him curiously. “Valerie told me how you enjoyed just looking at her because she was so beautiful. Lindsay isn’t in her league. What does she have now to hold you?”
“You seemed to think her money would hold anyone.”
“Perhaps, but it didn’t work for Valerie.”
“No.”
“Well, then?”
He went still, deeply and utterly silent.
She smiled. “Ah, perhaps it’s pity for the sparrow with the broken wing? Don’t you think so, Taylor? That fades, pathetic things always do, and all that’s left is the damned sparrow and it still has a broken wing. And your guilt because you aren’t interested anymore.”
Surprisingly, Taylor smiled back at her, a smile cold and taunting as hers. “I find you amazing, Sydney. I find your father amazing. You know something else? The real pity is that none of us can choose who our relatives are. I’d say that Lindsay got all the black cards in the deck.” He turned back to Lindsay then, and didn’t move until he heard the door close.
It was ten o’clock the following morning. Lindsay was awake and in pain. Taylor was going crazy watching her trying to control it. Finally the nurse gave her more medication. She fell into a light sleep. The nurse told him it was the facial swelling that was causing most of the pain.
He was on the point of going to their apartment to shower and change clothes when Sergeant Barry Kinsley of Manhattan South walked into the room.
“Jesus,” Taylor said, staring at his old sergeant. “What the blazes are you doing here?”
“Taylor? A shock, my boy, but at my age there shouldn’t be any more shocks. Why are you here? You know the lady?”
“She’s my fiancee. She’s sleeping right now. What are you doing here, Barry?”
“Official, Taylor, very official. Someone tried to kill the lady. The explosion wasn’t an accident, it was a bomb, one of those neat little plastic numbers, and it was detonated from about twenty yards away. She was right there, leaning against that ski lift, when someone detonated the explosive. No one else was anywhere near. A setup, straightforward, no muss, no fuss. Clean, sweet.”
Taylor saw red. “Excuse me a minute, Barry.” He ran out of the room.
20
Demos had left Lindsay’s room just two minutes before. Taylor ran down the hospital corridor. He saw Demos standing in front of the elevator banks and yelled, “You goddamned little worm! You filthy little bastard! Don’t you move!”
Demos turned, horror turning his skin pasty, as Taylor bore down on him. He didn’t hesitate. He poked frantically at the elevator button. Taylor grabbed him by his knotted tie and lifted him off his feet, pinning him against the wall.
“You damned little pervert!” He smashed his head into the wall. “That was no accident, that was a bomb, and it was meant for Lindsay! You didn’t even bother to warn me this time. Why not? Jesus, she’s lying in there because you’re a filthy scum and don’t pay your gambling debts!”
Taylor slugged him hard in the stomach and then in the jaw. And still he held him up, cursing him and punctuating his curses by banging him against the wall.
Taylor heard nurses yelling, saw people running toward him, saw some, terrified, running away. A patient came out of his room carrying a bedpan and dropped it. Urine splashed upward onto the linoleum floor. Taylor suddenly felt arms trying to pull him off Demos, but he didn’t let go. He wanted to kill the damned bastard.
“Taylor, my boy, stop it!”
Barry Kinsley was built like a bull. He was fifty-five, balding, five-foot-ten, and had a chest the size of a pork barrel. He was still one of the strongest men on the New York police force. He’d been one of Taylor’s instructors at the police academy and he’d taken him on the wrestling mat every time they’d gone at it. He’d tried to talk Taylor out of leaving the force. He’d remained a friend, distant, but always there, over the past few years.
He pulled Taylor off Demos, grunting with the effort—Jesus, he thought, he was getting too old for this shit —and Demos slid to the floor. He wasn’t unconscious; he looked up at Taylor, whimpered, and drew his legs to his chest in the fetal position.
“I didn’t do anything, Taylor, I swear it to you.”
“You miserable liar! Barry, let me go, damn you! I’ll beat the truth out of this little prick in no time.”
“Nope, Taylor. Now, boy, hold yourself still or I’ll have to rearrange that sexy face of yours. The ladies won’t like that, boyo. That’s right, deep breaths, get control of yourself, and tell Papa Barry what gives here.”
Taylor was trying to slow his breathing, trying to get back his control. It was tough. Barry loosened his grip
