Cold Target (34 page)

She went through the door before he could reply.

She didn't want anyone else involved with this. With her. Too many people were dying. She didn't even want to go near Sarah.

But she had to visit her mother. She still hadn't told her mother that her father was dead. Would she hear her? Would her mother care if she could hear?

She recalled what her father had said. The last words he had said to her.
She never loved me
. Why then had they married?

If only her mother could speak to her again.

If only …

She fed Nicky, then went into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and awkwardly applied a touch of lipstick. She looked terrible. Her eyes were ringed with circles, and her face looked wan. Her arm still hurt like the blazes and she feared that anything she wore might soon be stained with the blood still oozing from the wound.

Not that it mattered. To even think about herself at this moment was self-centered.
She
was alive. Others had died.

She left the house and drove to the hospital, noting that Mack followed despite her dismissal.

At the hospital, she went directly to her mother's room. She said hello to the private duty nurse who stood when she entered.

“Ms. Rawson. We didn't think you would be in today.” She looked down at the newspaper she was holding.

Meredith hadn't seen it. She hadn't even thought about the paper this morning. She looked now. Spread over the front page were photos of herself, Gage and Rick Fuller.

Former Prosecutor Shot In Domestic Dispute. Renegade Cop Killed By Fellow NOPD Officer
.

She read the story, which was fairly accurate.

She handed the paper back, seeing the curiosity in the woman's gaze as it rested on her bandaged arm. “Should you be here?”

“It was just a graze.”

“Well, then, would you like some time alone with her?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The woman started for the door. She turned. “By the way, someone stopped by here last night. I went to the desk and he was standing in the door when I returned. He left when he saw me.”

A new frisson of fear ran through her. “Can you describe him?”

“In his fifties. Dark hair with gray on the sides. Blue jeans but they looked good on him. I only had a glimpse of his face. It was … arresting.”

“Please don't leave her alone again. Even for a few moments. She might be in danger,” Meredith said. She knew how odd that must sound. Her mother was dying. But she didn't want what time she had left cut short. She still hoped her mother would know a moment of lucidity.

The nurse started to say, “I'm sorry—”

“It's not your fault. No one told you or your service. But you know my father was killed by a hit-and-run driver. I don't think it was an accident. Someone might have a grudge against this family. I just want to be extra cautious.”

The nurse nodded and left the room. Meredith sat next to her mother and took her hand. It was little but skin and bones now. Her pallor was more pronounced than ever.

“It's just you and me now,” Meredith said. “Father died … was killed. I buried him yesterday. All your friends were there. They asked about you. You have so many.” She choked as she remembered Lulu Starnes and the photo of three young people who'd looked ready to conquer the world.

She leaned down and kissed her mother. Tears dampened her face as she laid her cheek against the parchmentlike skin of her mother.

She heard a knock on the door. She wiped her cheeks as the private duty nurse returned, followed by her mother's doctor. She stood to meet him.

He gave her a look of concern. “I'm sorry about your father,” he said. “I had hoped to attend the funeral, but I had an emergency.”

“Thank you,” she said. She drew him to the door. “I'll be taking over the responsibility for my mother's care. What … where are we?”

“You have some decisions to make. She didn't leave a living will. Your father ordered us to use all means to resuscitate.”

“How much longer does she have?”

“Her organs are closing down. No more than several days, if that much; as little as a few hours.”

“Is there any chance she will regain consciousness?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Can she hear anything? Feel anything?”

“I don't believe so,” he said gently.

Meredith looked down at the shadow of her mother. She probably didn't weigh more than eighty pounds now.

“Then no heroic means,” she said. “I don't think she would have wanted it.”

He nodded. “I'm sorry, Miss Rawson. I liked her.”

She noticed he used the past tense.

She went back to her mother's side. She hoped that on some conscious level her mother knew she was loved.

“I won't leave you,” she whispered in a choked voice.

B
ISBEE

Holly watched the hawk circle above and thought life couldn't get better than this. She wouldn't allow the past to intrude. Not now.

She wished she could capture these moments and seal them in a bottle.

It was Saturday. Doug had arrived with his niece, who greeted Harry like a little brother. He basked in her attention.

When Doug had opened the Jeep door for Holly, his slow smile warmed her all the way through. Despite his office, she couldn't help but feel comfortable with him.

She liked the affectionate but firm way he treated his niece and the easy manner he had with Harry. She liked the feelings he aroused in her. She longed to put her hand in his, just as she'd watched so many other couples do.

She'd always missed that kind of intimacy with Randolph. She couldn't remember him ever just grabbing her hand or wanting her with him on any occasion other than a political or social event.

When they'd reached the ranch, Russ had cast her a rueful glance as Doug helped her mount the mare, his hand lingering a moment more than necessary. Her pulse quickened and she felt a jolt of electricity run through her.

She had to force herself to concentrate as he lifted himself into the saddle. She sensed Doug's gaze on her as they rode toward the mountain. Harry was riding in front of Doug, protected by strong arms. It was always Doug now. Not Sheriff. She had tried to think of him as the latter, but it was hard to equate him with a gun or violence. She knew it was a cliché, but he was more gentle giant than lawman.

He was both. She had to remember that. He might not want to do anything if he learned the truth, but he would have to. She'd known him long enough to sense his integrity, his strong sense of duty.

She did not want to be responsible for making him choose between his job—his vocation—and her. She sensed she would destroy him if she did.

She should stay away from him. She knew he cared about her and that those feelings ran deep. She saw it in his face, in his eyes; heard it in the way his voice lowered to a husky whisper.

Hers did as well. She cared more than she'd wanted to admit. She relaxed with him. He liked her for who and what she was, and not for her looks. She'd certainly gone to a great deal of trouble to make herself plain.

She must never forget that she was married to someone. Someone who had tried to murder her.

“Liz?”

She looked at him.

“That was a heavy sigh. Something wrong?”

“Just thinking of the work I have to do. My garden creatures are doing well. I really shouldn't be here, but Harry loves to ride. His ambition is to be a cowboy,” she added. “A sheriff like ‘Sher'f Doug.'”

“What about Liz?” he asked.

“Liz likes it, too,” she admitted.

He continued to look at her. “Marty says your sculptures have been flying off the shelves.”

Her stomach knotted. He had been talking to Marty about her. Had Marty mentioned her delay in giving a Social Security number or that the telephone was in Marty's name? She struggled to get back to the subject. “She also says that once the summer season is over, sales go way down. I need to sell as many as possible before then.”

He didn't say anything but she saw the puzzled look on his face.

He was probably wondering why she didn't have insurance money from her husband's death.

She didn't explain. She couldn't lie in front of a son who knew his father was alive.

Once more, she told herself to stay away from Doug.

If only she could.

But she needed the sense of belonging that he brought to her life. The companionship. Harry needed it even more. Randolph was not the person she wanted Harry to emulate.

Doug's gaze kept coming back to her, though only in quick sideways movements. “There's a great movie for kids tomorrow night. I promised Jenny that I would take her. Perhaps …” His voice trailed off as if he knew her answer in advance.

A film. She knew the one he referred to. Magicians and magic and wonder. Harry would love it, especially going with Jenny. An older woman.

“You're smiling,” Doug said with surprise.

Did she really smile so rarely that when she did, it caused comment? And how to answer? She couldn't tell him the reason—that her son had a four-year-old's crush on Jenny. Not with Harry within listening distance.

But she saw Doug's eyes light.

She nodded. “Harry would like that.”

“And Liz?” he teased again, forcing her to make an admission.

“Liz would like it, too.”

“I'm afraid to push my luck too far, but what about dinner as well? I make a mean steak.”

This was spiraling out of control, and Holly knew it. Eventually, he would be asking more personal questions. And the more he knew her, the more he would be apt to realize when she was lying. And yet the invitation was alluring. She had been frantic about saving money in the event they might have to run again. She and Harry had been living on hot dogs, cereal, tacos and fifty other recipes for hamburger. The cowboy hat had been a rare treat for Harry.

Harry looked at her longingly.

But this invitation would lead to another and another. Dare she start something she couldn't end?

She couldn't completely isolate herself and Harry.

But a lawman?

She nodded. “Thank you, we would like that.”

A broad grin spread across his face. Then he turned back to the trail they were following as if afraid she would take it back.

She should. She should call him tomorrow and cite a headache.

But she knew she wouldn't.

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Meredith left her mother's side only when Gage appeared at the door. Mack must have told him where she was.

His gaze went to the bandage on her arm, then to her mother. He asked questions with his eyes.

“I'm all right. A little sore,” she said. “My mother …”

She didn't have to say anything. The labored breathing, the color of her mother's skin said it all.

He didn't say he was sorry, and she appreciated it. She knew everyone was being kind but she'd heard the words entirely too many times lately.

Instead he held her for several moments, careful not to hurt her arm.

“I couldn't find my sister,” she said. “Not in time.”

His arms tightened around her. “Perhaps it's time to stop looking.”

“I promised.”

“Okay. How can I help?”

She wanted his help. She needed his help. She needed him and the light he brought to a now hostile world. But she'd already hurt him. Violence swirled around her like a whirlwind. She didn't want him to be in the line of fire again. She didn't answer that question but asked one of her own.

“Any news from the shooting board yet?”

“No. It'll take a couple of days.”

“Thanks for sending Mack. I think he kept the reporters away last night.” She tried to smile.

He studied her face. “Last night wasn't your fault. If anyone is at blame, I am. I should have realized how far he would go.”

He looked exhausted. He hadn't shaved and light bristle shadowed his cheeks. She reached up and pushed back a lock of his hair. “I think you should go home and get some sleep.”

“I'll stay with you.”

Remember what happens to people around you
.

“No,” she said. “I … want to be alone with her.”

He stared at her for a long time. “I want Mack with you then.”

“This could be over,” she said.

“It could. And it couldn't. You might still be a target.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

He smiled. It was a tight smile but she liked it. Liked the pronounced dimple in his chin when he did.

She wanted to say more. She wanted to go home with him. She wanted him to go home with her. Just his presence made her world brighten, and right now it was in great need of the light.

“Go home,” she said.

“You'll call me if you need anything? You'll cooperate with Mack?”

“Yes.”

He put one of his hands to her cheek. It was a tender gesture and all the more meaningful since he so rarely revealed emotions.

A little like herself.

The thought was agonizing. That's what her mother had done. Kept her feelings and emotions wrapped in fire-retardant covering. Was she following her mother's example?

She didn't want to be like that. She didn't want to keep people at a distance. But she had. Learned behavior? Or simply a defense?

She stood on tiptoes and brushed her cheek against his stubbled one. It scratched her face but she didn't mind. “Thanks for coming.”

“I really would like to stay.”

“You need some rest. I'll be here.”

“You promise to call?”

She nodded. That wasn't really a promise.

She watched him leave, then sat back with her mother as her breathing became more labored.

Five hours later, Marguerite Rawson expelled her last breath.