Honor (12 page)

“The neurologist came around on morning rounds—not Dr. Asher, someone else. Apparently she is still stable, but—”

Kenzie stiffened in the seat of the car, braced for bad news.

“She’s been so quiet all this time. But now—” Mrs. Corelli was silent for a few seconds. “She was moaning today, Kenzie. Like she’s in pain. He told us and the doctors with him that she probably isn’t, but I—I don’t know.”

“Did they say anything else?”

Mrs. Corelli thought for several seconds. “There’s concern about the sedation. Dr. Asher approved a change in it and it is lower, but she still needs careful monitoring. The neurologist mentioned possible problems with clots—fluid in the lungs—things like that. Alf and I were so worried, but we weren’t sure if he was speaking generally or what.”

“I can come. Right now. Let me help, however I can.”

“Thank you, Kenzie.” Mrs. Corelli whispered the reply. “We really appreciate it.”

“I’m on my way.” Kenzie turned the key in the ignition.

“Before you hang up—”

“Yes?”

“Is it possible for you to pick up Christine’s laptop and bring it in?”

“Ah—I could,” she stammered. “Why?”

“All her photos are on it.”

“You’re right about that,” Kenzie answered, still puzzled.

“I’m not making myself very clear, am I?”

“Well, no, but it sounds like you have a lot on your mind.” And Kenzie wasn’t going to add to her worries, either. Not yet.

Mrs. Corelli went on, “One of the neurology residents brought up post-trauma memory loss in brain-injured patients and ways to treat it, including visual aids. I caught her in the hall, asked for more information.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, when Christine regains full consciousness—”

She broke off. The aching hope in the older woman’s voice was heartbreaking. Kenzie waited. Mrs. Corelli had said
when
. Not
if
.

“They expect that she will, then,” Kenzie prompted.

“Yes.”

“That’s good news.” But it didn’t explain away the changes in Christine’s behavior that had upset her mother. Maybe there was no explanation for the moaning.

“It is. But not a guarantee of anything.” Mrs. Corelli’s voice cracked a little. Kenzie waited while she composed herself.

“Anyway, going forward, it’s likely to be a while before Christine can talk to us or even form words. But she should be able to recognize images she knows. So I thought perhaps you and I could use the laptop to put together a slide show of family and friends—especially you, Kenzie—and her favorite activities, things like that.”

“Oh. Sure.” Stall for time, she told herself. “Um, when would you want to do that?”

“We could get started on it today or tomorrow. What do you think?”

“I’m all for it. I have to call you back, though. Soon—I promise. I’m in the car right now.” Not driving it, but she would be. Kenzie looked around the JB Kennels parking lot. A couple of fancy cars had come in. Clients, most likely. She wanted to get going.

“Of course, Kenzie. And thank you again. You’ve been so great—I hate to ask you to do anything more.”

“Don’t say that. I want to.”

Kenzie tossed her cell back into her purse as she backed out and headed down the county road. She heard the incoming text a minute later.

Christine’s parents didn’t have to know about the hacker right this second, not with their daughter in such bad shape. Once she told them what had happened, they would have to stay out of the apartment permanently.

Linc’s comment about someone stealing the laptop before he could retrieve it came back to her. The idea stoked fresh anger. She struggled to control it by driving at a steady fifty-five.

Bad enough the stalker had hacked into it. He wasn’t going to get his actual hands on the thing. The thought made her flesh crawl. Homicidal bastard. If he appeared in the road right now, she wouldn’t swerve. She’d—she’d—

She would do the obligatory right thing and call Linc before going back to Christine’s apartment. He had thirty seconds to answer and five minutes to return her call if he didn’t pick up at once. Tough luck otherwise.

Kenzie kept driving as she formulated a plan. Christine’s building had seemed to have a lot of people coming and going, tenants or whoever. She’d scout out the exterior stairs, get to the second-floor apartment, and stand back when the door opened, then get in and get out, fast.

But she wasn’t going to risk her life if anything seemed wrong. Kenzie pulled over on the shoulder, raising dust, and dialed Linc.

No answer. She let it ring just long enough for the attempt to register as a missed call and hung it up. He couldn’t say she hadn’t tried. That was as virtuous as she was going to get.

The phone fell toward the back of the car when she took off again, gunning the car onto the empty road.

Suddenly she was a lot less afraid. If the hacker showed up again on the laptop, it would be a second chance to get a screen grab. More than one if she could.

Face. Eyes.

If only she could reach through the screen and haul him out for an appropriate punishment. Total fantasy, but what a fantasy. Kenzie’s foot pressed down on the accelerator.

Linc saw her number on the call-waiting box. One ring. Two. Three. His commanding officer was on the line. Hang on, he told Kenzie mentally.

“So. You staying down there another week, Linc?”

Four. Five. “Yes sir. With your permission.”

“What was the name of that little town again?”

“Ridgewood.”

“Never heard of it.” The officer chuckled. “I guess it doesn’t matter. By the way, your coworkers on the project don’t seem to miss you much.”

It was protocol to keep specific information out of phone calls, which were ridiculously easy to intercept. There was only so much encryption could do.

The call-waiting box disappeared and Linc swore silently. “I check in every day.”

“That’s what I hear. Keep it up,” the other man said affably. “So long.”

Linc looked at the phone screen and jabbed the message icon. There weren’t any. He called her. No answer.

Damn it. What could he do? He had no way of tracing her, and he couldn’t just jump in the car and chase her around.

Then again, he could be overreacting. Maybe she’d called to tell him what a great guy he was, but hadn’t wanted to say that to voicemail.

He wished.

C
HAPTER
5

H
e left the motel to get something to eat, not forgetting to bring the phone in his pocket. It stayed silent as a rock.

It occurred to Linc that she might have called to let him know she’d rescheduled with the lieutenant. Somehow he doubted it. He wondered why she was leery of the police—she had to have worked with cops now and then, unless JB Kennels only trained military working dogs.

Could be just her natural impatience, combined with her army brat’s sense of superiority. But she was right about how long it would take the police to get an investigation under way. That didn’t mean he was going to brush them aside. He was curious about what the lieutenant would have to say.

Of course forensic analysis took forever. But there was no other way to amass the kind of evidence that could put the stalker behind bars. Conjecture wouldn’t do it.

He wouldn’t let that stop him.

Linc got in his car, taking his time and eventually finding his way to the road that led past the Arlington military cemetery. The rows of white markers standing sentinel passed by in a heartbeat, but made him think.

Never forget.
It was that simple.

He focused on the road again, seeing the Washington Monument, the highest point in DC, alone against the blue fall sky. Standing tall.

He drove farther into Arlington proper, heading for a side street lined with ethnic restaurants. Unfortunately, none were open. He settled for franchise food from a drive-through and tossed the takeout bag into the front passenger seat, then headed back to the motel.

The parking lot was just about empty by the time he pulled back in. Linc unlocked his door and sat down to feed himself. He wouldn’t call it a meal.

In five minutes, he finished the tasteless sandwich he’d bought and got rid of the wrapping. Then he rolled up a magazine and used it to sweep the others off the motel table so he could put his feet up on it.

He leaned his head back on scratchy metallic upholstery that hadn’t been cleaned since disco died. He wished he had earphones and a decent playlist to blast into his brain.

There was nothing to listen to but the drone of a vacuum in the next room. He’d hung a Do Not Disturb sign on his door. The housekeeper would have to come back later.

He entered points on his mental grid.

Girl A. That was Christine, the stalker’s first target, although Linc was keeping an open mind on that. There were other possibilities.

She and Kenzie, Girl B, hung out constantly, did a lot of things together. Neither had been aware that someone was watching.

Linc tried to think like the stalker.

If he’d ever spied on Kenzie in action at the kennels or a local event that featured the JB dogs, he knew how tough she was. Her best pal Christine was easier prey.

Everyone loves her.
Kenzie had said it.

The line from A to B had proved to be short.

Had he hoped for a two-for-one when Kenzie loaned Christine her car? He must have been disappointed when Christine drove off alone, but he hadn’t wasted any time.

Stalkers could be methodical and remarkably patient. But obsessions had a way of intensifying. Demons had to be fed. Voices got louder.
Harass, hurt, kill.

The creep had followed Christine, then forced her off the road on a lonely stretch of highway. Maybe he’d intended to rape her or worse—other cars or trucks could have driven by, not stopping, not seeing.

He had to have a self-protective streak. He hadn’t chanced it, just taken off. Leaving Christine unconscious and badly injured, trapped in a car that could have exploded in flames at any second.

Just thinking about it made Linc want to slam the stalker’s face into something hard, like a concrete wall, repeatedly.

Uncivilized. Illegal. Effective.

He kept on thinking. About the shadows he’d seen in Kenzie’s hall. Linc hadn’t imagined them. Done with Girl A, Evil Eyes had doubled back to Girl B’s building for more sick fun.

Picked Kenzie’s locks. Or simply pushed in her half-latched door. And got scared off by Linc.

It bugged the hell out of him that he remembered so little. The stalker remained a shadow, tantalizingly out of reach.

Unless ...

A fair amount of time had elapsed between when Linc had glimpsed the aftermath of the accident on TV and when he himself had ended up at Kenzie’s building.

The stalker could have sped away seconds after the crash. And done a U-turn in the next minute, come back around, rubbernecking before the cops took over.
Keep going. Nothing to see here, people. Move it.

The cameraman might have filmed that when he and the reporter were warned away from the wreck.

Even with live feeds, someone at the station controlled what got on the air. There had to be outtakes—the stalker could have been recorded. Driving a car that could be ID’d. A visible face in the window that Kenzie might recognize.

Time frame—he needed one to mesh with the grid in his mind and pin the stalker to it. The news footage was digitally stamped down to the second, if he could get a look at it.

Did the first responders actually get there first? How long was it before Christine was pulled from the wreck? Linc didn’t know but he could find out, if he could get Kenzie to play nice with the police department. It would have to be her. It was her car that had been wrecked and her friend that had been hurt.

Besides, a beautiful woman had a definite advantage, if the officers she was dealing with were male. The broadcast, if he remembered it right, confirmed that the Ridgewood PD and emergency response team didn’t seem to have heard of affirmative action.

If Kenzie didn’t see the need to cooperate just yet, he knew a woman who could help.

Linc swung his feet off the coffee table and reached for his cell. Time to make some calls. His younger brother had to have a phone number for Kelly Johns, star reporter. RJ had said something about her being interested in Deke.

He remembered vaguely that she’d come up through the ranks, going from smaller stations to larger. The sleazy reporter who’d covered the accident looked like he’d stayed stuck in the trenches. Still, she might know something about him or know someone who did. He figured Kelly would be happy to give him the skinny.

He speed-dialed Deke.

Not too long after that, Linc was having a cup of lousy coffee with the reporter who’d covered the crash. Gary Baum had arrived within minutes of Linc’s call, but they were getting nowhere.

The guy liked to whine. “I have no idea why they towed my freakin’ car—I mean, I had every right to be on the scene of the accident and I showed my press pass. But whoa, I touch the wheel of the wreck and the deputy acts like that was a felony or something, reams me out. The station had to cut the live feed and blast a commercial.”

“I remember it.”

The reporter gave him a disbelieving look. “You do? Nice to know someone pays attention to my broadcasts once in a while,” Baum said sourly.

“You do a good job,” was Linc’s bland response. If he had to stroke this guy’s ego to get a look at the footage, he would. Gary Baum was self-absorbed to a fault. No wonder he hadn’t noticed Linc at the impound lot.

Baum glanced up at the monitor positioned high on the coffee shop wall. “I’m just a lowly reporter. There’s our star anchor, Mark Huxley.”

He pointed and Linc looked too. “Uh-huh.”

“With a late-breaking update,” Baum mimicked the anchor’s deep voice, “on the pothole crisis in downtown Ridgewood.” He watched as the anchorman positioned himself in front of a large crater in the street. “Two steps backward, he falls in and gets mud all over that expensive suit. Okay with me. I want his job,” he sighed. “Then I could afford a suit like that. Around the station my nickname is Baum the Bum.”