The Alibi (46 page)

Hammond's right hand was slippery with blood,

but he managed to cram the key into the ignition and

start the motor. He dropped the gear stick into drive

and stamped on the accelerator. The tires laid down

rubber as his car shot down the alley and fishtailed

out into the street.

"Hammond, you're hurt!"

"What about you?" He took his eyes off the road

long enough to glance at Alex. She was sitting on her

knees in the passenger seat, reaching across the console

to examine his arm.

"I'm okay. But you're not."

What was left of his right sleeve was soaked with

blood. It dripped from his hand, making the steering

wheel almost too slippery to hold on to, and forcing

him to drive left-handed. But that didn't slow him

down. He ran a red light. "He's probably got friends.

They'll rob us and then steal the car. I've got to get

us out of this neighborhood."

"He wasn't trying to steal anything," she said with

remarkable composure. "He was after me. He called

me by name."

Hammond gaped at her; the car veered off the

road, nearly striking a telephone pole.

"Hammond!" she shouted. Once he had regained

control of the car, she said, "Head for the emergency

room. You're going to need stitches."

He released the steering wheel long enough to

drag his left sleeve across his forehead. He was

sweating profusely. He could feel it on his face, in

his hair, trickling down his ribs, gathering in his

groin. Now that the adrenaline surge was over, he

was feeling the impact of what had happened, and

what might have happened. He and Alex were lucky

still to be alive. Jesus, she could have been killed. The thought of how close she had come to dying

made him very weak and shaky.

At the first major intersection they came to, he

was forced to stop for a traffic light. He took deep

breaths in an effort to clear his head of a buzzing

noise that sounded like a thousand swarming bees.

"Your leg is bleeding, too, but it's your arm that

concerns me," Alex said. "Do you think he cut into

the muscle?"

Green light. Hammond pressed the accelerator

hard and the car bucked forward like a bronco charging

out of the chute. Within seconds it was exceeding

the posted speed limit. He could see the hospital

complex a few blocks ahead.

"Hammond, are you okay?"

Alex's voice seemed to drift toward him from far

away. "I'm fine."

"Can you drive the rest of the way?"

"Hmm."

"I don't think so. Stop here. Let me drive."

He tried to tell her that he was all right, but he

couldn't separate his words, so they came out garbled

and unintelligible.

"Hammond? Hammond? You need to turn here.

The emergency room--"

"No."

"You're losing a lot of blood."

"You're a doctor." God, his tongue had grown

thick.

"Not the kind you need," she exclaimed. "You

need a hospital. A tetanus shot. Maybe even blood."

Shaking his head, he mumbled, "My place."

"Please be reasonable."

"Two of us ..." He looked across at her and shook

his head. "We' screwed."

She grappled with indecision for several seconds,

but apparently came to the same conclusion. Reaching

across the console, she took control of the steering

wheel, which was slick with his blood.

"All right, but I'm driving."

She managed to steer the car to the curb and put it

in park. It took some effort, and some gentle but

forceful urging, to get Hammond to switch places

with her. She got out and went around, opened his door, and assisted him out. He was wobbly on his

feet. She tucked him into the passenger seat and se

cured the seat belt. As soon as he was settled, he laid

his head back and closed his eyes.

She couldn't have him pass out on her. "Hammond,

what's your address?" She reached for his cell

phone and began to dial. "Hammond!"

He mumbled a street address. "'Cross from marina.

Just. .."

He angled his chin in the right direction. Thankfully

Alex knew the street. It was only blocks away.

She could have him there within minutes.

Convincing Dr. Douglas Mann to make a house

call was another matter.

Miraculously, she had memorized his home

phone number. He answered on the second ring.

"Doug, Alex. Thank God I reached you." She explained

the situation as she drove, but omitted telling

him that it hadn't been a random attack.

"Sounds to me like he needs a hospital."

"Doug. Please. I'm calling in that favor."

Reluctantly, he asked for the address. She was

giving it to him as she pulled onto the street. "We're

here now. Come as soon as you can." The remote

opener for Hammond's garage was clipped to the

sun visor. She opened the garage door, then closed it

behind them as soon as she killed the engine.

Getting out, she ran around the hood of the car to

the passenger side. Hammond's eyes were still

closed. He was pale. When she tried to rouse him, he groaned. "It's not going to be easy, but I've got to get

you inside. Can you swing your legs out?"

He moved as though he weighed a thousand

pounds, but he managed. She slipped her hands into

his armpits. "Stand up, darling, and lean against

me."

He did so. But the movement hurt his right arm

and he yelped in pain. "I'm sorry," she said

earnestly.

It was like handling a hundred-eighty five-pound

rag doll. His coordination was shot. But he followed

her instructions, and she managed to get him out of

the car and on his feet. She supported him as they

shuffled toward the back door. "Is the door locked?

Will we set off an alarm?"

He shook his head.

She got him into the kitchen. "Where's the nearest

bathroom?"

He pointed with his left hand. The half bath was

located in a short hallway between the kitchen and

what she could see was the living room. She eased

him down onto the commode lid and flipped on the

wall switch. For the first time, she got a well-lit look

at his wounds.

"Oh, my God."

"I'm okay."

"No, no you're not."

The skin of his arm had been laid open. It was

hard to tell how deep the gash was because it was

leaking blood all along the cut. She went straight to

work. First she removed his jacket, then ripped the

sleeve of his shirt up to the shoulder seam. Yanking

towels and washcloths off the decorative bars, she

wrapped them around his forearm, pulling them tight to form compresses which would hopefully stanch

the bleeding.

Kneeling in front of him, she tried to rip his pants

leg, but the fabric was too strong, so she impatiently

shoved it over his knee. The cut along his shin

wasn't as deep as the one on his arm, but it was just

as bloody. His sock had absorbed a lot of it. She upturned

the empty wastebasket and propped his foot

on it, then wrapped his shin in towels as she had his

arm.

She stood up, pushed back her hair with a bloody

hand, and consulted her wristwatch. "Where is he?

He should be here by now."

Hammond reached for her hand. "Alex?"

She stopped fretting and looked down at him.

"He could've killed you," he rasped.

"But he didn't. I'm here." She squeezed his hand.

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"That you were with Pettijohn?"

He nodded.

"Because when they first questioned me, I

thought you had killed him."

His face went a shade more pale. "You thought--"

"I can't explain it all now, Hammond. It's too involved.

In the state you're in, it's doubtful you

would even remember it later. Suffice it to say that at

first I lied in order to protect myself. But when I

learned that Pettijohn had died of gunshot, I continued

lying to protect.. ."

He blinked, looked at her quizzically.

"You."

The doorbell rang. She pulled her hand free. "The

doctor's here."

He woke up, startled, her name on his lips. There

was something he must tell her, something urgent

they must talk about. "Alex." His voice was a croak,

alarming him. He moved to get up. The stiffness in

his arm caused him to remember.

He opened his eyes. He was lying in his own bed.

The room was dark except for a small night-light

that had been moved from the hallway and plugged

into a wall socket in the bedroom.

"I'm here."

She materialized at his bedside, bent over him,

and laid her hand on his shoulder. While he'd been

sleeping she had showered and washed her hair. She

was no longer covered in his blood, and her clothes

had been replaced with one of his oldest and softest

T-shirts. Just like at the cabin.

"It's time for another pain pill if you want one."

"I'm okay."

"Would you like some water?"

He told her no.

"Then go back to sleep."

She adjusted the sheet over his bare chest, but

when she tried to move away, he covered her hand

with his, keeping it trapped against his chest. "What

time is it?"

"A little after two. You've been asleep for a couple

of hours."

"Who was the doctor?"

"A friend of mine. A good friend. We can trust

him."

"You're sure?"

"Let's just say we've swapped professional favors.

He strongly advised me to take you to an emergency

room, but I prevailed upon him."

"Saying what?"

"That you didn't want to go through the rigmarole

of filing a crime report."

"He was okay with that?"

"No, because he saw Smilow and gang at my

house this morning. He knows something's amiss.

But I left him no room to argue. If your wounds had

warranted it, I would have insisted on the hospital

myself, no matter what. But once they were cleaned,

I was convinced he could treat them here. Actually,

you probably got better treatment here than you

might have received at the hospital. Much more

quickly, too."

"My memory of him is foggy."

"He gave you a shot that more or less knocked

you out, so I'm not surprised you don't remember

much. You suffered quite a trauma. It exhausted you,

and the blood loss made you weak." Smiling, she

stroked his forehead. "We had a heck of a time getting

you up the stairs. Wish we had it on video. We

could send it to America's Funniest."

"Will I keep my arm?"

Playing upon his joke, she replied solemnly. "He

wanted to take it, but I wouldn't let him. I threw my

body across it to protect it."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Truthfully, the wound was only

skin deep. Several layers of skin, but no muscle 01

nerve damage was done, thank God. Your leg didn't

need to be stitched. He said it would close on its own

within a few days. He gave you a tetanus shot and a

huge injection of antibiotics. Your butt's going to be

sore. He left some oral antibiotics and Darvocet

tablets for pain, which you can take every four

hours."

His bandaged right arm was propped on a pillow.

"It feels like lead, but it doesn't hurt."

"It's full of local anesthetic. As that wears off, the

soreness will set in. Tomorrow you'll be glad you

have the pain pills. Next week you can have the

stitches removed. Until then, you're to keep it in a

sling, elevate it when you can, and avoid getting it

wet."

"I was covered with blood."

"I gave you a bed bath."

"Sorry I missed that." He grinned, but it was a

struggle to keep his eyelids open.

"I also cleaned up your car and the bathroom.

They're spotless."

"You're an angel of mercy."

"Only to a point. I should be downstairs now

laundering the towels."

"Just throw them away."

"I guessed that's what you would say, so that's

what I did. Besides, I would rather be up here watching

over you." Tenderly, she combed her fingers

through his hair.

He shifted slightly, looking for a more comfortable

position. But even that much movement caused

him to wince.

"I'm giving you another pill."

This time he didn't argue. He was almost asleep

again when she pressed a tablet into his mouth, then

cradled his head in the crook of her elbow and eased

him up. She tilted a glass of water to his lips. He

swallowed the pill.

As she was lowering his head back onto the pillow,

he resisted, and nuzzled her breasts instead.

They felt full and inviting beneath the soft cloth of

his T-shirt. His lips closed around a nipple.

"You need to sleep," she whispered, gently easing

him away and back onto the pillow.

He sighed a protest, but his eyes automatically

closed. He felt her light kiss on his brow. And something

else, too. Opening his eyes again, he saw her

tears. Even as he watched, another splashed onto his