The Marriage Profile (15 page)

“Here, you look like you could use this.”

Angela looked up at the slender blonde offering her the cup of coffee. “Thank you,” she said, and tried to put a name with the face.

Apparently recognizing her confusion, the woman smiled at her and said, “I'm Jenny. Hawk's wife.”

“Hello, I'm Angela Mason, Justin's…Justin and I used to be married.”

“I know. Hawk told me,” Jenny said. She motioned to the chair next to Angela. “May I?”

“Oh, yes. Please.”

“I'm afraid your lovely dress is probably ruined,” Jenny told her. “Blood is a tough one to get out, but I have this spot remover that's worked well on fabric stains in a few of the places I've done interior design work for. If you'd like to try it, I'd be happy to send you some.”

Angela looked down at her clothes, saw the bloodstains on her dress. Justin's blood, she thought, and shivered as she recalled hearing him shout to her, then turning and seeing him get hit, his body falling to the ground and blood spilling from his shoulder.

“Try not to worry,” Jenny told her, giving her arm a motherly pat. “He's going to be fine. Hawk tells me that Justin's much too stubborn to let a bullet keep him down for long.”

Angela smiled at that. “Yes, he is stubborn,” she murmured, unable to keep the wobble from her voice.

The doors from the hospital operating room swung open and Michael O'Day walked out. Angela stood at once. She was barely aware of Jenny taking her coffee cup from her fingers, putting it aside and then Jenny taking her hand and holding it in a show of support.

“How is he, Michael?” Kate Wainwright asked as she stood beside Archy, his arm around her shoulders.

“He's fine. No serious damage,” the good-looking surgeon told her. “His upper arm is going to be sore for a few days and he'll need to wear a sling for a while, which he isn't too happy about, I might add. But that's really just to keep him from overusing the arm and to give the wound a chance to heal.”

“Thank God,” Kate said, and buried her face in Archy's shoulder.

“Doctor, could I see him?” Angela asked, and realized almost at once that as Justin's ex-wife her need to see him could in no way usurp his family's need. “I'm sorry,” she told Justin's parents. “Of course, you'll want to see him first.”

“It's all right,” Archy told her. “Somehow I suspect Justin would much rather see your pretty face than mine. What do you say, Kate? Is it okay with you if Angela sees the boy first?”

Kate swiped the tears from her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “Archy's right. You go ahead, dear. Now that I know my baby's going to be okay, I don't mind waiting.”

“Your baby?” Michael O'Day repeated, his voice filled with humor. “You should have heard the colorful language that baby of yours was using when I was working on his shoulder.”

But Angela didn't wait around to hear Kate's reply because she hurried through the doors, eager to see for herself that Justin was all right. Not sure what to expect after the crazed ride in the ambulance during which he'd drifted in and out of consciousness, Angela was relieved to see him sitting up in the hospital bed and glaring at the nurse who'd stuck a thermometer in his mouth and was taking his blood pressure.

“Much better,” the sturdy-looking nurse said as she removed the blood-pressure cuff from his arm and took the thermometer from his mouth.

“I want my clothes,” Justin informed the nurse, who didn't even look up from the chart on which she was writing. “Did you hear me? I want my clothes so I can get out of here.”

“I heard you, Sheriff. And I'll tell you what I told you the last time—I'll let the doctor know.”

“You tell O'Day I'm leaving—with or without my pants.”

Unfazed, the nurse walked away from him, pausing only long enough to tell Angela, “He's supposed to rest quietly. If he gives you any trouble, ring for me.”

“Angela,” Justin said upon spying her standing there. “Good thing you're here. Come over here and help unhook me from this stuff,” he told her, motioning to the IV bag and monitor hooked to him.

“I don't think you should do that,” she told him as he struggled to get up.

He pinned her with serious green eyes—eyes that were all cop. “Did they catch the shooter?”

“No, I don't think so.” Ricky had told her when he'd called her at the hospital that a search had been made, but with the huge crowd whoever had shot Justin had been able to get away.

“Then I need to get out of here so I can find him,” he said, and resumed his efforts to untangle the sheets from around his legs.

“Your deputies are looking for him and Luke Callaghan called in some security people he works with to help.”

When the IV line got in the way of his efforts to free himself from the sheets, Justin swore. He let out a breath. “Listen, I am not dead. I am not dying. I have what amounts to little more than a scratch on my shoulder. I'm fine. So will you come over here and give me a hand with these sheets?”

Angela went to him, assisted him with the sheets. And as she straightened and came to eye level with him, she couldn't help noticing the bandage that covered his shoulder—and the dark red stain beneath the thick gauze. He was too busy studying the IV lock in his hand to notice her scrutiny. Despite his attempt to downplay his condi
tion, there was a gray cast beneath his sun-bronzed skin, and shadows stood out like faint bruises beneath his eyes. “Justin, please. You've been shot, and you've lost a lot of blood. What you need to do is rest.”

“What I need to do is find my clothes so I can get out of here. Check that closet over there for me, will you, while I see if I can get this thing off?”

She found his suit hanging there. Evidently his blood-soaked shirt had been cut off of his body in order to remove the bullet. The knowledge of how close he'd come to being killed caused her stomach to pitch.

“You find them?”

Swallowing back the bile that had risen in her throat, she grabbed the pants, jacket and boots. “I found them.”

He'd managed to remove the IV needle from the shunt in his hand and stood beside the bed clutching a hospital gown below his waist and staring down at the colored sensor leads on his chest. “Am I supposed to just rip these things off?”

“I think so.” She suspected it was the prospect of him ripping out some chest hairs that made him hesitate. He made a grunting sound and tore the sensors off from his chest one by one.

“Thanks,” he said when he took the pants from her. Still favoring his injured arm, he held the slacks out in front of him and looked up at her. “I may need a hand putting these on.”

But even as she helped him, she argued, “Justin, you really shouldn't be doing this. You're in no condition to leave the hospital.”

He zipped up the slacks and sat down on the bed. “I told you, I'm fine. You want to hand me my boots?”

“You're not fine. You were nearly killed. Why are you doing this?”

He slid on one boot. “Because I need to find that shooter.”

“Why does it have to be you? Why can't you let someone else find him? Your deputies or Luke Callaghan's people.”

“Because they're not the sheriff,” he informed her as he slid on the other boot and stood. “I am. And it's my job.”

“And what if it's his job to kill you?” she demanded, remembering that terrible sense of dread she'd had earlier that evening and realizing how close Justin had come to being killed. Maybe he was lost to her and they would never be together again. But she didn't want to even imagine a world without Justin somewhere in it. “Have you even stopped a minute to consider that? What if that gunman is out there somewhere?” she asked, pointing at the doors. “Suppose he's just waiting for you to walk out of this hospital so he can finish the job he started?”

Justin looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. And she supposed she couldn't blame him. She knew she must sound like a hysterical female, but even after all that had happened already, she couldn't shake the feeling that something worse was yet to come.

“Angela, look at me.”

She lifted her gaze, stared into his, expecting to find annoyance or maybe even a return of the coldness that had been there when he'd walked away from her earlier that evening at the country club. What she hadn't expected to find was concern.

“That bullet wasn't meant for me. I'm not the one the gunman was after.”

“But I don't understand,” she said. She looked at his
shoulder, then back up at him. “I saw what happened. I saw you get hit.”

“Because I tried to stop him. Angela, it wasn't me he intended to kill. I wasn't his target. You were.”

“M
e?”

“Yes, Angela. You. You were the gunman's target, not me,” Justin told her. His stomach constricted again, just as it had constricted each time he realized that had he gone inside the clubhouse instead of lingering when he'd seen her come out onto the terrace, Angela would be dead now.

“Oh, my God. You were nearly killed because of me.”

Her face, already pale, turned to the color of chalk. “Hey, you better sit down,” he said, and caught her by the arm even though the movement sent a twinge of pain shooting through his shoulder. For once the woman didn't argue. She simply sank down onto the chair beside the bed.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I'm so sorry,” she repeated, and covered her face with her hands.

The doors to the hospital room burst open and in walked O'Day. “It's all right, we haven't lost our patient,” he said to the Attila-the-Hun nurse who was hot on his heels. “It seems the sheriff simply decided to disconnect himself from the monitor without telling anyone. You can go back to your station.”

“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse told him, but not before she'd tossed a glare in Justin's direction.

O'Day walked over to the machine, punched in some codes and all the lights went out. “You owe me, Wainwright,” he said as he turned to face him. “If it weren't
for me, she would have wrestled you down to the floor and hooked you back up to that monitor whether you wanted her to or not.”

Justin didn't doubt for a moment that it was true. “I'll buy you a beer,” Justin offered.

“Think again. I want a split of champagne. Cristal or Dom Pérignon will do nicely.”

“Take this thing out of my hand and lend me a shirt to wear out of here, and maybe I'll consider it.”

After retrieving a wad of cotton and a bandage from the supply cupboard, O'Day took Justin's hand and expertly removed the shunt. As he pressed a cotton ball over the puncture, he said, “I suppose I'd be wasting my time if I were to tell you that you really should consider spending the night here and letting the staff monitor you.”

“You're right. You'd be wasting your time,” Justin told him.

O'Day finished off by applying the bandage. “Then I'll tell you that that hole in your shoulder is going to need to be cleaned twice a day and watched closely for infection.”

“You're releasing him already?” Kate Wainwright asked Michael as she, Archy and several members of Justin's family filed into the room.

“I'd better go,” Angela said, and started to get up.

“You stay there,” Justin ordered. Either the command had surprised her or she was shaken because she obeyed him without argument.

“Michael, surely you're not letting Justin go already,” Kate said. “He was shot, for heaven's sake.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with your baby here, Kate,” Michael said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “He's the one who's refusing to stay.”

“What do you mean he refuses?” Kate replied, and turned worried eyes upon her son. “Justin?”

“I'm fine, Mother. Michael did a great job of patching me up, and there's really no reason for me to stay in the hospital.”

Kate's brow furrowed as it often had when she'd caught him up to mischief as a child. “Michael, is that true?”

“He should be okay, Kate. I've already explained that he'll need to clean the wound daily and take an antibiotic to ward off any infections. If he takes it easy and doesn't use the arm for a few days, he'll be fine.”

“If you're sure,” Kate said, a note of skepticism in her voice.

“He's sure,” Justin told his mother, and snatched the prescriptions that O'Day held out to him. “Two?”

“One's an antibiotic. The other's for pain. When the shot I gave you wears off, that thing's going to hurt like hell—like the devil.”

“Thanks,” Justin told him as Michael left the room to prepare the paperwork. “Now, how about somebody lending me a shirt so I can blow this place?”

“I've got one in my truck you can use,” Hawk offered. “Should fit okay.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Justin told him.

Archy stepped forward. “Son, you have any idea who shot you and why?”

Justin rested his hand on Angela's shoulder, gently squeezed. “I didn't see his face. But I intend to find him. So don't worry.”

“You gave us such a scare, Justin,” his mother said, her eyes welling with tears. “Why, when I saw you lying on that terrace, I thought…”

Her sobs sent guilt ripping through him. “I'm sorry,” he said, and meant it.

“Come on now, Kate,” Archy said, taking her hand in a comforting gesture. “The boy's all right.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, swiping at the tears.

Hawk returned and this time Jenny was with him. “Here's that shirt.”

“Thanks,” Justin said, and took the chambray work shirt from him. When he began to slide it over his injured arm, Angela assisted him. Tender from the movement, he fastened only a handful of buttons. “I'll be sure to return it.”

Hawk nodded.

“Okay, Wainwright, you're a free man,” Michael said as he returned to the room. “The nurse will be here in a minute with a wheelchair to wheel you out.”

“I can walk,” Justin argued.

“Hospital policy, I'm afraid. You get a ride to the front door.” Michael turned to Archy. “Is he going to ride with you, Archy?”

“Sure, I—”

“Actually, I'm not going to the ranch,” Justin informed them all. “I'll be staying at Angela's.”

 

It had taken Angela several moments before Justin's announcement sank in. By the time it had, he had been charging ahead and issuing commands like a field marshal. He'd gotten Hawk to give them a ride to her condo, made arrangements to have his truck and some of his things from the ranch delivered to her place, and given orders to his deputies about the pursuit of the shooter.

Now nearly two hours later they were alone for the first time. “You might have at least asked me before announcing to your family that you were going to stay here,” Angela told him.

“If I'd asked, you would have said no.”

It was true, Angela admitted. “All the more reason you
shouldn't have done it. You know how your family feels about me.”

“Yeah, I know. But I wonder if you do,” Justin countered. “You always thought my parents didn't like you because they were against our getting married. But the truth is you never gave them a chance.”

“That's not true. I like your parents. I always have. But we both know that I didn't fit their ideal as a daughter-in-law.” She'd been all too aware of the debutante daughter of a neighboring oilman that they had picked out as a potential wife for Justin. She had been a far cry from what they'd wanted for their son.

“Maybe not, but you're the woman I chose and they accepted you. But, then, you probably didn't notice because you were too busy building invisible walls around yourself, the ones you use to keep everyone out so that you can make sure nobody ever hurts you again. Maybe if you hadn't shut my folks out, they would have even loved you. But, then, I loved you and in the end you shut me out, too.”

Taken aback by his accusation, Angela started to argue that he was wrong. But the protest died on her lips as she wondered if Justin was right. Had she shut out the Wainwrights and Justin as he'd claimed?

“I don't even know why we're discussing this. It doesn't make any difference now, anyway,” he told her, his voice filled with agitation. He walked over to the bar, poured himself some water and used it to chase down what she suspected was one of the pain pills Michael had given him from the hospital pharmacy until he could get the prescriptions filled in the morning. “I'll explain everything to my folks when all of this is over and you go back to San Antonio. But for now I want everyone in this county to know that I'm staying here.”

“Why?”

“Because I want the person who tried to kill you tonight to know that you're not alone. That way if he has any plans to come after you again, he'll know that he has to get through me first.”

“I see,” she murmured. “So you're here in your capacity as Sheriff of Lone Star County to protect me.”

“That's right. This is business, Angela. Nothing else.”

The coolness in his voice matched the coolness in his eyes. And hurt so much more than she'd ever dreamed it could. It was hard to believe that in the space of twenty-four hours they had gone from being lovers to polite strangers. “I understand,” she said. And she did. Justin would tolerate her presence, even risk his own life to protect her. But it was strictly part of the job. Just as soon as they found Lena, he wanted her to pack her bags and get out of his town and his life.

He sank down onto the couch. “That pain pill is starting to kick in. Before my brain fuzzes over, I need to know if you have any idea who might want you dead.”

“You mean besides you?”

Justin scowled at her. “Considering that I took a bullet for you a few hours ago, I think we can rule me out.”

Ashamed that her hurt and anger had made her so petty, she said, “I'm sorry. That was very small of me when you saved my life.”

“Forget it,” he said. “Now, I need you to think. Were you working on anything before you came here that would cause someone to put a contract out on you?”

“No. I've been working kidnapping cases primarily for the past year or so. Mostly children. Several situations resulted in jail time for the perpetrators, but none are eligible for parole for a long, long time.”

“All right,” he said, and Angela could see him digest
ing that info. “Then it means the hit was generated by someone local.”

“I haven't been back here long enough to generate that kind of dislike,” she countered. Except from him, she added silently.

“A number of people know you're here working on the kidnapping. But except for the Carsons and Luke Callaghan, you haven't had time to ruffle any feathers with questions. So that leaves your association with Ricky Mercado. You've been seen in his company several times since you came back.”

“I've been seen in your company, too,” she pointed out. “And considering our history and your very vocal objection to my presence in Mission Creek a few days ago, if I was going to look for a suspect based on such flimsy evidence then you're a much better bet.”

Justin glared at her. “I was thinking more in terms of someone who might have an ax to grind with Ricky.”

Angela refused to defend her friendship with Ricky again. If after sharing her bed and her heart with Justin last night he still didn't believe her, he never would. And she wasn't going to put herself through the heartache of trying to convince him. “Why would someone who has a problem with Ricky come after me?”

“Maybe because they think you're more than friends. And maybe because they're worried he's told you something he shouldn't have.”

Tired of the game and innuendos, she said, “All right, Justin. Why don't you just cut to the chase and tell me where you're going with this?”

“All right.” He set down the water glass and leaned back against the chair. “Word on the street is that the Mercado family is about to make a really big score of some kind. I'm thinking that maybe Ricky said something to you
in passing about this deal, and word got back to Del Brio about the slip. Del Brio's major paranoid. He has a thing about secrets. Even if he just thought you knew something you shouldn't and were a threat to him, he'd have you taken out.”

“There's one problem with your theory. Ricky hasn't told me anything about any deal, big or otherwise. The truth is he speaks very little about his family's business. And on those few occasions when Del Brio's name has come up, it's not with fondness. Ricky doesn't like him or trust him.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, take tonight, for instance. Ricky said the only reason he was going to the fund-raiser was to keep an eye on Del Brio because he thought he was up to something.”

Justin gave her a considering look. “There's been some tension between Del Brio and Johnny Mercado. And for a while I thought there might be some trouble over Del Brio succeeding Carmine instead of Ricky. But there's no rumor of any schism or overthrow in the works, and as far as I can tell, Ricky has been firmly in Del Brio's corner since he came back to Lone Star County. According to my sources, Ricky's one of Del Brio's top lieutenants—which means he's up to his eyeballs in whatever this deal is that's supposed to go down.”

“Like I said, I wouldn't know. Ricky's never said anything about any deals to me. The only thing he's talked about is his father.”

“What does he say about him?”

“Mostly that he's worried about him. He says Mr. Mercado has been acting strange lately.”

“Strange in what way?” Justin asked.

“Some of the things he says, mainly. Like the other
night at the hospital dedication, he said something about how if he had protected his wife, she'd still be alive.”

“Isadora died of a heart attack,” Justin pointed out.

“I know. That's what Ricky said. But Ricky says his father's saying things like that, things that don't make sense, and that lately he's been acting secretive.”

“Did he tell you anything else?” Justin asked.

“Only what I've already told you. That he and his father both think there's something to Del Brio's story that Haley is still alive. And both of them think that Lena might belong to Haley. Ricky believes it's the reason the little girl was kidnapped from the Carsons.”

“Ricky is smarter than I'd given him credit for,” Justin told her. “I suppose you told him we were pursuing that angle?”