Untraceable (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE

Alex was wounded.

Maybe critically.

Nathan squealed into the ambulance bay at Tulane Hospital and whipped into a space marked
EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY
. He hooked his APD hang tag on the mirror and jumped out of the car.

Both females were transported to Tulane.
The words of the patrol officer Nathan had practically accosted in the motel parking lot kept running through his head.

One looked serious. Not sure she’s going to make it.

Which one?
Nathan had asked.

The brunette, I think. It was crazy here. I didn’t really see her that good.

Nathan plowed through the double doors now and strode across crowded waiting room. He flashed a badge at the receptionist, who was talking on the phone. “I need to see a patient who just came in here.”

She covered the phone with her hand and cast a glance over her shoulder, not paying a lick of attention to the badge that technically granted him zero access here.

“You’re talking about the GSW, right?” She looked up at him expectantly, and he forced himself to nod. “Through the double doors and to the left. Trauma 4. Although I don’t think she’s conscious—”

Nathan shoved through the doors and navigated the typical Friday night minefield. He cut a path through the gurneys and wheelchairs and harried ER workers until his gaze homed in on a placard beside one of the doors.
TRAUMA
4. Medical personnel clustered around a table. Their movements were sharp and hurried, their expressions grim.

“Nathan.”

He whipped his head around.

“Over here.”

Just across the hall, sitting up on a table, was Alex.

Nathan’s heart jumped into his throat. She was awake and alert… and covered with blood.

He stepped over to her.

“What are you doing here?” She frowned up at him as some kid in scrubs tended a cut on her arm.

“Are you okay?” He reached for her free hand, then jerked back when he saw that it was bloody, too. “What happened?”

Alex shook her head and gazed down at her lap. Her T-shirt and jeans were saturated.

“Alex, what the hell happened?”

She looked up at him, and the misery in her eyes made his chest squeeze. “He shot Melanie.”

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.” She glanced at her arm, and he could see her struggling not to lose it. “It’s just a scratch. I hit the bed frame on the way down. Melanie fell into me.”

The kid stitching up her wound looked calm and steady and about twelve years old.

“Have you seen her?” Alex gazed up at him pleadingly. “She wasn’t conscious when they put her in the ambulance. No one’s telling me anything.”

“I’ll find out.”

“Alex Lovell?”

They both turned to see a uniformed police officer standing in the doorway.

“I’ve got some questions about the events earlier. Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” Alex straightened her back. She looked fairly collected all of a sudden, aside from the blood. But Nathan saw the nerves beneath the surface. He glanced at the needle as it pierced her skin.

“You using enough anesthetic on that?” he asked the doctor.

The kid looked at Alex. “You tell me.”

“It’s fine.” She turned to the cop. “Go ahead with your questions.”

The officer gave Nathan a look he’d used a thousand times over the years:
Hey, buddy, mind stepping outside while I have a word with this witness?

Instead of leaving, Nathan extended a hand. “Nathan Devereaux. Austin PD.”

The cop glanced at the hand warily. He accepted the handshake, and seemed to accept the message, too.

Nathan eased closer to Alex’s side and watched the doctor stitch her up as the officer rattled off questions. The questions were routine, and she answered each one in a clear, remarkably steady voice. She tucked her free hand under her thigh so no one would see that it was trembling.

“So you’re saying you didn’t see the shooter?” The officer looked up from his notepad.

“No.” Alex bit her lower lip, and Nathan could tell that part was tearing her up. “But it
had
to have been her husband. She knew he was coming after her. He’s tried to kill her before.”

The cop met Nathan’s gaze, and Nathan could see he wasn’t convinced.

“Did you see anything?” The officer shifted his attention back to Alex. “Even a glimpse of his clothing? Maybe he had on a cap or something?”

“I didn’t see him.” She sighed, clearly frustrated. “I just saw the door move. And a shadow. Then Melanie was on top of me.” She paused. Swallowed. Met the officer’s gaze. “That’s all I saw. But you have to find him. It was
him
.” She glanced at Nathan, as if he’d jump in and back her up. He caught the flash of anger in her eyes when he didn’t. “I know it was him! Who else would it be?”

The cop kept a neutral expression on his face while he jotted notes.

A commotion dragged everyone’s attention into the hallway, where a team of people were wheeling a gurney out of Trauma 4.

“Where are they taking her?” Alex turned to the doctor working on her arm.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you find out?”

“I’ll go,” Nathan said, partly because he wanted the information, but also because he needed a word with whoever was running this investigation.

Plus he needed some space. From Alex. The last few hours had taken a few years off his life.

Alex wasn’t dead.

She wasn’t critically injured, even.

Nathan, on the other hand, felt like he’d just absorbed a bomb blast. He had to get some air. He slipped past the cop.

“Wait.”

He turned and saw Alex looking at him, a combination of worry and confusion on her face.

“You never answered my question,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Nathan shook his head and walked away.

Alex rested her cheek against the passenger’s-side window of Nathan’s car and gazed out into the night. Office buildings and parking garages and alleys swept past. After a while, the mundane urban landscape gave way to something different. She saw brick walls and lampposts and ornate wrought-iron balconies. Neon signs reflected off pavement still damp from tonight’s rain.

She turned to Nathan. “Is this the French Quarter?”

“Yeah.”

Her sluggish brain tried to conjure up the map of New Orleans she’d looked at earlier today. Or was it yesterday? Whenever it was seemed like a lifetime ago.

The image wouldn’t come, so finally she gave up and closed her eyes. “I’m booked at the Hyatt,” she told Nathan. “That anywhere near here?”

“We’re going someplace else.”

Too tired to argue, she turned her attention out toward the street again. Wilted-looking party girls strolled the sidewalks, some in pairs, some alone. A man urinated in a doorway. She’d never been here, but it was quieter than she would have expected. Maybe it was really late. Or early.

Nathan rolled through an intersection and took a left without comment.

He was giving her the silent treatment. Or at least she felt like he was. He’d said almost nothing to her since they’d left the hospital with her arm in a bandage and a bottle of pain meds stuffed in her purse. Something was eating at him, and she felt pretty sure it had to do with her cross-country road trip.

But Alex was beyond caring. A deep chasm had opened inside her when she’d knelt beside Melanie and watched the life seep out of her. She was in a coma. The surgeon who’d treated her said she might never come out of it. And the man who’d put her in that coma was free. Still. All Alex wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry.

There would be no crying in front of Nathan. That, she promised herself. She’d hold it together until he left tomorrow, and then she’d deal with all the emotions churning inside her. She didn’t want an audience.

He took another turn, this time into a narrow cobblestone alley. The walls were so close, Alex could have reached out and touched them. She perked up a bit and looked around and realized the alley didn’t lead to another street, but rather a tiny parking lot. Nathan pulled into a space beside an SUV.

“Is this it?”

“This is it.”

He cut the engine, and they got out of the car. Nathan came around and took her backpack from her, then led her through a narrow brick tunnel. On the other side was a spacious courtyard lit up with white twinkle lights. Alex blinked and looked up. Four levels of balconies festooned with lights and hanging plants shimmered down at her. Most of the windows between the tall black shutters were dark, but there was the occasional yellow glow.

Nathan led her past a gurgling fountain, then a cluster of cast-iron tables and chairs, all empty now. He pulled open a French door that led into a dim room.

A green banker’s lamp shone from a desk in the small, carpeted lobby. The place smelled like cinnamon—the real kind, not the cloying air-freshener variety. Alex recalled the stench of the All Saints Motel and shuddered.

A slightly built man walked into the room and extended a hand to Nathan. He wore a black silk robe over black pajamas.

“Morning, Mr. Devereaux.” Then he looked at Alex and smiled pleasantly. “We’ve got you in room 322.”

Nathan took the key the man held out and nodded a thanks.

“The kitchen’s closed at the moment, but we’ll have coffee starting at six.” He glanced at his watch. “Not too long now.”

Nathan thanked him again and led Alex to an elevator. They stepped inside, and she looked at Nathan while it made its slow, grumbling ascent.

“You called ahead,” she said.

He just looked at her.

She glanced away. Her gaze fell on the rolled cuffs of the windbreaker she wore. Nathan had brought it to her in the hospital to cover up her bloody clothes. It said APD in yellow block letters on the back, and it was lined with gray flannel. She’d already decided to keep it.

The door dinged open and Nathan led her down a hallway. She’d been led around a lot tonight, and she was too tired to care. He stopped in front of a door and opened it with the old-fashioned key. It had a chunky plaster fleur-de-lis on it, probably to keep guests from leaving town with it in their pockets.

Nathan pushed open the door and flipped on the light. Alex followed him inside and immediately noticed the duvet-covered king-size bed. Heaven.

After a shower.

She was already stumbling toward the bathroom when Nathan dropped her backpack onto a yellow wing chair.

“I’ve got to make a call.” He opened the French door to the balcony, and she shut herself in the bathroom.

It was dark. She felt along the wall and tested three different light switches before finding one that illuminated the shower. It was a tub, actually. Claw-footed. Under different circumstances, she might find it charming. Under different circumstances, she might find Nathan charming and feel touched that he’d brought her to such a quaint little bed-and-breakfast in his hometown.

But right now she felt cold, right down to her core, and she knew even a scalding shower—or bath—wasn’t going to make it go away.

She turned the water to hot and plugged the tub. She toed off her sneakers. Then she stripped her clothes off and left them in a pile beneath the pedestal sink. Avoiding even a glance at the mirror, she climbed into the tub and rested her bandaged arm on the side. At least it was her left arm. All she had to do was keep it clean for a few days, and she’d be fine.

Melanie was in a coma. She might never walk or talk or bathe herself again.

Alex used the hotel’s shower gel and shampoo to clean up as well as she could. It smelled like lavender, but the scent did little to relax her because the bathwater had turned a pale pink from the dried blood on her body. Alex stood up, dried off, and wrapped the towel around herself.

She cracked the door and peeked out. The big bed was empty. She left the light on in the bathroom, but switched off the overhead one in the room. Using just the ray of light from the bathroom, she retrieved a clean T-shirt and panties from her backpack and slipped them on.

Then she climbed into the bed and let her head sink onto the cool feather pillow. She tucked the duvet around her shoulders and shivered at the chilly sheets. She couldn’t get warm. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of Melanie and felt colder still.

A hot tear slid down her cheek. Then another. She pressed her face against the pillow and tried to will them away.

The balcony door creaked open. Every muscle in her body tensed as she listened to the sounds of Nathan moving through the suite, taking off his shoes, using the sink. She listened to him toss his leather jacket over a chair, then empty his pockets onto the table. There was the soft thud of his holster and his gun, and she held her breath, waiting.

Finally the mattress sank down as he stretched out beside her. She tried to breathe evenly, tried to seem asleep. It was childish, yes, but she couldn’t deal with sex right now. If he even touched her—

He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He stroked her damp hair back from her face, and his fingers brushed over her wet cheek.