“Officer Bucks came in a while ago asking the same thing. I told him I can’t identify the guy because I only saw him from the corner of my eye before he tried to smash my skull in. Big, white, bald.” Her mouth quivered, just for a moment.
James noted that her eyes were the color of coffee with just a hint of cream, or maybe the tint of clover honey fresh from the comb. The image took him back to his ranch, to his father pulling the frame from the beehive, glistening with honey. The wonder of it had overwhelmed him back then. He blinked. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
Her tone went sharp. “Are you? Aren’t you thinking I’m a nosy reporter and I got what I had coming to me?”
“No, ma’am, I wasn’t.”
She stared at him.
He shifted. “Well, I’ll admit to thinking the ‘nosy reporter’ part, but nobody deserves to be attacked, reporter or not.”
She shrugged and pulled at the blankets. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t bothering anyone.”
“Why were you in the store in the first place?”
“I’m working on a story about local businesses, how they’ve been hurt by the crime spree. The owner didn’t want to talk to me, but later I heard some guy harassing her when I went around the side.”
“Harassing how?”
“He said something about not telling her again, that someone was going to get hurt.”
His stomach muscles tightened. “Frances said she didn’t talk to him at all, didn’t even see him.”
Madison’s mouth fell open. “Why would she lie?”
“I don’t know that she’s lying,” he blurted out.
“Well, I’m not,” Madison said hotly, sitting up against the pillows. “I realize I’m the newcomer here, but I have no reason to make things up.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure you don’t, except to concoct a juicy story for your paper.” Aloud. He’d actually said that aloud.
She stiffened, hands gripping the sheets. “I happen to have integrity.”
“I haven’t met many reporters with integrity,” he muttered, another thing he shouldn’t have let slip out of his mouth. So much for tact, Harrison.
She blushed. “That was over the line.”
He looked away for a minute, let out a breath and remembered what kind of God-fearing man he wanted to be. Slow count to three. “You’re right. I apologize. I...I have had some bad experiences with reporters, but I shouldn’t take it out on you, especially after what you’ve been through.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You or the other officers could have returned my calls, you know. Didn’t your secretary tell you I phoned?”
“Carrie forwarded the messages like she’s supposed to.” He toyed with the radio clipped to his belt. “I figured one of the other officers would be better at handling your questions.” He tried not to notice her eyes too much. Keep it professional. “Anything else you remember from the salon?”
She considered. “The guy said ‘Tony,’ too.”
“Tony?” Now his nerves were good and truly jangled. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, why? Who is Tony?”
He forced himself to answer. “The owner’s fourteen-year-old son.” Something cold slithered in his belly. Why would a woman lie about being threatened? One really big reason: to protect the person who mattered most...her son. He’d once seen a mother who could not swim leap off a dock to save her drowning toddler. Frances would lie to protect Tony. He was certain of it. He was readying another round of questions when a nurse popped her head in, face grave. “Officer, can I see you out here for a minute?”
He went to her.
“We’re going to keep this door closed, okay?” the nurse said to Madison.
“Problem?” he asked when he got to the threshold.
She nodded.
“Be right back,” James said to Madison, following the nurse outside.
People were moving quickly outside in the corridor, their shoes squeaking on the floor. He knew the signs. Trouble.
* * *
Curiosity burned Madison’s insides. Easing herself to her feet one painful movement at a time, she stood, clinging to the bed rail. A moment of dizziness nearly overcame her, but she breathed through it. Forcing her feet to cooperate, she stopped to pull on another hospital gown, using it for a robe. She inched the door open.
Nurses were scurrying along, closing all the doors. She saw James talking to a hospital engineer next to a closed set of metal doors intended to seal off this section of the hospital from the rest. Fire? She’d worked in a hospital gift shop long enough to know that most fire alarms amounted to nothing more than a smoking bag of microwave popcorn, or a patient sneaking a cigarette in the bathroom. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement from behind a cart piled high with towels.
Who would be standing there, hidden between the wall and the towels, when there was clearly an emergency situation brewing? She stepped out, moving quietly toward the cart.
Again a flicker of movement, stealthy, quick.
She caught the faint scent of smoke in the air as she took another step forward. Not a false alarm after all. Hand outstretched, she meant to push the cart, move it backward to flush whoever was behind it out into the open.
Her fingers touched the cold metal bars.
“Hey,” James said, startling her. She spun so quickly she became dizzy. As she stood there clutching the gown to her body, she wished he did not have to be so good-looking, with a strong jaw, sapphire eyes and thick blond hair she wanted to touch. He took her firmly by the wrist. “You have to get back into bed and keep the door closed.”
“I’m fine.”
He frowned. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“But there’s someone behind the cart.”
James gave her a dubious look, but he let go of her wrist and swiveled the cart away from the wall. There was no one there.
“I saw...”
“You can tell me later. Back into your room.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she snapped.
“Apparently you do, and if it’s going to be me, I charge nine bucks an hour and all the potato chips I can eat.” He led Madison into her room and waited until she climbed back into bed.
Her cheeks burned. “Well, is it a fire? Can you at least tell me that?”
“We’re checking it out.” James was already heading to the door. “You’re going to be perfectly safe. Stay here.”
Madison sank down into the blankets, annoyed that even the brief foray out of bed had left her knees shaking and a strident pain in her temples. She wished James would hurry back and fill her in, but he was busy doing his cop thing, and she didn’t think he’d tell her much, anyway.
Closing her eyes and trying to breathe away the pounding in her skull, she attempted to relax. The need to know refused to be quieted. Everything is being handled and no one is going to answer any questions for you, Mads, so just deal with it.
But maybe she could find out something on social media. Perhaps some patient had heard what was going on and sent out a quick Tweet or Facebook post. She opened her eyes and reached for her cell phone just as a pillow descended over her face, strong hands sealing off her air, cutting off her scream.