“Nothing, then?”
“Nothing. When it comes to the last six months, she’s as brain-dead as a church mouse in formaldehyde.”
“And you’re sure she knew nothing before then? So we’re clear?”
“As long as her memory of the last few months doesn’t return, we’re good. But if she does begin to remember, we got us a whole new ball game. Fifty-fifty odds.”
He blew out some air. “I still say we do her now.”
“We can’t. Not yet. We may dodge this bullet yet. If she remembers, we kill her immediately. Until then, we keep an eye on both of them.”
“Fine. But this could blow up.”
“It’s already blown up, remember? She blew it up. We’re trying to put the fires out.”
Shauna lay on a narrow bench and faced the wall in the concrete detention center. Her nose nearly touched the chipped paint. Though her body was long and slender, she had to balance on the plank to avoid rolling off. Her entire body ached. A sharp pang in her side had knifed her through the night. She focused on the pain. It hurt less than her present situation.
She had been booked the night before and arraigned first thing Thursday morning, thanks to the insistence of Wayne, Uncle Trent, and Trent’s influential attorney, Joe Delaney. It seemed the press wasn’t yet aware that she’d left the hospital, just as Wayne had hoped. Mr. Delaney set up an appointment to meet with her at his offices October 26, one week from tomorrow, giving her time to attend to her medical needs and get settled in at home again. Her trial date had been set for November 19, more than a month away.
What was she supposed to do in the meantime?
Now she waited for Uncle Trent, who’d insisted on flying in at midnight on a private flight to post her bail. “It’s a father’s duty,” he’d asked Wayne to tell her.
It was. It was.
She closed her eyes, wavering between fading into oblivion or trying to come up with a plan to redeem her latest gross mistakes.
“Let’s get out of here, Shauna.” Wayne’s soft voice roused her, and the sound of a sliding gate jolted her off the bench. He carried a light coat for Shauna.
Uncle Trent entered the cell with an outstretched hand and helped her up into a bear hug. His round face was gently wrinkled and baby soft, and his mouth turned up in a perpetual smile. He wore his trademark turtleneck and blazer on this cool October day, business casual at all times, whether at home or in his executive suite. His short white hair caressed her cheek like velvet.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, honey. This is all going to blow over soon enough.” She closed her eyes. In the security of his embrace, it was easy to believe him. “You lay low at your dad’s place until you’re a hundred percent. Wayne here is going to stick around to make sure you have whatever you need.”
“I’d rather go home. I mean to my home.”
“Honey,” Trent said, “your dad terminated the lease on your loft a couple weeks after the accident, had your stuff packed up and moved.”
Shauna could not believe what she was hearing.
Yes, she could.
“He really does mean to look after you while you recuperate.”
And how would he do that? A man campaigning for president had no time to look after anything but his own interests.
“Landon and Patrice don’t want me anywhere near them.”
“The place is big enough for everyone to avoid each other. Wayne can help.” Wayne nodded. “I can spare the man a vacation, after all. And I didn’t have to twist his arm.”
Shauna blushed.
“Good then.” He dropped a paternal kiss on her forehead. “We want what’s best for you.”
“Uncle Trent, I’m sorry if I did anything that embarrassed you at the party that night.”
“It’s entirely forgettable.”
She smiled at that. “I guess so.”
She and Wayne parted ways with Trent in the main office. Wayne took a deep breath and turned to look at her.
“How are you holding up?”
“Better, now that you’re with me again.”
Wayne raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly. “Missed me already?”
She dropped her gaze, confused by her own confession. She felt at ease with him, as she should with an old friend, and yet she still hardly knew him. Maybe her subconscious was hard at work.
“Is there a back door?” she asked.
“Already arranged,” he said. He helped her into the coat. “You’ll need this to keep the rain off.”
She shoved her hands into the pockets and stayed near the wall, head down, as he took her back toward the middle of the courthouse and then down a marble hallway. She rubbed her fingers against the lining to warm them.
Three sets of stairs took them down to a rear door and out onto a narrow concrete slab between two tall buildings. Last night’s drizzle had turned into a light rain and came straight down.
“This way,” Wayne said, taking her hand. They started toward the parking lot at the end of the breezeway. Between them and the lot, a blond man in a khaki raincoat leaned against the brick wall, juggling three packs of cigarettes.
Wayne tugged at her to hurry by, but the man moved out in front of Shauna, stepping on her foot and letting the cigarette packs fall to the pavement. She stumbled. The stranger steadied her at the waist.
“Well, I’m no dancer, Ms. McAllister.” Shauna looked to Wayne, startled to hear him speak her name. “Sorry about my poor timing.”
Wayne pulled her to his side.
“Ms. McAllister, I’d like to ask you a few questions about—”
“Ms. McAllister has no comment,” Wayne said, guiding Shauna around the man.
“I won’t take any of your time,” he insisted, blocking Wayne’s route. He was taller than Wayne by at least five inches and broader by the same.
“Step aside, please.”
“Off the record.”
“No.”
“It’s about the accident. About the early reports.”
“Look, man. Why don’t you tell me who you’re working for so I can call your boss and file a complaint.”
The man picked at one of the cellophane wrappers and looked at Shauna.
“I’d like to know about the other person in your car.”
What car?
He seemed to read her mind. “The night of the accident.”
Rudy?
Wayne steered Shauna back toward the door they’d exited. “Shauna, don’t say anything.”
“About Rudy?” she whispered.
“An eyewitness puts a second passenger in the car with you,” the man called out.
A second? Rudy was the only one.
Wayne hurried her back to the courthouse door. The cigarette juggler fol-lowed, unconcerned. Wayne yanked on the handle. Locked. There was no other way out except through this man. Shauna wiped rain out of her eyebrows. Her hair was getting soaked.
“What’s your name?” Wayne asked.
“Smith.” He extended a hand. Wayne didn’t take it.
“And you work for?”
“I’m freelance.”
Wayne scoffed. “How did you know—?”
“I’m a good freelancer.”
“Well, Smith, I was an eyewitness, too, and I didn’t see anyone else—”
“Took you a while to come on scene, as I understand it.”
“—nor did the truck driver, who was there from the beginning. And if you had done your homework, you would have seen that the accident reports say the same thing. So I’m very sorry to inform you, you’ve probably paid someone a whole lot of money for a bogus tip.”
Smith shoved the packs into the pockets of his raincoat.
“I’m sorry we can’t be of more help to you,” Wayne said. “Now if you don’t mind, Ms. McAllister has had an extremely difficult day.”
The man stepped aside and bowed with an arm extended Shakespearean-style.
He pulled a fresh cigarette out and held her eyes as she let Wayne lead her away. With Wayne’s back to him, Smith dropped the reporter persona and gave Shauna the slow wave of a sad friend saying good-bye.