In Harm's Way (18 page)

“What's this about a disk?” he asked.

“You heard? You were listening to Taylor when he was in here?” She knew he had been. How else would he know about the disk? Hope swelled within her.

The captain nodded once to confirm that he had heard. “I want to know what this is all about.”

She reached toward him even though she knew he was too far away to touch. “Listen to me, sir. Please. Kick Taylor shot Mitch. Kick's somehow mixed up with Somers, and Mitch knows about it. If you don't put someone in that hospital to prevent it, I think Kick will try to kill him.”

The captain gave her no assurance. “Tell me about the disk. Why is it hidden and what does it contain?”

Robin rolled her eyes. “God help me, I
want
you to have it! But I won't tell you a thing until you arrange protection for Mitch.”

Hunford regarded her for a few seconds, then reached over and picked up the phone. She watched as he punched in numbers. His eyes never left hers as he spoke into the handset. “Put a guard on Mitch Winton at the hospital. No one but his parents and hospital staff allowed in to see him. I mean no one. Understood?” He hung up. “Satisfied now?” he asked.

Robin nodded, her shoulders slumping with that weight lifted off. “Thank you.”

“I'm waiting,” he said, drumming the fingers of one hand on the tabletop.

“The disk is at Kick Taylor's house. Mitch stuck it in with Kick's CD collection. It's in a case that says ‘Classical Interludes.' On it is a list, including Somers, four other men who are now dead, and the numbers of their accounts set up in the Caymans which we think James arranged. There's more information on the disk that we couldn't decipher. It might say how they got the money. That's only a guess, but Somers was afraid it did, I think. They must have demanded the disk and when James wouldn't turn it over to them, they shot him. What Somers revealed to me while he was questioning me indicates that's what happened.”

“Who shot Somers?”

Robin took a deep breath. “I did.” She quickly explained the events leading up to it. Her kidnapping, the interrogation she endured, then Mitch's and Taylor's arrival and the shootout.

“And you?” the captain asked. “How were you involved?”

“James asked me to bring the disk to him. He had left it in our safety deposit box, but I don't know when he put it there. Somers and his people have been after it since the night James was killed. He must have promised them I was on my way with it.”

“And the organized crime aspect of all this?” Hunford asked.

Robin hesitated, then shrugged. “I figured Somers must be up to his neck in something like that. How else would he have gotten a cop on his payroll?” She avoided his hawklike glare. “And…I thought that might be the fastest way to get you to talk to me.”

Hunford got up and walked to the door.

“Wait!” Robin cried, leaping out of her chair, but the handcuffs wouldn't allow her to stand fully upright. “Don't you believe me?”

“I'll check it out.”

“You're going to leave me here?”

“Ms. Andrews,” he said patiently, “you have admitted shooting Somers. He has friends in this town who might love a little retribution when they find out. This is about the safest place you could be at the moment.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. His features sagged and his eyes looked tired. “And, too, this is one of my detectives you're accusing, Ms. Andrews. But I
am
taking your accusations seriously. I'll see you in the morning.”

“What will you do? Where are you going?”

“I'm going to the hospital,” he told her.

Robin blinked hard, trying not to cry with relief as she sat down. “Thank you, Captain Hunford. I can never thank you enough.”

There was no answer but the quiet closing of the door. Spending the night in jail seemed nothing compared to what poor Mitch must be going through. Or what he might have experienced if Kick Taylor had been allowed to see him alone.

Officer Aiken came back eventually, took the cuffs off her and moved her down the hall to a barred enclosure set in one corner of a room.

“Captain said to give you this,” Aiken said as she handed Robin an ice pack. “For your face,” she explained curtly. Robin took the small plastic bag of ice wrapped in a coarse hand towel and stepped inside the cage the officer had opened.

Outside the cell was another metal table and several chairs. Inside was a lidless toilet and a cot with a thin foam mattress and blanket. The entire place looked clean but bleak. Incredibly bleak.

Robin arranged the ice pack on her swollen face and lay down on the cot. She closed her eyes to block out the horror of her surroundings and tried to sleep.

She awoke with a start when someone shook her shoulder.

“Ms. Andrews? Wake up.”

Robin blinked awake and tried to move. Every muscle in her body felt like it had been beaten with a mallet. “Who…?”

“Damien Perry. Sorry I wasn't here sooner, but I tried to determine where things stood before coming over.”

Robin sat up slowly, swinging her legs off the cot.

The handsome blond man had crouched in front of her. He reached out and raked her hair off the side of her face where it had stuck to the residue of blood. Her nose must have bled a bit more after she'd gone to sleep. With the fabric flap on the ice pack, she wiped at it. “How is Mitch?” she asked.

“Holding his own,” Perry said. “He'll make it. How are you?”

Robin wiggled her lower jaw and winced. She felt her nose and wondered if it was broken. “All right. Have you seen him?”

“No, but I spoke with his sister twice tonight. The surgery's over, and he was conscious for a few minutes. The prognosis is good.”

Tears rushed up and out before Robin could stop them. The stranger enfolded her in his arms and held her while she wept. She shouldn't allow it, Robin thought, even as she clung to him.

“There, there,” he said, crooning to her as if she were a child. “Everything will be fine.” He pressed a handkerchief into her hand. “I've spoken with the captain. He and I had a long conversation with the D.A. You're being released into my custody for the time being.”

Robin stilled. “Then he no longer believes I'm guilty?”

Perry moved back and looked into her eyes. His were Arctic blue, yet his expression was warm. “He's inclined to think you shot Somers in self-defense, since it's obvious to him you were struck more than once. He noticed the tape residue on your wrists, which bears out your version of what happened. And Mitch would hardly be asking for you if you were the one who shot him.”

“He asked for me?” Robin felt almost hysterical with relief. “Then he's well enough to talk?”

The stranger smiled. “Apparently. Hunford recounted all that you said to the D.A. The murder charge concerning Somers and that of the attempted murder of Mitch that Detective Taylor leveled against you when you were booked are being regarded as premature, to say the least.”

Robin shook her head as she raked her fingers through her matted hair. “But Mitch was bringing me in for James's murder when all this started. What about that?”

Perry smiled as he stood and offered his hand. “Your prints were on the murder weapon, but the few they found were not located in a position where you could have pulled the trigger. The paraffin test proved you had not fired a weapon that night, Ms. Andrews. Even if you'd worn gloves, as Taylor suggested, you would have had traces on your arms or sleeves. Also, no gloves were found at or near the scene. There were no blood spatters on you, consistent with shooting someone at such a close range. Mitch included that in his report. Taylor suppressed it.”

“But they had enough other evidence….”

Perry frowned. “Yes. It seems some of the facts reported to the D.A.'s office were doctored a bit. Details left out, that sort of thing.”

Robin's breath caught as she stifled another wave of tears.

Perry's brow creased with concern. “I'm sorry. I've upset you further, haven't I?”

“No, no,” Robin protested, shaking her head vehemently. “It's just that I didn't expect anyone would go to so much trouble…for me.”

“Mitch must have told you I'm a friend of his. And I have a suspicion that you are perhaps a bit more than his friend. Am I right?”

Robin nodded, feeling her face heat. “Yes. A bit more.”

“Good for him. So,” he said, taking both her hands in his, “shall we get you out of here and over to the hospital where you belong? Susan has sworn to beat me about the head and shoulders if I delay. Come on. The paperwork's done. All we have to do is get your things.”

“They only took my watch and ring. Leave them.” Robin left the cell as fast as she could. Damien Perry didn't argue. He swept her out with a haste that made her wonder whether Mitch's condition might not be more serious than he'd led her to believe.

Her continued questioning on the way to the hospital never shook Perry's adamant assurances that Mitch would recover in no time at all. The man proved maddeningly patient with her.

She couldn't help but notice, however, that he drove his Jag as if it were the lead car in the Grand Prix.

T
he waiting room outside the Intensive Care Unit was packed. Mitch's entire family filled half of it. Then there was the captain, two other detectives and a tall, attractive redhead Perry introduced as his wife, Molly.

Mitch's mother rushed forward and took Robin's hands. “Oh, you poor baby! Look at your face! I'm
so
glad you're here now. He was asking for you.”

“He's conscious?” Relief flooded through her. “How is he?”

“Groggy. In and out.” Patricia Winton's red-rimmed eyes betrayed her worry. “Dr. Fleming said the surgery went well. There was only one bullet still in there, but they got it out. No permanent damage that they can tell yet. His vital signs are improving right along, but he lost an awful a lot of blood.”

“I'm type O-positive,” Robin declared in a rush.

Patricia patted her hand. “All taken care of for now, but we'll tell them in case he needs more.” She reached out to Damien and squeezed his arm. “Thank you so much for bringing Robin. And I don't know what we would have done without your sweet Molly. She's kept us sane.”

Damien smiled serenely and leaned to kiss Patricia's cheek. “Mitch will be fine, Pat. He's tough as nails.”

She held on to him. “They're moving him to a private room as soon as his blood pressure stabilizes,” she said hopefully. “The nurses have been trying to clear us out of here.”

Mitch's father put his arm around his wife and led her back to one of the chairs. “Come on, Patty. Sit down and take it easy. You're lookin' a little peaked.” He tossed Robin a smile. “When you go in there, you tell Mitch he'd better perk up or else.”

Susan joined them, looking Robin over with a frown. “God, you're a mess! Come on, let's fix you up a little before you see him.” She grabbed her purse off one of the end tables.

Robin looked to Damien Perry for permission. She was in his custody, after all.

He gave her a little nod, then raised his voice to speak to the others in the room. “Now that Mitch is past crisis, why not go down to the cafeteria and have something to eat? I'll stay here and page you there the moment there's any further word.”

Everyone agreed and began filing out of the crowded room.

When she and Susan reached the rest room down the hall and Robin looked in the mirror, she almost fainted. Her nose was swollen and the skin around her eyes was bruised. Dried blood caked her nostrils, the corner of her mouth and the bottom edges of her hair on one side.

“Wash your face and hands,” Susan ordered as she dug around in her bag for something. “Use some soap and get that
blood out of your hair. You can stick your head under the hand dryer.”

She plunked a hairbrush on the sink and fished again. “Here's some powder base. Not your color, but it'll do. Maybe help conceal those shiners. Daub on this lipstick. Smudge some on your cheeks while you're at it. You look like a corpse.”

“Thanks.” Robin said and began scrubbing.

“So who worked you over?” Susan asked, her keen gaze narrow and intense.

“Somers. I feel like hamburger meat.”

“You look like it, too, not that Mitch would mind how you look. Well, he would, but only because you were hurt. I just don't want him to leap up off that bed and go try to kill somebody.” She grinned. “Time for that later when he's healed a little.”

“Somers is already dead,” Robin told her, halting in her attempt to disguise the signs of her ordeal, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I shot him.”

Susan's worried frown melted into an expression of compassion. She rested a hand on Robin's shoulder. “Oh…honey, I'm sorry you had to— No! I'm not sorry,” she admitted suddenly, the fierce light shining in her eyes again. “Good for you. Now, get that face fixed and go see your man!”

Robin rushed through the ritual application and swept the brush through her hair. “Not much improvement,” she commented as she tucked the tail of her blouse into the belt of her jeans. There were drips of blood on the fabric that covered her chest.

Susan quickly shed her long-sleeved T-shirt and handed it over. “Here, switch. He doesn't need to see that blood on you.”

Robin changed hurriedly, pushing up the sleeves as she
glanced in the mirror again. “I won't win any contests, but at least I won't scare him to death. Thanks so much, Susan.”

“What are sisters for?” she said with a grin. “You'll owe me. Name your first kid Susie.”

Impulsively Robin hugged her. She couldn't ever remember being moved to do that to another woman. A little unsettled by her unaccustomed effusiveness, she laughed and shrugged. She wanted Susan for a sister. Could that possibly happen?

“He'll be okay, Robin,” Susan assured her. “You'll see.”

Together they hurried back to the waiting room. It was now empty except for a couple who had not been there before and Damien Perry, who sat thumbing through a dog-eared copy of
People Weekly.
He stood immediately when they entered. “No news yet.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, sit back down, Damien,” Susan said with a roll of her eyes. She nudged Robin with her elbow. “He must have been raised in a palace. Royal manners, you know.” Her attempt at a British accent was atrocious.

Damien sighed. He also remained standing.

“Do you think I could see Mitch?” Robin asked hopefully.

“I know Stevens fairly well. I'll ask,” he said, seeming glad to have something to do besides sit and wait. In a few moments he returned. “I'm sorry, Robin. Stevens says Captain Hunford left strict orders. No one but his parents and the staff. It's for Mitch's protection, he says.”

Robin kept an eye on the door to ICU, noting the unimpeded entry of a man who appeared to be a doctor. He was wearing green scrubs and a mask and seemed in a hurry.

The worst thought occurred to Robin. “Damien, no one's checking the identity of the staff! The officer didn't even blink when that doctor buzzed himself in.”

Damien whirled and headed directly to the door of the unit
and punched the buzzer. Robin was right behind him, ignoring Officer Stevens as he jumped to his feet and protested. “Mr. Perry, I told you—”

The doors swung open. Two beds were occupied. Most of the personnel were at the far end of the unit and busy setting up the machines to monitor a patient who must have just arrived. Only one was attending Mitch. He held a syringe in one gloved hand and the tube to Mitch's IV in the other. He was about to inject it. Robin screamed, “No! Kick, don't!”

She would have run at him, but Damien grabbed her by the arms. The action gave Kick time to bend one leg upward and snatch a gun from his ankle holster.

He placed the weapon against Mitch's temple. “Stay back. I'll kill him.”

Hearing the commotion, the nurses attending the other patient turned. Two started toward Kick. Damien ordered them back. “There's no way out but past me, Taylor. Give it up.”

Kick dropped the syringe on the bed and reached up to pull the mask from his face. The gun in his other hand remained steady pressed against Mitch's head. “We'll see about that. You,” he said to Robin, “get over here. Now!”

Damien increased the steely grip he had on her arms. His voice sounded reasonable, without a trace of anger. “A hostage is not the answer, Kick. Put down the weapon and come quietly. Killing Mitch won't help you now. Everyone already knows all that he could tell us.”

“Let her go. Get her over here,” Kick insisted, his eyes wide, frantic. “Don't and I'll blow his head off.”

The desperation in his voice chilled Robin's blood. The man was cornered. If she could offer him a way out, at least he wouldn't hurt Mitch.

“He'll do it, Damien,” she said in a near whisper. “Let me go with him and get him out of here!”

“No! Taylor, put down the weapon,” he commanded. Robin wondered what the hell Officer Stevens was doing behind them. Probably gawking. In all fairness, he couldn't shoot at Kick. Any shot fired would endanger the people at the far end of the room.

Robin relaxed her shoulders and arms as if she'd given up the struggle. Damien's grip automatically gentled. When it did, she jerked away from him and dashed out of his reach.

“Turn around!” Kick demanded the instant she was free of Damien. Back toward me.”

Robin stopped, spun around and did as he ordered. She felt a strong arm encircle her neck and the cold kiss of the pistol barrel against her head.

She didn't worry that Kick would shoot her right now, since she was his only ticket out of the hospital. But when he no longer needed her, Robin knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill her.

She realized she made a good shield for him. She matched him in height, though not in strength. “You can do this, Kick,” she assured him. “You can get away, clear out of the hospital. Just take it slow. Don't panic.”

“This can still work,” he muttered to himself. If he hadn't heard her words, at least her tone of voice must have been reassuring. He was making plans. She could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. But he hadn't moved from Mitch's bedside yet and that was her objective.

Damien and Stevens blocked the only doorway leading out of the unit. Both were armed now, their stances indicating they were merely waiting for an opening, a clear shot. Even Robin knew better than to hope for that.

Kick must also realize they wouldn't take it even if the opportunity presented itself. There were too many civilians in here to risk a shootout. She had visions of oxygen tanks ex
ploding. And of bodies falling everywhere as they had in the hail of bullets at Somers's house last night.

She risked a glance at Mitch. He lay there looking so vulnerable she wanted to weep. But his eyes were open now. His gaze flicked to his left hand and back to her. With two fingers, he gave the syringe Kick had dropped on the bed a little push toward her. She moved her right hand slowly, groaning and twisting slightly to distract Kick as she picked it up.

“Be still,” he barked, tightening his hold.

“Hard…to…breathe,” she gasped. His choking grip on her eased a bit and she sucked in a deep breath. “I'm ready,” she muttered, hoping to prompt him to leave the room.

He took the cue. “Everybody move over there! On the far side of the room away from the door! Now!”

The barrel of the pistol remained firmly against her temple. Robin knew if she jabbed him with the needle now, he would squeeze that trigger reflexively. She had to wait until he relaxed a little. Until he felt safer. Maybe in the elevator. At least in there no one else would be in danger. She hoped.

Robin positioned the syringe in her hand, her thumb on the plunger, uncertain what effect it would have if she did use it. Who knew what was in it? Obviously something that would have killed Mitch. That could be just about anything, given his weakened condition. But somehow, she didn't believe Kick would have risked using it without the absolute certainty that it would kill and kill quickly, allowing him to sneak back out of the hospital undetected.

He might have gotten the scrubs and mask without much trouble out of the laundry somewhere, but surely he would have caused a stir if he'd tried to obtain anything lethal from a source within the hospital.

No, he would have brought this in with him already prepared. Probably a street drug, a whopping dose, Robin fig
ured. As a cop who used to work Vice, he would have access to that.

The question was, how quickly would it work? Fast enough to prevent his shooting her? Even if he relaxed the position of that gun for a few seconds and took it away from her head, would he still be able to shoot?

She would have to disarm him somehow, or else convince him that she was no threat.

“Buzz us out,” he ordered. Robin did. He snarled at Damien and Stevens. “If these doors open again before we're off this floor, I'll shoot her,” Kick warned them. As he edged sideways with her out of the ICU doors and allowed them to close, the elevator chimed. He whirled around keeping her between him and whoever stepped out.

Captain Hunford appeared, both hands occupied with cups of coffee. His tired eyes flared at the sight of Kick holding her at gunpoint.

“Taylor!” he exclaimed. His gaze flew to the vacant chair where Stevens had been keeping watch.

“Get in there with them!” Kick ordered, his voice grating with desperation. “Do it now, Cap, or I'll ice her right here.”

Hunford nodded and did as he was told. He pushed the button with his elbow and buzzed himself into the unit. His worried gaze collided with Robin's, but he kept silent.

She remained docile as Kick walked her to the elevator and they entered. “Punch Lobby,” he said.

Robin did. She knew she was on her own now. Hunford would call downstairs. There would be officers or security guards there when the elevator opened, she had no doubt. But they would be able to do no more than Damien, Stevens or Hunford had done. If she didn't get her act together and figure a way out of this, Kick would escape and most likely kill her once he didn't need her as a hostage.

Well, years ago she'd thought she might like to try acting. Now seemed an excellent time to try her skill. Hadn't she spent most of her life pretending a confidence she didn't feel? Presenting herself as a whole different person than who she really was? She could almost hear Mitch telling her to go for it.

She could literally smell Kick's fear, and his greed was obvious. If she could allay the one and feed the other, this might work. She had to
make
it work.

“You might want to put the safety on, Kick,” she said calmly. “If you accidentally shoot me, you'll never get those account numbers I memorized. All that money is just waiting.”

“It won't do me any good now,” he snarled. “So just shut the hell up.”

“Now's not time to lose it, Kick. You're too smart for that,” Robin said, hiding her terror and pretending exasperation. “All you have to do is steal us a boat! Believe me, I can get you all the way to the Caymans if you can find a craft capable of the trip.” She thought his arm loosened a little.