Big Shot
“Her parents are dead.”
“What about siblings?”
“She has a sister who lived in Connecticut,” he said. “I assume she still lives there.”
“Can you give us the sister’s name and phone number?”
“Meghan called her Lucy. She’s married, and I don’t know her last name or her phone number. I’m sure Meghan’s assistant, Ben Conroe, can give you everything you need.”
“Do you have his phone number?”
“Not off hand, but I can get it. In fact, he needs to be notified. I know he’d want to be here.”
“Would he also have her medical insurance information?”
“He’ll at least know who holds the policy.”
“Then have him contact us at this number ASAP.” She handed him a business card for the trauma unit. “Tell him to ask for Jane. I’ll be here until midnight.”
“I’ll get in touch with Ben,” Durk said, “as soon as you give me the honest truth about Meghan’s medical condition.”
“I’m sorry, but since you’re not a family member, the only information I can give you is that she’s being treated.”
Durk understood rules, but he’d never been too keen on following them. “I’m the only one here to make sure she’s taken care of. You want me to cooperate, then do the same,” he said.
It was a bluff. He’d cooperate and do what was best for Meghan no matter what they did or didn’t tell him.
“Wait here,” the nurse said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
A couple of minutes later, she returned with a man in a white physician’s lab coat. The apprehension on the man’s face as he stuck out his hand was anything but reassuring.
His handshake was firm as he introduced himself as Dr. Levy.
“I’m Durk Lambert, and I appreciate you talking to me.”
“I understand you’re a close friend of Ms. Sinclair,” the doctor said, his voice matter-of-fact.
“Yes,” Durk agreed even though it was an exaggeration. “How serious are her injuries? I mean, are we talking critical?”
“All I can tell you now is that her condition is being assessed.”
“Exactly what does that entail?”
“Examination, routine neurological tests and a CAT scan.”
“Is she conscious?”
“She’s alert, but exhibiting altered mental status.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s confused. That frequently goes along with a concussion. But we do need to contact a family member. That’s the one thing you can do at this point to help your friend.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Durk said. “In the meantime, I want to make certain that Meghan receives the best care possible, even if that means airlifting her to a different facility.”
The doctor’s brows arched. “At your expense?”
“Yes. I can sign whatever is needed.”
“That’s a very generous offer, Mr. Lambert, but there’s no reason to move her at this time.”
“In that case, when can I see her?”
“That depends on her progress and the test results, but likely within the next several hours. It will be good for her to hear a familiar voice—unless there’s some reason why seeing you would upset her. There isn’t, is there?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll let you know when you can see her.”
Durk reconsidered his answer to that last question as he walked away. He and Meghan hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Not that she’d made a scene. Meghan Sinclair was not one to lose control. But she’d clearly dumped him.
That had been two years ago. When he’d recommended her professional services to his brother Tague just months ago she’d accepted and done a bang-up job.
She’d moved on. For all he knew, she was in a serious romantic relationship. The thought bothered him, though it shouldn’t. He’d bow out quickly enough if he found out that was true.
It wouldn’t change the fact that he planned to make damn sure that whoever did this to Meghan would not get off scot-free.
But the first order of business was contacting Ben Conroe. He searched for a quiet space. When he found none, he walked outside and into the gathering twilight. The siren of an incoming ambulance punctuated the brisk air as he called Meghan’s office.
He got a busy signal instead of the answering machine, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, that meant Ben was still at work. The office was on the second floor of a three-story office building across the street from a strip mall only a few blocks away.
Durk jogged to his truck and a few seconds later was heading out of the parking lot. He dialed the number again as he sped toward her office. The line remained busy.
He glanced at his watch as he parked in the mostly empty lot. It was ten before six. He entered and raced up the stairs to the second floor. He tapped on the closed door to her office. When no one answered, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
Ben was there, but he was not on the phone. He wouldn’t be talking—not now and not ever again. A bullet had apparently ripped through his brain.
Durk went into defensive mode instantly, reaching for the pistol that lay near Ben’s body, listening and looking for any sign the killer was still on the premises.
The office remained as quiet as death.
Feeling a bit more confident that he was alone, Durk stepped closer to the body. Ben’s eyes were open, staring and lifeless. Durk stooped and checked Ben’s pulse, knowing there wouldn’t be one. The body was still warm. He’d missed the killer by mere minutes.
Reality burned in the pit of his stomach as he tried to assess the situation with some degree of clarity. Ben was dead. And whoever had killed him had probably planned the same fate for Meghan. Something had apparently stopped him before he could finish the job on her—possibly the neighbor who’d called the ambulance.
Fury and determination strained every muscle as Durk took out his phone and dialed 911. He gave the operator the information. She asked a few questions, assured him the cops were on their way and warned him not to touch anything before they arrived.
A little late for that since he was likely already holding the murder weapon. Survival topped crime scene protocol any day. Too bad he hadn’t thought to grab his own pistol from the car, but then he hadn’t expected to crash a murder scene.
He let his gaze roam the small outer office. File cabinet drawers were open, loose papers strewn about the floor and across what had been Ben’s desk.
Gun still in hand, he crossed the room and, using the tips of his fingers to hopefully keep from destroying possible fingerprints, he cautiously turned the knob and opened the door to Meghan’s office. The usually neat space was a total wreck.
Whatever the murderous bastard had wanted, Durk assumed he’d found it. Otherwise, he’d have still been here when Durk showed up.
When the cops arrived, they’d take over. From that point on, everything in the office would be in their possession and Durk would be the outsider—or possibly even a suspect since his prints would be all over the Smith & Wesson still clutched in his right hand.
He’d deal with the suspicions, but the idea of losing control disturbed him to the max. The least he could do was locate the insurance information for the doctor so that they could check for a history of allergies.
He made his way to the ravaged file cabinet, stepping over scattered files and loose papers as best he could. Before he could locate the insurance file, the office phone rang. Durk answered quickly.
“Hello,” the female voice responded. “Is Meghan around?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Lucy. Who is this?”
Durk’s mouth went dry. Exactly who he needed to talk to, but he hated the news he had to deliver. “I’m a friend of Meghan’s,” he explained, working to keep his voice steady. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Lucy. There’s been an incident.”
“What kind of incident?”
“Meghan was attacked in her apartment this afternoon. She’s in the hospital.”
He heard the gasp and then the tremble in the voice. “Oh, no. How bad is she hurt?”
“They’re running tests now to determine the seriousness of her condition.”
“What hospital? I want to talk to her.”
“Grantland, but she can’t talk just yet. Her doctor is eager to hear from you, though. He needs to know if Meghan has any drug allergies that he should be aware of.”
“Where’s Ben? Is he with Meghan?”
Durk considered his answer. He hated to throw even more at Lucy when he knew so few facts. “Ben’s not available, but I’ll be with Meghan until she’s out of danger.”
“Who are you?”
“Durk Lambert. We’ve never met, but I’m a friend of Meghan’s.”
“Yes. I know who you are.” Her tone told him she’d not only heard of him, but that he had at least two strikes against him in her book.
“How are you involved in this?” she demanded.
“By chance. I was at the emergency room checking on my aunt when Meghan was brought in. And it doesn’t really matter what you think of me right now, Lucy. The only thing that matters is Meghan, and I promise you that I will see that she has the best of care. Right now you need to call Dr. Levy. Do you have a pen or pencil handy?”
“Wait.”
He could hear her muffled voice talking to someone else. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone. A few seconds later a male voice addressed him. “This is Johnny Delmar, Lucy’s husband. Give me the doctor’s phone number.”
Durk did and then gave Johnny his number, as well. “I’d like permission to hire a private nurse around the clock if that seems warranted.”
“I don’t see any problems with that,” Johnny said. “Except I’m sure Ben Conroe will see that Meghan has whatever she needs.”
“That won’t be possible.”
“Why not? Doesn’t Ben still work for Meghan?”
Durk hesitated, hating to get into a drawn-out explanation when the cops would arrive any second. But better that Johnny be there when Lucy heard about the murder. “You may as well know now as later. Ben’s dead. He was shot in the head.”
A few seconds of silence followed that pronouncement. “Were Ben and Meghan together?”
“No.”
“What the hell is going on down there in Dallas?”
“I’ve told you all I know. I’m expecting the cops any second, but right now Meghan’s medical concerns top the priority list.”
“Absolutely. We have a problem here, as well,” Johnny said. “Lucy is going to want to catch the next flight to Texas, but she’s eight months pregnant. She’s having some complications and her obstetrician has ordered total bed rest until the delivery.”
“Keep Lucy in Connecticut,” Durk encouraged. “When I leave here, I’m going straight back to the hospital and I’ll be there as long as Meghan is at risk. Count on it. I’ll keep Lucy informed of everything.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not sure how much faith Lucy has in you.”
“I understand that. But I still consider Meghan a friend. Nothing that happened between us changed that. I’ll make certain Meghan gets the best of care.”
Durk heard footsteps in the hallway. “I’ve got to go now. The cops are here.”
He hung up the phone and walked into the outer office, leaving the murder weapon behind him on Meghan’s desk.
“Hands over your head and face the wall,” one of the cops demanded. All weapons were drawn and pointed straight at him.
For once in his life, Durk followed orders without as much as a blink.
Chapter Three
Bearing a family name well-known in Dallas’s social, business and philanthropic circles frequently offered significant perks and dismaying pitfalls. In this situation, it definitely worked to Durk’s advantage.
The cops were actually giving him a chance to explain the circumstances instead of just hauling him off in a squad car to be interrogated at the local precinct.
He detailed every move he’d made since he’d first spotted Meghan at the hospital, giving particular attention to his actions at the crime scene. But even though they listened to his account, he wasn’t sure they were convinced of his innocence.
“Check it out for yourselves,” Durk said. “Talk to the cops who answered the 911 call to Meghan Sinclair’s apartment. Talk to the E.R. staff at Grantland. They’ll tell you I was there to see my aunt when they brought Meghan in and that Dr. Levy specifically requested that I help them gather needed medical and insurance information.”
“And so you rushed to the office of a woman you admittedly hadn’t seen for two years?”
“I figured her assistant was the best source of the information they needed. Like I said, I remembered she didn’t have any family in the area.”
One of the cops scratched a craggy jaw that was sporting a five o’clock shadow. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to call the assistant instead of rushing over here?”
“I did, but the line was busy. Besides, I figured this was the kind of news better delivered in person.”
“How long has Mr. Conroe worked for Ms. Sinclair?”
“At least two years,” Durk said. “Probably longer.”
“Did Meghan mention any problems between her and Ben?”
“No, they appeared to be very close, but like I said, I haven’t actually talked to Meghan in a couple of years.”
“Yet here you are,” one of the cops noted. “A busy executive like you, rushing in to help an ex-girlfriend.”
The sarcasm didn’t warrant a response.
“Were Meghan and Ben romantically involved?” another cop asked.
“Not to my knowledge.” At least they hadn’t been two years ago. “As far as I know they were just coworkers and friends,” he added, though he couldn’t imagine what relevance a relationship between them would have to the case. It wasn’t as if Meghan had shot him and then beat herself up.
But Meghan was going to take the news of Ben’s murder hard. And knowing her, she’d be out looking for the killer the second she was released from the hospital—if not before.
A middle-aged cop with salt-and-pepper hair, a nose that showed signs of being broken more than once and a spare tire that hid his belt had asked most of the questions. His was the only name Durk had caught in the noisy confusion that accompanied their arrival. Officer Jordon.
Durk addressed his next question to him. “Do I need to contact my attorney or are you going to release me to return to the hospital and check on Meghan Sinclair?”
“First off, I need to request a crime scene unit. Then I’ll make a few calls to verify your story. If everything checks out, you’re free to go—for the time being. However, I expect you’ll be contacted shortly by a detective. Are you staying in town for the Thanksgiving holiday?”
“Yes, I’ll either be at my home or at the hospital. And you can assure the detective I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. If he thinks a reward will help flush out the perpetrator, I’ll supply the funds.”
Durk waited while Officer Jordon made the calls, his mind struggling to make sense of the attack and murder. Had the killer come to the office first, killed Ben and then gone after Meghan?
Had he gone to both places looking for something in particular—like files on one of her cases? Had he found them, or had Bill Mackey frightened him away before he could fully search her condo?
Or was this someone Meghan had helped put away coming back to exact revenge?
At this point, those were all merely theories. Hopefully when Meghan was talking again, she’d be able to explain everything and identify the man who’d assaulted her and killed Ben.
Assuming they were one and the same.
Fortunately, the officer’s calls backed up everything Durk had told them. Once released, Durk made a quick exit before the CSU team arrived.
On his way to the car, he called the number the nurse named Jane had given him. As soon as he identified himself, she thanked him for having Lucy call them but still refused to release any information on Meghan.
He figured Pam might be more accommodating, but when he got her on the phone, all she could tell him was that his aunt was being admitted to the hospital for observation and further tests.
Which meant Durk would undoubtedly run into his mother before the night was over. She’d be a much tougher interrogator than the cops had been as to his involvement with Meghan.
One thing you could always count on as a Lambert: your secrets never stayed that way for long. Not that he had any reason to hide his past relationship with Meghan. They had been lovers for a while and then they weren’t.
The past was simple. The feelings churning inside him now were inextricably complicated.
Durk made a stop at his penthouse condo to take a quick shower and change from his bloody dress clothes into a pair of jeans, a blue pullover shirt and his boots.
He also took a couple of over-the-counter painkillers. What had started as a dull ache while he was still at the scene of the crime had burgeoned into a hammering throb at both temples.
By the time he made it back to the hospital, stars and a crescent moon were shining in the night sky. Not that they ever sparkled inside the Dallas city limits with the same brilliance as they did on the ranch.
It dawned on him as he parked that he’d never taken Meghan to the Bent Pine Ranch.
He climbed from behind the wheel and walked to the E.R. entrance, hoping to dodge interference and make his way back to the trauma unit on his own.
No such luck. Pam spotted him as he walked through the door. She waved from behind the glass partition and motioned him over to where she was talking to a patient.
“Give me a minute to finish here and I’ll be right with you,” she chirped. She looked back to her patient and handed the woman a clipboard. “Just fill this out while you’re waiting and sign the areas that are highlighted. Bring it back to the desk when you finish.”
As the woman walked away, Pam turned her full attention back to Durk. “I have a break due, so I can show you to your aunt’s room.”
“Actually, I was going to check on Meghan Sinclair first.”
She frowned. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Why not?”
“There’s a detective from the DPD waiting to talk to her. I expect he’ll get first dibs when the doctor says she’s up for visitors. And if you’re hanging around back there, he’ll likely question you, as well.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Durk said. “But thanks for the warning.” He smiled and walked away before she could join him.
Durk found Jane in the E.R. nurse’s station arguing with a tall man in jeans and a tan-colored sport coat. The guy looked to be in his early forties and easily as tall as Durk’s six-foot-two-inch frame. Hard body. Craggy, tan face. Thick sandy-colored hair that looked as if it had been held in place with a glue gun.
Jane looked up, her expression flashing relief when she saw Durk. “Here’s Mr. Lambert now.” She motioned Durk over. “This detective has been looking for you.”
“Has there been any change in Meghan’s condition?” Durk asked.
“All I can tell you at this point is that she’s being seen by the trauma medical staff, the same as I told Detective Sam Smart here. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I need to get back to nursing. That is what they pay me for.”
“I still need to talk to Ms. Sinclair the minute she’s able,” the detective said to her back as she walked away.
Jane didn’t respond.
The detective stared at Durk as if he were sizing him up for a new suit—or a fight. Durk figured he was going for intimidation. It didn’t work. He was a master at that himself.
“Glad to run into you here,” the detective said. “It will save me a trip to your house.”
“Is this concerning Meghan’s attack or her assistant’s murder?”
“Both.”
“So you’re in homicide?”
“Exactly.”
“You didn’t waste any time getting started on the case,” Durk said.
“Time is seldom on a detective’s side in a murder case. So let’s talk.”
“Talk or interrogate me?”
Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Is there a difference?”
“Quite a bit. If you want facts, I can tell you the little I know. If you’re going to interrogate me as a suspect, I should call my attorney.”
“I’m just after the facts—unless, of course, you have something to confess.”
“I already confessed to handling the possible murder weapon.” And he had nothing to hide. Unfortunately, he had nothing of any real value to add, either. If and when he needed an attorney, he’d get the best in the business. He didn’t see it going that far, especially since Meghan would vouch that he wasn’t her attacker.
Durk stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “So do we talk here in the middle of the noisy hallway or do you want to try for something a bit more private?”
Smart smirked. “Are you worried about being seen with a homicide detective?”
“Just trying to be helpful,” Durk said.
“I’m glad you feel that way.”
The detective led the way to a back exit. They stepped outside but didn’t venture away from the building.
Smart propped his shoulder against the wall. “How well do you know Meghan?”
“Reasonably well. We dated for several months two years ago.”
“Then I assume you’re aware of what she does for a living?”
“I know she’s a private investigator,” Durk admitted.
“She specializes in cases involving extremely dangerous criminals, the kind of cases best left to trained police officers.”
“And I hear she’s good at it,” Durk said. “So, what’s your point?”
“The point is that you’d be smart not to get involved in this case other than cooperating with me and the rest of the DPD.”
In other words, butt out. Durk had a real problem with ultimatums—unless he was the one issuing them. “What makes you think I’d get involved?”
“You might look like a cowboy, but I know all about you, Durk. You’re a powerful CEO. You’re used to being in charge and running things your way.”
“I’m noted for getting the job done, just like Meghan.”
“But you’re not used to dealing with murderers. Take it from me, they don’t play by any rules. This guy has killed once. He won’t hesitate to do it again if that’s what it takes to save his skin.”
“I plan to stay alive,” Durk said. “With or without rules.”
The groundwork of their tenuous relationship had been laid. The rest of the detective’s questions were routine and the interview was over as soon as the detective realized that Durk knew nothing about the cases Meghan was currently working.
When Smart left, Durk walked back inside. Jane met up with him right away.
“Dr. Levy would like to speak with you.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “When?”
“As soon as he has a minute. If you’ll wait near the trauma unit nurse’s station, I’ll come for you when he’s ready.”
Jane’s voice had taken on a somber tone that set his nerves on edge.
“I’ll be there,” he said. Waiting. Worrying. Agonizing over what Dr. Levy would have to say and unable to do one thing to change it.
* * *
“M S . S INCLAIR IS EXHIBITING symptoms of a severe brain concussion.”
Durk breathed easier at Dr. Levy’s pronouncement. He was familiar with concussions, having experienced two of them while playing quarterback for the Oak Grove Wildcats. But his had been mild, and the only symptoms he remembered were a headache and vomiting all over his uniform.
“What symptoms?” he asked.
“She lost consciousness for several minutes during her exam and she is experiencing AMS—altered mental status. In Ms. Sinclair’s case she’s combative, pushing the medical team away when we try to examine her. She keeps yelling about being in a car wreck.”
“She was doing that when they brought her in,” Durk recalled.
“She’s also unable to answer simple questions or state her name.”
“Is that normal with a severe concussion?”
“It’s not unusual, especially immediately following the trauma.”
“Can you give her something to help her focus?”
“We don’t want to give her any meds at this point. Drugs would affect her neurological functioning and we want to keep a close check on those for the next few hours.”