Big Shot

“Exactly what do you mean when you say neurological functioning? Are there other injuries?”

“She has a relatively small hematoma behind her right ear and two cuts in her scalp that will need to be sutured. But nothing else to be concerned about.”

“What about her blood pressure? The paramedic mentioned that it was roller-coastering when they rolled her in.”

“That was most likely the result of having been Tasered. We’re monitoring that. It shouldn’t present a continuing problem.”

“And that’s it? No life-threatening injuries?”

“That’s all we know at this time. We’re in the process of scheduling a CT scan to see if there are other issues.”

Durk’s apprehension climbed again. He was fairly certain that CT scans were not the norm for a concussion. “You must have noticed some indicator that this could possibly be more severe than a concussion?”

Dr. Levy pushed his small-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re very perceptive, Mr. Lambert.”

“But not particularly medically astute,” Durk said. “Still, I get the feeling that you’re not totally convinced that the concussion is the worst of Meghan’s condition.”

“In truth, I might have ordered a CT scan in this case just because of the severity of the concussion. But your assumption is correct. One of our residents noticed a small bruise, sometimes referred to as a battle sign, behind Ms. Sinclair’s right ear during the examination. It can indicate a fracture to the skull. It’s something we need to check out.”

“Then it’s still a matter of wait and see?”

“For now. If you’ll leave your cell phone number with Jane, I’ll call you when we know more.”

“Good, because I won’t be leaving the hospital until I hear from you.” If then. “But why this sudden decision to share Meghan’s medical information with a nonfamily member?”

“Lucy Delmar got back to us immediately. She gave us the information we needed and faxed us a release form with your name included. I can’t thank you enough for your help with that.”

“Thanks.” So Lucy had come through for him. He had an idea that her husband had convinced her to do that. He’d make sure he thanked him, as well. And he’d make a point of keeping in touch with them until Meghan was fully recovered.

He had to believe that would be soon. It was the only way he could face this without having his own spell of AMS.

Sitting and waiting had never been his style, but this time he didn’t have a choice.

When Dr. Levy left, Durk gave his cell number to Jane and then tracked Pam down again. Armed with his aunt’s room number, he made his way to the elevator.

A few hours ago, he’d been anticipating a week’s vacation at the ranch with nothing more challenging on his plate than deciding whether to take a sunrise horseback ride or sleep until noon.

Now he had a murder to contend with and a detective that clearly wasn’t convinced of his innocence. Yet all Durk could think about was Meghan Sinclair. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be exactly where he was two years ago.

His heart couldn’t take that again.

* * *

S AM S MART PACED the E.R. hallway, racking his brain to figure out how and why Durk Lambert had ended up at a murder scene. Not only was he CEO of Lambert Inc., but his family owned the oil and gas company, along with the Bent Pine Ranch and several smaller subsidiaries related to drilling operations.

Having accidentally encountered Meghan as she was being wheeled into the E.R. didn’t explain his actions, especially when he hadn’t even seen her in two years. There had to be something Sam was missing here.

Not that Meghan wasn’t the kind of woman who could get under a man’s skin and make him do crazy things. She was spunky, analytical, insightful. Not to mention incredibly sexy.

She’d have made a great homicide detective had she chosen to play by cop rules. Instead she was the frequent bane of the DPD, usurping their authority and making them look incompetent.

Sam had tangled with her himself on more than one occasion. And, yeah, he’d experienced a few pangs of lust while trying and failing to best her.

But a man like Durk Lambert had gorgeous socialites at his beck and call. Hell, the man had probably been in and out of bed with dozens of young hotties in the past two years. Not that Sam faulted him for that. He’d have done the same had he been in Durk’s shoes—or boots as was the case now.

That was another thing that concerned Sam. The cops had described the bloody clothes Durk was wearing when they encountered him at Meghan’s office. Expensive clothing, the kind a wealthy oil executive would be expected to wear.

Yet now he’d shown up at the hospital dressed like an everyday cowboy. Faded jeans. Goat-roper Western boots. A knit pullover shirt that could have come off the rack at any department store in Dallas.

If Durk was trying to give the impression that he was just a good old boy out to help a friend, Sam wasn’t buying it. Yet his story about visiting his aunt had been true. Sam had wasted no time checking that out.

He doubted Durk was the loyal friend he played at being, but that was not a good enough reason to blame the night’s violence on him.

But you could never be sure. Men with the kind of assets and power that Durk possessed had a tendency to believe they were above the law.

Maybe Durk had been trying to get back into the saddle with Meghan and discovered that Ben had replaced him. He could have fought with her and then killed Ben. The story about Durk’s handling the murder weapon for his own protection could be just a clever cover-up.

But that was a long shot at best. Meghan Sinclair had countless enemies, dangerous criminals who’d thought they were home free until she showed up. The list of suspects with motives to get back at her was practically endless.

He figured they were looking at just one suspect for both crimes, but he’d keep an open mind about that. Anyway you called it, his best bet at catching their killer would be for Meghan to identify her attacker.

But would she?

Or would she choose to bypass the police and go after the bastard herself? Sam planned to make damn sure she didn’t. He would not be outsmarted by her. Not again.

* * *

D URK TAPPED ON the door to Sybil’s hospital room, and his mother whispered for him to come in. Sybil was sound asleep, snoring, her jaw slack. She was almost unrecognizable without the infernal black wig plastered to her head.

“How is she?” he whispered.

“They’ve diagnosed her with pleurisy.” His mother stood and tiptoed toward him. “Let’s talk in the hall. She needs her rest.”

They stepped outside the room, softly closing the door behind them.

“I feel like I’m getting a crash course in medicine tonight. Isn’t pleurisy some kind of respiratory ailment?”

“Yes, basically. The E.R. doctor described it as an inflammation of the lining of the lungs and chest.”

“Is it serious?”

“It can be. But in Sybil’s case, the doctor expects it to respond to antibiotics. They gave her an injection so that it could start working at once. If she’s feeling better, she’ll go home in the morning and can follow up with her regular doctor.”

“You’re not going to try and stay with her all night, are you?” he asked.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“That doesn’t get my vote. Not only will you be sore from sitting in that chair all night, but you won’t get any sleep. You’ll need your rest tonight if you’re going to take care of Sybil tomorrow.”

“I’ll have plenty of help from Emma and Alexis once I get her home. Your two sisters-in-law will both pitch in.”

“Spend the night at my place,” he urged. “All the comforts of home.”

“I suppose I could stay in your guest room and then drive back to the hospital in the morning.”

“Great idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself,” he teased. “You’ll have the place to yourself and won’t have Grandma Pearl turning the volume on the TV up to deafening decibels. Do you have your key with you?”

“I do. If you’re not going to be at home, does that mean you’re driving out to the ranch tonight?”

“No, and probably not tomorrow, either.” No reason not to level with her except that he dreaded having to explain a relationship with Meghan that he didn’t fully understand himself.

Carolina pushed a lock of graying hair behind her ear. “I’m assuming this has to do with the emergency you mentioned earlier.”

He nodded.

She frowned and pulled her gold-colored cardigan tight around her chest. “You’re letting that oil company take over your life, Durk. You haven’t had a real vacation in months. You have a nephew, a foster niece and two new sisters-in-law you’ve barely met. Whatever it is, can’t you just delegate it to someone else this time?”

He smiled in spite of his worries. He might be thirty years old and a CEO, but that didn’t keep his mother from tearing into him if she thought he needed it. No matter how high up the corporate level he climbed or how old he got, he was still her kid.

“This has nothing to do with business, Mom. I have a friend who’s in the hospital and I’m staying in town to make sure she’s okay.”

“She?”

More reason he hated going there with his mother, the matchmaker. “Just a friend, Mom.”

“Do I know her?”

“Meghan Sinclair.”

Her brows arched. “Isn’t that the private detective who worked with Tague and Alexis when that horrible man was trying to kill Alexis?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’m so sorry. I know Alexis really liked her. Did she have surgery?”

“Not yet, and hopefully she won’t have to. She was the victim of a brutal attack tonight when she was returning to her condo.”

“Oh, no. Will she be all right?”

“I hope so.” And now he might as well tell her the rest since she’d hear it all on the morning news and so would his brothers.

Shock registered in every line of her face as he went over the details of his finding Ben Conroe’s body. By the time he finished, her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“Poor Meghan. She’ll have so much to face and no family here to see her through this. Of course you should stay with her. Just…” Anxiety shook her voice. “Just don’t get involved in the murder case, son. Leave that to the cops. Please.”

He put his arms around her shoulder. “I have no intention of becoming a vigilante, Mom.” That was the most he could promise.

“Why don’t you go to my place now, Mother? There’s no reason to just sit around and watch Aunt Sybil sleep. I’ll stick around awhile in case she wakes up, but she looks as if she’s out for the night. And if she wakes up and needs something, I’ll only be an elevator ride away.”

“Very well. I’ll give your phone number to the nursing staff.”

“And take that god-awful wig with you so that it doesn’t frighten the nurses away during the night.”

“I’m not about to take the wig. Heaven forbid Sybil wakes up in the morning and has to face her doctor without it.”

His mother gathered her things and kissed his sleeping aunt on the cheek. He walked her to his car and then grabbed a cup of coffee from the hospital café before going back to his aunt’s room.

Time dragged by and he’d almost dozed off when his cell phone vibrated. He yanked it from his pocket and rushed into the hall to take the call.

“This is Jane, in E.R. Can you come back to our nursing station, Mr. Lambert? Dr. Levy has the reports back from Ms. Sinclair’s scan and he’d like to discuss the results with you.”

His uneasiness swelled to a sickening dread as he rushed back to the elevator to face whatever news was waiting for him.

Chapter Four

Durk followed Jane to a small conference room that held a metal table and a few hard folding chairs. Dr. Levy sat in one of the chairs, a mug of coffee at his elbow while he made notes on a patient chart.

He motioned for Durk to take a seat.

Durk remained standing. He thought best on his feet. “Did the scan show any skull fractures?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer.

“No, the scan was negative for any type of brain injury.”

Durk took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he slid into the chair. “Can I see her?”

“You can.”

Durk’s hands grew clammy as anticipation and anxiety waged a choking battle inside him. Two long years of fighting the memories and trying to convince himself that he and Meghan had made the only decision that made sense and now he was about to insinuate himself right back in her life. Had he totally lost his mind?

He forced himself to focus on the doctor’s words. Meghan had been moved to a private room in a telemetry unit so that her vital signs could be closely monitored. She was still in a state of confusion. She couldn’t name the president of the United States or even state her own address or her phone number.

The doctor assured him the altered mental status was temporary and not unusual following a concussion. What she needed most from Durk was a calm, assuring, familiar voice.

Problem was that by the time he left the doctor and took the elevator to the telemetry unit, the memories were playing so much havoc with his emotions that he was anything but calm. Losing Meghan had been a hundred times more difficult than he’d imagined. She’d stalked his mind at times when he’d have least expected, haunted his dreams, made every woman he’d dated since seem sensually lame by comparison.

A nurse stopped at his elbow, interrupting his reverie. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to visit Meghan Sinclair.”

“You must be Durk Lambert. One of the nurses from the trauma unit just called. She said you were a close friend of the patient and that you were on your way up.”

She opened the door to Meghan’s room. Ready or not, he thought as he stepped inside. A chilling lump settled in his chest as he stopped next to the hospital bed and stared down at Meghan.

Her eyes were closed. One side of her face was swollen. The hematoma Dr. Levy had mentioned was the size of a walnut. Her head was bandaged where she’d had the sutures.

She looked incredibly frail and much younger than her thirty-one years. He covered her left hand with his. It was cool to the touch and unresponsive.

A flare of dark fury rushed through his veins. If he could just get his hands on the man who did this to her....

He muttered a curse and dropped to a chair next to the bed.

Meghan jerked and groaned without opening her eyes. Durk leaned in close. “You’re safe, Meghan,” he whispered softly. “You’re going to be all right.”

If she heard him, she gave no sign. His mind drifted back to the night they’d first met. At the last minute he’d let his mother, who had been ill with a stomach virus, talk him into attending a fundraiser in her place. It was one of her pet charities, an organization dedicated to helping pay medical expenses for physically handicapped children needing surgery.

He’d been in stressful meetings all day and had gone to the gala with plans to deliver her speech thanking all the donors for their contributions and then immediately cut out.

But then he’d spotted Meghan Sinclair across the room and become totally intrigued. She was stunning in an emerald-green ball gown and a crown of the most gorgeous red silky hair he’d ever seen.

But the real fascination came from the impact of watching her flip her wrist and empty a crystal flute of champagne in the face of his least favorite Texas politician. Durk had no doubt that the jerk deserved it.

Durk had made a point of meeting her after that incident and ended up driving her home and staying for breakfast—two days in a row. He’d never fallen so hard, so fast—not since Ellie Jenkins had kissed him in the sixth grade.

His thoughts shifted from the past to the here and now. Meghan was in the hospital, confused and battered. Ben Conroe was lying in a morgue. And somewhere a killer was going on with his life.

Eventually Durk must have dozed off because the next time he looked at his watch, it was an hour later. He stood, stretched and went to the bathroom. He relieved himself, washed his face in cold water and went in search of coffee.

After he finished the cup of strong brew, he slipped quietly back into Meghan’s room. Only this time, Meghan’s eyes were open wide and she was staring at the ceiling. She moaned as he approached the bed.

“Are you in pain?” he asked. “Should I get the nurse?”

She turned and looked at him, then closed her eyes again.

“Can I get you anything?” he repeated.

Still no response, but he was almost certain she was awake.

He sat and stayed quiet until she squirmed and began to rub her left hand. Then he stood and moved close to the bed.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked, sure that if she were fully conscious, she’d have questions about the attack.

She shuddered and finally met his gaze, staring at him as if he’d interrupted something important.

“Who are you and why are you in my bedroom?”

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