Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

Dent stared at the door for several seconds after it closed behind her, then raised the phone to his ear again. “Gall?”

He snorted. “No more separate rooms?”

“Shut up and listen. I sent her on an errand, but she’ll be back soon. I didn’t want her to hear this. I won’t go into the details now, but Moody told us yesterday that it’s almost certain Bellamy witnessed her sister’s death.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It shook her up. I don’t know all the psychological whys and wherefores, but that would be traumatic enough to cause a memory shutdown, wouldn’t you say?”

“Damn straight.”

“This guy, Ray Strickland, has reason—and a solid one—to want vengeance for his brother. But I’m afraid he’s not the only one who’s stalking Bellamy.” He told Gall about her fan Jerry. “She dismissed him as a harmless, bookish type, an admirer who’s gone a little overboard.”

“She’s probably right.”

“Probably. Maybe. But in the park, he pretended not to notice us. At the Austin airport he was near enough to touch her. Close enough to address her, at least. If he’s gushy over his favorite writer, why didn’t he gush?”

“Maybe he was intimidated. She’s got big bad you at her side now.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe. But factor Jerry into everything else, and his unlikely presence in Texas doesn’t seem quite so innocent or coincidental.”

“But you said this Jerry is a fan.”

“ Appears to be a fan. But say he’s only pretending to be and is actually someone with an axe to grind.”

“Say he is. He’s been close to her on several occasions, right? Even while she was still in New York. Why hasn’t he struck?”

Dent had no answer to that. And when Gall asked him what so-called Jerry’s connection to Susan’s death could be, Dent didn’t have an answer to that, either.

He threw a glance toward the door. “She’s back. I’m going to pretend that we’ve been talking about something else.” He grabbed the pen and small tablet on the nightstand. “Give me that license plate number for the pickup.”

He was jotting it down when she came through the door carrying a cardboard tray with two tall paper cups of coffee. When he saw the doughnuts she had also brought, he blew her a kiss.

“Don’t go back to the hangar, Gall. Until you know we’re on our way back, stay in bed with your lady. You’ll be safer there.”

He laughed. “You don’t know my lady.”

“Soon as the weather clears and we can take off, I’ll call you with our ETA.”

“You’ll have to call this number.”

“Where’s your phone?”

The old man wheezed a sound of disgust aimed at himself. “In the pocket of my coveralls. The ones Strickland took with him when he hightailed it out of here.”

Bellamy could tell that Dent was worried and preoccupied as he bit into the glazed doughnut and took a sip of coffee.

“I heard most of it,” she said. “He meant to kill him.”

“A knife in the belly? I’d say so.”

“And it’s my fault.”

“No it isn’t. It’s this creep’s fault. He’d better hope the police catch him before I do.”

She went over to the window and opened the drapes. It was no longer stormy, but the sky was overcast, making for a dreary-looking day. Which was appropriate, because not only did she feel the weight of responsibility for the attack on Gall, but in addition to that, the latest report from Houston was dismal.

When she’d called Olivia from the hotel lobby, she reported that Howard’s condition had sharply declined overnight. His lapses into semiconsciousness were becoming increasingly longer. His lungs were filling with fluid, and he could no longer swallow.

As her husband’s systems began shutting down, Olivia was emotionally unraveling.

“Do you want me to come right away?” Bellamy extended the offer sincerely, although it was in direct opposition to her father’s request.

Olivia underscored it. “If Howard wanted you here, he wouldn’t have sent you away. As much as I would like having you here to lean on, I must go along with his wishes. But it means a lot to me that you offered. Thank you.”

Bellamy wondered if her stepmother would be quite so grateful if she knew that her husband’s decline could be the result of his disturbing conversation with Bellamy yesterday afternoon.

Rather than relieve him of his lingering doubts and anxiety regarding Susan’s death, she had contributed to them by passing along what Moody had told her. She still didn’t know what to make of her father’s anguished response to the possibility that she’d witnessed the crime, and it seemed doubtful that she would have an opportunity to ask him.

Beyond her concern for all that, she was disconsolate over losing him. For months she’d been trying to brace herself for this inevitable outcome. But now that his death seemed imminent, she realized the futility of trying to prepare for it. One couldn’t. She couldn’t. Death was unacceptable. Even now, when it seemed likely that she would never see her father again, she wanted to reject the finality and permanence of his departure.

But it was a reality that she must face. Quietly she said, “Daddy’s going to die soon.”

Dent moved up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Do you want me to fly you down there?”

“I offered to go. Olivia said no. And she’s right. As much as I want to be there and see him one last time, I can’t go back on the promise I made him.”

“Which was a bitch of a promise to ask of you.”

She tended to agree. The more she learned about that horrible day, the more confounding the facts became. And this quest for the truth had placed her and the people around her in danger. She wanted to fulfill the promise she’d made her father, but she feared the cost of doing so.

She said, “We can’t just stand by and let Ray Strickland continue his personal vendetta.”

“The police have his license plate number. Hopefully he’ll be apprehended soon.”

“But until he is—”

“We gotta keep looking over our shoulders.”

“We’re not the only ones.”

He turned her around to face him. “You’re frowning. What are you thinking?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.”

“We need to warn Moody.”

“You’re right, I don’t like it.”

“He sent Ray’s innocent brother—”

“ Presumed innocent brother. Even Moody’s not sure.”

“Okay, but if Allen Strickland was innocent, Moody is a target for Ray’s retribution.”

“He’s had years to get retribution on Moody. He hasn’t.”

“My book set all this into motion.” When he was about to counter that, she placed her fingertips against his lips. “Don’t bother. You know it. I know it. First you, now Gall, were nearly killed because of it. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt, Dent. I feel guilty enough already.”

He released her and turned away.

“You think I’m wrong?” she asked.

“No, dammit, I think you’re right . I just hate having to do that guy a favor.”

“I understand why you feel that way.”

“Thanks for that. What’s the ‘but’?”

“ But he owned up to the injustices he did.”

“Some of them. He didn’t play his ace.”

“He might have, if—”

“What?”

“If you hadn’t badgered him. I think he withheld it out of stubbornness. He didn’t—”

“He didn’t want to lose a pissing contest with me.”

She just looked at him.