David Morrell: The naked edge

"Want the first waltz?" he asked Rutherford.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll sit this one out."

"Reject me. See if I care."

They smiled again.

"Carl wanted it," Cavanaugh said.

"Wanted?" Rutherford asked, puzzled.

"To be shot."

"He didn't act like it! He was trying to slit your throat!" Jamie insisted.

"To force John to shoot," Cavanaugh said as a nurse went past the doorway.

Jamie looked at him with new appreciation. He was more alert than she thought.

Even so, Cavanaugh had to concentrate to form the words. "Carl knew he had nothing ahead of him except probably a death sentence. Sitting in a narrow cell waiting for the seconds to tick by and somebody to stick a needle in him. He hurried things along. John, you did him a favor," Cavanaugh said, looking at Jamie.

"The bastard didn't deserve a favor," she told him.

"When he and I were kids, we had wonderful times," Cavanaugh said. Melancholy made him feel as if Carl's hands were again around his throat. He had difficulty getting his voice to work as he changed the subject. "So what happens now?"

"You lost a lot of blood. Your doctor says you'll need to stay here a few more days while you get more strength back."

"And then we go back to New Orleans to prepare for the trial," Cavanaugh said.

Rutherford and Jamie looked at one another.

"What aren't you telling me?" Cavanaugh asked.

"Mosely dropped the charges," Rutherford answered.

Cavanaugh needed a moment to adjust to that

"What happened in the park attracted a lot of media attention," Rutherford continued. "A lot of sympathy for you. God knows why, but many people think you're some kind of hero." He half-smiled. "The hotels don't want to look like corporate bullies. They put pressure on Mosely. So did the officials for the World Trade Organization. It seems my boss isn't as unbendable as he maintains."

"How's he treating you?" Cavanaugh asked.

"Apparently, I'm some kind of hero, also," Rutherford said. "For now, we're best buddies."

"Knock, knock," a voice said.

Glancing over, Cavanaugh saw William in the doorway. With his coiffed hair, his gleaming teeth, his brilliant white shirt, his authoritative pinstripe suit, and his powerful-looking chest, he looked more the celebrity attorney than ever. "Do you feel strong enough for more company?"

"You're always welcome," Cavanaugh said.

"I considered bringing flowers, but I decided on this instead." He gave Cavanaugh an envelope.

"What's this about?"

"A letter of credit from a dozen of your wealthiest clients. It seems they quaked in their billionaire boots when they realized that Global Protective Services and in particular you weren't going to be available to keep them alive."

"From the Cheshire-cat look on your face," Jamie said, "I have a feeling you took pains to remind them."

"Quite a few phone calls, yes. You'll receive an itemized bill now that you can afford my services again. Of course, you'll need to downsize Global Protective Services considerably, but I suspect you prefer it that way."

"As long as it allows me to protect people who deserve it but can't afford me." Cavanaugh felt Jamie squeeze his hand.

"Whatever you want. It's your company," William said.

"And Jamie's."

"Yes," Rutherford said. "I've seen first-hand that she's an excellent protector."

Cavanaugh studied him. "So are you, John. You helped save my life. Thank you."

Rutherford thought about it and shrugged. "That's what friends do."