Carla Neggers - Night’s Landing

“Think he already knows about us? The twin thing.”

She liked the way he said “us,” as if yesterday, the night before, had meant something to him. She got two mugs out of the cupboard. “If he knows, he’d have checked himself out of the hospital bed by now. He’d drag his IV down here with him if he had to. He’s never wanted to introduce me to his marshal buddies.”

“Now you can understand why.”

“Nate-” She broke off, setting the mugs on the counter. “I’ve learned to take things one step at a time with my parents. They’ve always got a pot boiling. Nicholas Janssen could be a red herring.”

“Joe Collins will want to know what he and your mother talked about.”

“They talked for two seconds at a public museum. It’s not as if she can be accused of harboring a fugitive.” Sarah lifted the lid off a canister and dug out a couple of tea bags. “Conroy probably discovered the connection between Janssen and my mother and figures he can tie it back to the president.” She stopped still, sighing. “That weasel. That has to be what he’s up to.”

“Didn’t President Poe go to Vanderbilt with your mother?”

“They were in the came class.”

“Does your mother have a college yearbook around here?”

Sarah hesitated, then nodded. She abandoned the tea bags and retreated to the living room, pulling all four of her mother’s college yearbooks off a high, dusty shelf in the living room. She dumped them onto the coffee table and sat on the couch, Nate beside her, and flipped through the pages of the one from her mother’s freshman year.

About halfway through, she found one small candid shot from a philosophy class with all of them together: Betsy Quinlan, John Wesley Poe and Nicholas Janssen.

Sarah scanned each of the other three yearbooks, but there were no pictures of Janssen in any of them, including the one from what should have been his senior year.

“He must have dropped out,” Sarah said.

But Nate was already dialing Joe Collins’s number in New York.

Juliet hurt all over when she coughed, but she managed to extricate herself from the E.R. and bypass any medical types on her way to Rob’s room. She still had on her running clothes, the hem of her shorts bloodied from her short skid across the road. The guys guarding Rob eyed her but didn’t say a word. Smart. She felt like punching someone. Not that she could muster up the strength to really nail anyone. But she was in the mood.

Rob was on his feet, off all his IVs and looking like he wanted to escape out the nearest window.

“Watch out,” Juliet told him. “Collins is getting cranky about deputy marshals who get out of line.”

He gave her a ragged look. “I need to get out of here.”

“Not without an armed guard. You’re still not fit to protect yourself, and, damn, you need protecting. I’m thinking you’ve got a big-assed target painted on your back.”

His gray eyes seemed to focus on her for the first time since she’d entered his room. “What the hell happened to you? Juliet-”

“I got shoved into a car at gunpoint by a couple of thugs. One got in a few smacks before I jumped out into oncoming traffic. They wanted to know about the investigation into the shooting.” She grinned and limped to his bed. “I think they picked me because I’m blond.”

He swept a narrowed gaze over her, presumably taking in her swollen lip, the visible portion of her bloodied upper thigh and the obvious pain she was in. “They picked you because you’re a creature of habit and run at the same time every morning.” He sat on his vinyl-covered hospital chair. “And you’re my former girlfriend.”

“There. I’ve always said you’d make a great investigator.” It was weird talking with a swollen lip. The doctor had sent her off with an ice pack, which she’d used on the way up to Rob’s room but wouldn’t use in front of him and his guards. “I swear, I’d rather get shot than have to jump out of a moving vehicle. You should see the rest of this road rash.”

“Done. I’ll trade you my bullet wound for your road rash.”

“You’d get my right thigh with the deal. You might not like that.”

“I like your right thigh just fine.”

His comment was that of a friend who’d once been a lover, a man who was facing a long recovery, who hadn’t had a chance to fight his own attacker. Juliet sat on the edge of his bed, a hospital no-no, careful to avoid touching anything to her road rash. “It could have been a couple of mad reporters for all I know.”

“That’s not what you think.”

No. She thought it was the guy his sister had seen in Central Park. She tried to grin, but it hurt. “You don’t look so good today, Dunnemore.”

“You should see yourself, Longstreet.”

She laughed. “Collins asked me a bunch of pointed questions. I think he’s suspicious of me. Thinks I might have faked my own kidnapping. For all I know, he’s got it in his head that I shot you and Nate.”

“FBI’s suspicious of everyone. Collins is no exception.”

“I’m suspicious of everyone, but he’s carrying it too far. He barged in on me in the E.R. I practically had my ass hanging out-”

“Juliet. Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry. I grew up as one of the boys. I can be-”

“I wasn’t talking about your language. Collins. He doesn’t really suspect you. You got a description of the guys who grabbed you?”

She nodded. “I’m not supposed to discuss the details with anyone.”

“Understood.”

“You want to get back in bed? You look like you’re fading. My God, Rob. I can’t believe…” But she stopped herself, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on how close he’d come to being dead. “Maybe I’ll just tell Collins I fell while I was on my run and made up the kidnapping just to cover for my embarrassment.”

“This thing, whatever’s going on-it’s not a marshal’s deal. Nate knows about you?”

Although he was up, Rob looked more haggard this morning, with dark circles under his eyes. Maybe the doctors and nurses were pushing him too hard. “Collins called him after he got through grilling me.”

Rob sank his head back against his chair and exhaled at the ceiling, his chest bandage peeking out of his hospital gown.

Juliet eased back to her feet. “It’s hard to look macho in a hospital gown, isn’t it?”

“Hard to look macho with a big goddamn bullet hole in you.” She’d tried to make him smile, but failed. He had to know she was holding back on him. “You did great, Longstreet. Getting away. I’m glad you had a chance.”

“I should have gotten the plate number. Collins would be happier with me if I had.”

“Fuck Collins.”

She smiled. “No way. He’s got a wife and kids, not to mention that gut-”

That drew something of a smile. “You are going straight to hell, you know that, don’t you?”

“Just trying to cheer up a fellow deputy. Think the FBI’s got me under surveillance? And Nate-I wonder-”

“You and Nate’d sniff out a G-man within a thousand yards of you.”

“They can monitor my calls and e-mails all they want-I don’t care. I just don’t like the idea of someone tailing me.”

“You’re unnerved, Longstreet. That’s not a good place to be.”

“How would you know? You’ve never been unnerved in your life.”

“I’m there now. My parents turning up missing yesterday, Sarah and this anonymous note.” He shook his head, his distress at his immobility palpable. “And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

He shifted in his chair, giving an involuntary moan of pain. Juliet remembered laying her hand on his chest, but all the passion and the romance they’d had for each other was gone now, replaced by a steady, resilient friendship that surprised her. For the most part when men were done with her, they ran like hell.