Hannah Alexander - Under Suspicion

“I thought you were divorced,” she said.

“Separated.” Big difference. At least, to him. “I care very much about what happens to my wife.”

Wendy’s dark gaze slid away from him. “Obviously if she’s the one who called for help, she’s okay. They’re taking Senator MacDonald to Bradley-Cline Hospital. Why don’t you go intercept them?”

“Why Bradley-Cline? St. Mary’s is closer.”

“That isn’t our concern. We have a camera crew out right now, so I’ll send them to meet you there. You know other stations will already be scrambling to get their crews to the hospital, to try to get a statement from the doctor or the daughter or any other family members who might be there.”

“What about the mansion?”

“We’ll be covering that, too. I want you at the hospital.”

“I’m on my way, but I warn you, this is still my family, and I may not be the most unbiased—”

“Just get there.” Her impatience surfaced with her words. “You’ll have an insider’s view that no other station can provide, and the whole region knows about your relationship with Shona. We’ve got the advantage.”

Geoff winced at the eagerness in her voice as he turned to leave.

“Let me know as soon as you find out anything,” Wendy called as he rushed down the hallway. “And take a recorder with you. The hospital won’t allow a camera crew into the ER.”

He grimaced. She was hallucinating if she thought he would stick a tape recorder under his father-in-law’s nose at the hospital and ask him how he felt.

They called that kind of interviewing technique “a Sally” at the station because once, in the field, Channel 6’s reporter, Sally Newton, had held a microphone in the face of a man who was watching his home burn with his wife in it. In the excitement of the moment, Sally had not only betrayed her eagerness for a story, but had neglected to school her face to show proper respect for the man’s agony. She’d smiled pertly for the camera, and the man’s mother had promptly socked her in her pretty mouth.

Sally Newton’s public exposure had been greatly reduced since then.

As soon as Geoff climbed into his truck, he set his cell phone on its cradle and hit Shona’s speed dial.

Shona’s hands shook so badly she could barely hold on to the steering wheel. She was guided only by the flashing lights on the big, boxy ambulance in front of her as it led the way to Bradley-Cline Hospital.

Would Dad even make it there? The blood had been so horrifying…so much of it.

What would cause a person to bleed out like that?

Her cell phone beeped. It was the VIP chime for a high-priority number. Only two people had numbers programmed to that particular tune. One was a passenger in the ambulance ahead of her. This caller could only be Geoff.

With shaking hands, Shona pulled the phone from her pocket, ignoring the hands-free law, and brought the phone to her face. “Geoff?”

“Are you okay?”

The deep timbre of his voice, filled with concern, forged past her controls. Tears sprang to her eyes. The road blurred before her. “I can’t talk right now. Dad’s…something’s wrong with him.”

“A report said he’d been shot. How bad is it?”

“There was no sign of an entry wound.” The paramedics hadn’t wasted a lot of time looking, but if there were a wound, it would have been bleeding. Every orifice in his body seemed to be hemorrhaging, but no bullet wound was evident. “The police are inspecting the mansion.”

“Is there someone with you?”

“No, I was told a detective will join me at the hospital.”

“I’m on my way there now.”

She frowned. Of course, Geoff would have already been informed about it. Breaking news was his business, and there were scanners at the station to get a jump on anything newsworthy. She hadn’t thought about that. The hospital would be crawling with reporters looking for her.

She wasn’t well acquainted with Bradley-Cline. It was the newest, state-of-the-art hospital in the area that had begun to give St. Mary’s and Capitol Region Medical Center some relief for their overworked staffs and overburdened facilities.

“Geoff, don’t make this a public spectacle.”

“You know I’ll do my best to keep any interviews tasteful and gentle.”

She caught her tongue between her teeth. She wasn’t up to this. “Look, I’m barely functioning. You either come to the hospital as a concerned family member, or stay away.”

“Someone will show up anyway. Wouldn’t you rather it be me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because I’ll keep everything off the record that you want off the record, and I won’t misquote you. I wouldn’t be doing this, but Wendy’s pulling rank.”

“If you come to the hospital as a reporter, you’ll be treated as a reporter. You’re not taking advantage of your connection to me in order to build ratings for Wendy Phillips.”

“That isn’t the reason I’m coming.”

“Then leave your job at the door, just as you asked me to do, Geoffrey Tremaine.”

“Shona, I want to be there for you. At the same time, I don’t want someone else approaching you from my station. Reports will be made, one way or the other. I want to give a fair one, for your sake, and for Kemper’s.”

She knew his argument made sense. “Off the record, I don’t know if Dad’s even going to make it to the hospital,” she said. Brake lights flashed ahead. She barely saw them in time to stop. Her tires squealed. Why weren’t they taking her father to the closest hospital? St. Mary’s was excellent.

“I’ll call Karah Lee for you,” Geoff said.

“No,” she snapped. “Stay out of this.”

“You shouldn’t be alone, and your sister deserves to know what’s happening.”

“Why?” Karah Lee had chosen to distance herself from their father from the moment of Mom and Dad’s divorce. Not only had she refused financial assistance from Dad for college, but she had also, in a fit of rebellion that had broken Dad’s heart, taken her mother’s maiden name. She barely knew Dad’s second wife, Irene. To be fair, neither did Shona. The woman had taken little interest in her stepdaughters. And now, Dad and Irene were separated. Shona had no intention of calling her, either.

“This isn’t your affair anymore, Geoff,” Shona said.

“I’m still family. I’ll see you at the hospital in a few minutes,” he said gently. “Meanwhile, I’ll call Karah Lee.”

“Geoff, I don’t—”

He disconnected. She started to toss her cell phone on the seat beside her. Instead, she dialed 911 again.

“Yes, this is Shona Tremaine. I’m currently following the ambulance unit 948 to Bradley-Cline Hospital. I need you to contact that ambulance via private line and redirect them to St. Mary’s. That’s where I want my father taken. It’s closer. Also would you redirect the police to St. Mary’s, on a private line, as well? I don’t want anyone else to know my father’s location.” Not Geoff. Not Karah Lee. Not Irene.

After the dispatcher agreed to do as she asked—sometimes political power had its perks—Shona expressed her thanks, disconnected and tossed the phone onto the seat, focusing on the lights ahead.

Geoff Tremaine could cool his heels at the fancy new hospital. Meanwhile, Dad would have the best of care at a place she trusted. She should have insisted on St. Mary’s from the beginning.

Karah Lee Fletcher sat in front of the picture window in her lakeside cottage on the edge of Hideaway. She tried hard not to be distracted by the magnificent purples and deep indigoes of the evening sky at late sunset. There was work to be done.

This evening, it was her job to look fascinated by the display of material samples spread out before her on the coffee table. Bored already, she tapped her foot in time with the music her foster daughter had playing on the CD.