Miranda Vaughn Mystery 01.00 - Chasing the Dollar (23 page)

As the boat picked up speed, the warm wind dried the tears on my face.

"Just don't die," I whispered to Jake's still body, cradling him in my arms. "Please, please, don't die."

The light green walls of the hospital made everyone look sick. It was one of the little details I noticed while I waited in the small family area for a nurse to let me know I could go back in and sit with Jake. If he wasn
't in my sight, my body tensed, and my breathing grew shallow. I had already thumbed through all the worn magazines, my eyes skimming prose about maintaining tropical plants while my mind relived the horror of the last few days, always coming back to rest on Jake.

Always back to him. What was going on in there? Why wouldn
't anyone tell me? Was he going to be okay?

What would I do without him?

That last one was selfish, but there it was—even if he survived, and the doctors and nurses had assured me he would, he would go back to being an FBI agent. I would go back to California, still "not guilty" but not exonerated of my crimes. Jake was not mine to keep.

That kiss, those small touches, the time we
'd shared. That would fade into his memory.

But for me, it was seared into my being. Moments when I
'd had genuine hope for the future, for the first time in a long time. Hope that someone like Jake would look at me, really see me, really want me. That my feelings would be returned.

I moved from the too-firm sofa to pace the hall again, feeling hollow inside. The drive was destroyed in the fire along with the computer that contained all the evidence from my trial and the hard work culling out the documents that just might have proven my innocence. All of the time I
'd spent, all of the work I did, all of the money spent that I didn't even have—it was all for nothing.

Worse, I
'd almost gotten a good man killed.

My eyes ached from holding back tears. Hell, everything ached. My body from running and from the explosion. My jaw from when Dylan smacked me. Mostly my heart, though.

What was I thinking? I shouldn't have done any of this. Shouldn't have gone to Macau. Shouldn't have dragged Jake into my mess. Shouldn't have pressed him to let me go to the bank. If I hadn't, the bullet Dylan fired would have hit me, not Jake. Of that, I had no doubt. Dylan was trying to kill me, not Jake, with that shot.

"
Miss Vaughn?"

I whirled around at the sound of my name. A nurse in pink scrubs walked toward me, a smile on her face.
"You can go back in."

I thanked her and hurried back to the room, taking my seat by the edge of the bed. My eyes swept over his body, covered by the thin blanket. He looked exactly as he had thirty minutes earlier—still, pale.

"Is he getting better?" I whispered to the nurse.

"
He's resting. He suffered a big trauma to his body, and it's now trying to heal. That takes a lot of energy, so it's good that he's sleeping." She patted my shoulder. "I left you a blanket. Try and get some sleep."

"
Thank you," I said, taking my seat in the chair next to Jake's bed. I wrapped the thin blanket around me and tried to get comfortable in a chair that was as tired as I was. I still hadn't slept since landing some twenty hours earlier, just a few hours ahead of Rob and Sarah who had jumped on the first flight to Miami. While Jake underwent surgery to repair the damage from the bullet, I fielded questions from a bewildered local FBI agent with Rob at my side, his eyes growing wider at each revelation. When this was over, I hoped that he was still willing to hire me. If not, that at least he'd be willing to defend me against what I imagined would be charges of felony stupidity.

I had just closed my eyes when I heard someone cough softly. My eyes flew open, and I leaned toward Jake, the blanket falling away. But he was still asleep.

"Miss Vaughn?"

Donna Grayson, the assistant
United States attorney who had worked alongside Matt Reese in prosecuting me, stood in the doorway. During the trial, her dark hair had been pulled back in a tight bun, never a hair out of place. Rob had told me that she had been a federal prosecutor for twenty years and had a reputation for never getting rattled.

As she stood in the door, that polish was gone. Her hair was loose and messy. She wore no make-up and was wearing a casual pair of khakis and a simple
T-shirt featuring the logo of a local bike shop. Her demeanor was even more of a contrast—she definitely looked rattled. Her face was pale and her lips tight. Throughout the trial, she had barely looked at me, and when she had, it was with a cold detachment. Her anger now was apparent and something new.

I stood, unsure what to do and looked toward the door. This would be a good time for Rob and Sarah to return from the cafeteria. When they didn
't appear, I faced the prosecutor with dread.

"
Ms. Grayson," I said. Did she still think I was responsible for the fraud scheme? If she did, was she going to indict me? Was I going to have to relive that hell again?

She paused awkwardly in the door, waiting for me to invite her in, as if I had some claim on Jake
's space. After a few long seconds, I motioned to the chair in the corner of the room. She nodded and entered the room, then dragged the chair closer to me. I scooted back in response.

But Donna Grayson slumped in the chair, and she couldn
't look less threatening. She rubbed her face and took off her wire-rimmed glasses.

"
How's he doing?" she asked, sliding the glasses back on her face.

"
The doctors say he's going to recover," I said, looking at Jake's body.

He hadn
't regained consciousness since a brief moment on the plane from San Pedro Island to Miami. He had grabbed my hand, whispered, "Are you safe?" Then he slipped away from me again. When we landed in Miami, we'd been whisked to the hospital where Jake went directly to surgery, and I was given a thorough once-over by a doctor. That felt like eons ago, and I was still waiting for him to wake up and give me a grin like the one he'd flashed in the Mexican restaurant just a month earlier. Sweet and sexy and smart.

"
What are his injuries?" Donna asked, leaning forward and resting her arms on her knees.

"
The bullet entered his back and exited his shoulder, narrowly missing his heart. That's what led to the blood loss," I said, keeping my voice low, as if I'd wake him if I spoke too loud. I wished it were that simple to wake him. "A half-dozen stitches in his leg, where he was stabbed. No infection, so that was good news."

Donna nodded.
"I heard what happened, how you got him out of Belize."

I glanced back at her, cautious. Her tone was conciliatory, but I wasn
't sure why.

"
I talked to the agent who met you at the airport. He said you got Jake to San Pedro Island by renting a boat, that you probably saved his life," she said.

I shrugged. I
'd gotten him into the life-threatening mess in the first place. It didn't feel at all heroic that I'd done my damnedest to get him out of it.

"
I want to assure you that I had no idea that Matt Reese was involved in this…this scheme. I knew Matt from when he first was hired and worked closely with him. I trusted him," she said. "I regret that. I'm very sorry."

I nodded.
"I lost the drive. Dylan and Chris took it."

Donna put a hand on my arm in a surprisingly warm gesture.
"Don't worry about it. We'll work to reconstruct what you know, we'll go back over all the discovery in your case that led you to uncover this operation. Please, don't worry about the drive."

The prosecutor
's change in attitude unsettled me.

"
What happened to Dylan?" I asked.

Donna sighed, running a hand over her slightly frizzy fair. She barely resembled the uptight woman who had prosecuted me just months ago.

"Dylan Holland left the consulate compound and was caught trying to cross the border into Guatemala. He's currently in prison in Belize, and his attorney informs me that he'll be fighting extradition."

I breathed a little easier knowing that he was behind bars.

"And what about Chris Jenkins?"

"
He's in jail, also, but is on his way back to the U.S. I think he knew the conditions of jails there well enough to know that he'd be more comfortable back here."

A slight movement in the bed caught my eye, and I leaned forward to study Jake. His eyes fluttered and then opened slightly. He blinked, and his eyes scanned the room, coming to rest on my face. He started to reach out but groaned, and I jumped up.

"Don't move, that's your bad arm," I said, taking his hand in mine.

He squeezed my hand and licked his lips.
"Thirsty."

I smiled.
"I'll check with a nurse."

"
I'll get her," Donna said behind me, hurrying to the door.

Jake
's eyes, which had seemed so unfocused when he first woke, now honed in on mine. "You're okay?"

I nodded, feeling the tears fall and not even caring.

"Stop that," Jake said, his voice low and gravelly.

"
I'm just so sorry. This is all my fault."

"
No," he said, squeezing my hand again.

The nurse appeared at my side, and I stepped away to let her do her work, wiping my face as I did.

"Mr. Barnes, nice of you to join us," she said, turning to Donna and me. "You two can wait in the hall for a few minutes."

I left reluctantly and then stood awkwardly in the hall with Donna Grayson, waiting to be allowed back in.

"Miss Vaughn, I am very sorry," she said.

My head snapped around, and I stared at her, my mouth partially open.
"For what?"

"
I trusted Matt Reese. I mean, I trusted him to do his job. He reviewed the evidence in your case and assured me that the only irregularities in Patterson Tinker's records were related to the Sahara Fund investigation," she said. "It appears that he was paid off to look the other way regarding the money laundering."

Finally, the last piece of the puzzle snapped into place. That
's why no one else had seen the money trail that I had found.

"
I can assure you that there will be a full investigation of how your case was handled," Donna said. She closed her eyes and ran a hand over her hair. "Including my role in the prosecution."

"
Oh, well, that's good, I guess," I said, not sure what I was supposed to feel. She had been the enemy for so long, but she seemed genuine in her remorse for what Matt Reese had done.

"
I can't help but think that had I supervised him better, none of this would have happened. And an FBI agent wouldn't be lying here with a bullet wound."

"
No, it's my fault."

She tilted her head.
"How so?"

"
I wanted to go to the bank, and Jake didn't. I convinced him to let me do it before we left for the airport. I told him it would just take a few minutes," I said, the words rushing out as my chest tightened. "If we'd left when he wanted to—"

"
You would have been killed at the airport." Donna's tone was flat and her expression grave. "Chris Jenkins knew that you were going there, that Matt was arranging to get you and Jake out of the country. One of them would have had you two taken from the airport, probably turned over to Dylan or someone worse."

I couldn
't think of anyone worse, but I didn't know anyone in a cartel.

"
The cartel was tracking Dylan. They learned that he was in Belize to try and get the money moved, and with their reach, they would have found him, and you."

Her words sent a chill up my spine, and I rubbed my arms.

The door opened, and the nurse walked out and smiled. "He's all yours," she said with a laugh. "And make sure you keep him in bed. He's feisty and anxious to get out of here."

Donna and I went back to the room and found Jake sitting up. He had a paper cup in his right hand, his left arm still wrapped and secured to his chest.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, standing at his side.

He gave me that grin I
'd been missing, and I nearly started crying again. "I'll be fine. Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, and he drained the water and set the cup on the tray that was half over his bed. Then he reached over and took my hand in his.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded and tried to smile.

"Donna, what are you doing here?" Jake's eyes flickered past me, and I turned to see the prosecutor standing at the foot of the bed.

"
Checking on you," Donna said.

"
What happened?" Jake asked, his brow furrowed. "I remember being in the Jeep, then nothing."

"
Miranda got you to San Pedro, where the plane brought you to Miami."

"
San Pedro? You mean San Pedro Island?"