Authors: Renee Simons
In the studio, Fellows directed most of his questions to Drew, who'd been told to answer truthfully but in generalities to protect the prosecution's case.
The audience seemed interested in
Jordan
’s comings and goings. She fielded questions about what a researcher actually did, about her nonexistent love life, and about how life had been since her first appearance. One motherly type offered to cook dinner for her. She looked too skinny, the woman said, and mustn't be eating right now that she led such a busy life as a celebrity.
Jordan
thanked her and promised to take better care of herself, to slow down a little now that the trial loomed just ahead.
Out on the street, Ethan and Torres sat in their car, talking about the coming trial. About a half-hour before the show was due to end, O'Keefe left his vehicle and walked toward an all-night diner, to bring back coffee, Torres guessed. When the sergeant disappeared inside, his partner also got out and went to
Jordan
’s sports car, circling around it several times as if inspecting it. He disappeared around the passenger side, but seconds later, Ethan tapped Torres on the arm and pointed.
"Look there," he said, "under the car. Is that the bloke?"
They could just make out the mass of the man's body in the darkness. "Yeah. What the hell is he doing?" Torres muttered.
"You'd know that better than I. Is it usual practice to inspect the undercarriage of a vehicle like that?"
"Only if you have reason to suspect tampering."
"Or if you were doing the tampering yourself..."
"Exactly," Torres admitted reluctantly.
"You don't suppose O'Keefe's in on it, do you?"
"You like him, don't you?"
"I'd hate to think he's part of this mess."
Torres glanced across the street and spotted the officer exiting the eatery. "Well, you're about to find out how good a judge of character you are. Me, too." He nodded in O'Keefe's direction. "Here he comes."
The police officer approached his vehicle, looked inside and left his purchase on the hood. He went to the lobby of the television studio, looked around and then came back out, turning to examine the empty street. Finally, as if he didn't know where else to search, he walked toward
Jordan
’s car. He bent to check out the interior. Just then, his partner slid out from under the car, and the two men confronted each other.
Nothing of their conversation carried to Torres and Ethan but a heated discussion obviously was taking place. Finally, O'Keefe crawled beneath the car. He emerged moments later and went to their vehicle, reaching inside for the hand-set. His partner simply stood his ground.
"C'mon," Torres ordered. He and Ethan crossed the street. Torres approached O'Keefe and the man turned to him, his face a mask of disappointment.
"He tampered with the steering, Lieutenant. Burned nearly through one of the tie rods with some kind of heavy duty acid. The first turn they made, they'd have lost control and wrapped themselves around a pole or something." He shook his head. "Ten years we've been partners. I can't believe it."
Torres patted him on the shoulder and walked over to Meade, who waited where his partner had left him. "Were you responsible for the dolls, too?" he asked softly. The man nodded. Torres held out a hand. With tears rolling down his cheeks, Meade surrendered his gun and badge. The Lieutenant handed Ethan a set of keys.
"You wait for Ms. VanDien and your brother and take them home in the vehicle we've been using. I'll go to the station house with my men and send a tow truck for the MG."
"See you in the morning?" Ethan asked, and Torres nodded silently.
Ethan moved the car to a spot in front of the studio and waited for Drew and Jordan to come out. They finally showed, surrounded by people who seemed determined to make contact. Some asked for autographs, some had questions, others words of encouragement. The total effect was that of a protective shell with
Jordan
at its center and Drew at her side to provide additional support.
Ethan found himself envying his brother at that moment, in a position he would have assumed gladly but for the fact that he knew she would see it as interference. He found it difficult to accept the long lead she insisted upon, when he wanted only to hold her close and protect her from the danger she seemed to court, a danger that for some strange reason now nagged at a corner of his subconscious.
He searched the street, trying to trace the cause of his uneasy feeling. When he saw nothing out of the way, he examined the building facades looming over them. A movement in a first-floor window caught his eye. It could be nothing more than a curious neighbor watching the excitement, he thought, but he concentrated on the shadowed figure and waited. On the edge of his vision, he saw the crowd separate so Jordan and Drew could make their way to the curb. Just then light bounced off something metallic in the open window, like moonlight reflected on a rifle barrel.
Heart pounding, pulse racing madly, Ethan slid across the seat of the car, rammed the passenger door open and moved swiftly to intercept
Jordan
and Drew. He reached them and spread his arms like a shield. A dull report sounded above the low surprised murmur of the crowd and something sharp and hot and excruciating slammed into his back. He staggered under the impact and the three of them went down, scattering the crowd like leaves before an autumn wind.
People ran, pushing and shoving, trying to escape. Someone screamed, a male voice shouted and a babble of voices rose and fell in the space above him, but nothing made any sense as he struggled to draw breath around a deep and pervading pain.
Drew gently lifted his fallen brother's body and slid out from under, supporting him so
Jordan
could do the same. Instead, she raised herself to a sitting position and turned Ethan's face to one side so he could breathe. As she cradled him in her lap her gaze fixed on the map of blood spreading outward from a wound beneath his left shoulder blade.
"Somebody go inside and call the police and an ambulance," she heard Drew say.
A voice from the crowd responded. "I'll do it." She looked up in time to see people make a path for a burly man in faded jeans and a Grateful Dead tee shirt, who dashed back into the lobby. A woman stepped forward and knelt beside her.
"I know a little first aid," she said calmly. "I can help 'till the paramedics get here." She reached out to Drew. "Give me your shirt and tie."
When he had complied, she made a pressure pad of the white linen and applied it to the wound, tying the bandage taut against Ethan's back. They turned him and laid him on the ground. She folded Drew's jacket and used it to elevate Ethan's legs, covering him with
Jordan
’s blazer as a buffer against shock. As the stranger checked Ethan's pulse, his eyelids fluttered open.
He focused on
Jordan
, smiling in satisfaction when he realized that although obviously distressed, she was okay.
"Only...one shot...?" he asked in a tightly controlled voice.
Close to tears, she just nodded. He turned to his right, found Drew and grabbed his arm.
"Get her... away from here," he whispered hoarsely to his brother. "The shot...for her...still in danger."
"I'm not leaving you like this," Drew said. "And you know she'll never go."
Ethan closed his eyes for a moment as a wave of pain shuddered through him. When it passed, he looked at his brother again.
"...shot...across...street...first floor window." His breath came in a gasp. "after her...try again."
He grabbed the front of Drew's undershirt and dragged his brother down until their faces were inches apart. He struggled to maintain control. "Take her the hell out of here...before that bastard gets his hands on her."
Jordan
loosened his grip, taking his hand in hers. He turned and looked up at her, saw something calm and sure in her eyes as she watched his face. He gritted his teeth and stiffened against another spasm.
She clasped his hand, pressing it to her lips and holding on tight, as her eyes held his. Finally, the wave of pain passed. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and upper lip. She wiped them away with her scarf. He savored the scent of her perfume clinging to its silken folds and felt his breath catch in his throat.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered. "I don't want to leave until help comes for you." Her fingers touched his cheek and he welcomed their cool strength. "I have to know you're all right, Ethan. Do you understand?"
He brought her hand to his lips. He tried to add steel to his voice, but managed only to whisper, "not fourteen years ago...not like your father..." His voice weakened and he closed his eyes briefly, then gathered his strength once more. "Listen, for once...do as I say."
He had used up his last reserves when he finally heard her say, "All right. I'll go, but only under protest, remember that."
He was trying to remember - something that hovered in the back of his mind, something vitally important, he knew, but the pain had returned, making breathing difficult and concentrating harder still.
"What?" she asked, as if sensing his struggle.
"Something...can't remember...important."
"It'll keep. Just lie still, now."
It seemed like an age before he felt her touch withdraw, longer still before he felt the empty space where her presence had been, when only the scent of her perfume lingering on the scarf in his hand reminded him she'd been there.
Suddenly he remembered and cried out to stop her. The woman who had bandaged him took his hand. "She's gone. Is there something I can do?"
"Which...car?"
"I didn't notice," she answered.
Another voice replied, "The little red one."
Something that had nothing to do with his injury broke apart inside him. Her name tore from his depths, his voice gone hoarse and heavy with despair. He heard no response, only far in the distance the screech of brakes and the squeal of tires, the sound of a crash and a heavy silence that closed down around him and sent him into darkness.
Chapter 14
Several blocks away, Jordan and Drew had just managed to roll from the MG as it careened down the street, its steering unresponsive, its braking power useless. Now they stared into the distance where it lay folded around a highway stanchion in a barely recognizable heap of crushed metal and splintered glass.
“Poor Maggie,” she said.
Drew’s breath came in short bursts but he managed a small laugh. “First time I ever heard anyone name an MG.”
Jordan
heard the reverberation of metal rending against metal, the crunch and crackle of breaking glass, the gentle patter of severed auto parts falling to the ground.
"The steering wheel felt, I don't know, disconnected," she said.
"A broken tie rod, maybe. I'm no expert in cars."
"Are you okay?"
"I'll live," he said. "Let's make a run for it. These streets are unhealthy."
Too late
Jordan
heard the footstep behind her. An arm locked across her throat and a hand clamped down on her mouth. She heard Drew grunt and fall to the ground. The arm moved from her throat to her waist and lifted her off her feet. Several well-placed kicks to the shin and knees of her captor had no more effect than the elbow she slammed into his ribs. He carried her to a waiting vehicle and shoved her through the open door. Another pair of arms grabbed her and hauled her into the back seat. Furious at having fallen into a trap she screamed, reversed her body and kicked at the man, hitting him squarely on the chin. She heard a sickening crack. He grunted as his head snapped back on his neck.
She dove for the door handle in an attempt to escape before the first man settled himself behind the wheel. A click told her he'd locked the doors. The second man sat up, shook his head from side to side and punched her in the mouth. Dizziness overwhelmed her as he hit her again, sending her sprawling against the door. The back of her skull hit something hard. Everything went black.