Hot On His Trail

He leaned on her heavily as they approached the open back door, moving slowly in spite of the rain. Her arm around his waist, and his around hers, provided unsteady but effective support. Taggert was too big; if he fell she’d never be able to get him up. After they’d taken several tottering steps the old man made his way to them and added his strength at Taggert’s other side. Shea supposed she could let go and allow Taggert’s friend to lead him inside, but she didn’t. Nick seemed to lean into her, still, so she kept her arm around his waist and canted in his direction, bracing his heavy body as best she could.

The back door opened onto a brightly lit kitchen. An oak table and four chairs sat there, and Taggert’s faltering path took him and those who were assisting him directly toward those chairs.

“Boy, can you make it to the den?” the old man asked.

“Sure,” Taggert answered weakly, and they bypassed the oak chairs and went through a wide doorway into a square, rustic room. The old man steered them toward a long, mustard-colored couch, where they deposited Taggert in a slightly awkward maneuver.

When his arm slipped from her back, the palm of his hand skimmed down her spine and across her hip, as if he needed support, still. As if he didn’t want to let her go.

Once Taggert was deposited on the couch, the old man started cussing—long, inventive, loudly delivered profanity as he removed thick, rain-splattered glasses and cleaned them on his shirttail. Taggert leaned his head back and closed his eyes until the tirade ended.

The old man took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself as he placed the glasses on his nose. “What the blue blazes were you thinking, boy? You could’ve gotten yourself killed. And kidnapping this poor lady.” He turned his head her way and squinted at her through thick lenses, even though they stood close. “Now, that was stupid.”

“I know,” Taggert said weakly, without so much as opening one eye.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” the old man said softly. “Right now we’ll see to that leg and get you to bed. In the morning—”

“No.” This time Taggert’s eyes did open. “We can’t stay here, Lenny. I just…I need your truck.”

“It’s yours,” Lenny said without hesitation. “And I tell you what, you leave the little lady here and I’ll see that she doesn’t call anyone or go anywhere until you’ve had a chance to get on down the road a ways.”

“Sounds good to me,” Taggert muttered.

“No.” Shea directed her denial to the man Taggert called Lenny. “I’m going with him.”

The man drew his bushy eyebrows together. “What for?”

“I’m a helluva story,” Taggert said caustically before Shea could answer. He locked his eyes on her, and in spite of his weakened condition they were cold and strong. Piercing, as if he had never known weakness. “But this is one part of the story no one ever hears, you understand me? As far as the cops are concerned we’re stealing Lenny’s truck. He didn’t see anything, we didn’t talk to him, he is not involved in this. Is that clear?”

Shea nodded, and Taggert closed his eyes once again.

Lenny looked Shea up and down once, squinting as he brought his gaze to her face. He even leaned forward slightly. “Name’s Leonard Caudel,” he said.

“Shea Sinclair,” she answered, offering her hand.

Caudel took her hand and shook it gently. “I know.” A smile bloomed on his face. “You’ve been all over the news today, young lady. I can’t see real good, but if I get close to the television I can see well enough. You’ve been on the television before. You’re the weathergirl, right?”

Before Shea could correct Caudel, Taggert laughed. It was a weak, nearly silent chuckle, and he didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “You’ve done it now, Lenny,” he whispered, and then he fell silent once again.

Shea was annoyed, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort of an argument. “Do you have a place where I can clean up? I’ve been out in the rain, and the man bled on me, and…” She felt dizzy for just a moment, light-headed. “It has been the longest day,” she finished.

“Come this way,” Caudel said, taking her arm and leading her into a long hallway. “You could use a change of clothes, I reckon.”

She looked him up and down. He was as tall as Taggert and twice as big around. No way was there anything in this house that would fit her, even in a pinch. “Well…”

“My late wife, Judith, she was about your size. I guess I shoulda gotten rid of her things years ago, but I never could bring myself to do it.” He grinned. “But I wouldn’t mind at all if you could find something in her closet that would suit this occasion.”

In a small, sparsely furnished bedroom at the end of the hallway, he threw open a closet. “You’ll have to do the choosing. Like I said, I can’t see so well no more, so there’s no telling what I’d pick out. You just take what you want. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want to clean up a bit. I’ll see to Nick’s leg.”

The contents of the very full closet were brightly colored and years out of fashion. Orange, bright pink, a shade of green so garish it hurt her eyes. A glimpse of tie-dye and a pair of orange bell-bottom pants said “sixties” as surely as if a neon sign hung there. “I’m sure I’ll find something that will do,” she said optimistically.

Caudel was leaving the room when she stopped him with a question. “You know him well?”

He turned in the doorway, a smile on his face. “I gave Nick his first job out of the military, taught him everything I know about the construction business before my eyesight started to fail.” The smile disappeared. “He’s a good man, and he didn’t kill nobody.”

She didn’t believe he had, either, but still… “He shot at me.”

The smile came back. “Ma’am, if he didn’t hit you, he didn’t shoot at you. Nick could shoot the flies off a pile of, uhhh…” He cleared his throat. “Off a pile of sugar,” he said, “and never disturb a single grain.”

For some reason that was a comforting reassurance. Shea turned to the closetful of old clothes and listened to Caudel’s retreating footsteps.

“I shoulda been there.”

Nick opened his eyes at Lenny’s mumbled self-censure. “I told you a thousand times I didn’t want you in the courtroom,” he said. It was the truth. Lenny was more like a father to him than the man he’d called Daddy for the first eleven years of his life. Nick didn’t want Lenny to sit in that courthouse and watch the trial; it would have been an unnecessarily harsh ordeal for the old man. “Besides,” he added, “you can’t drive anymore.”

“I can, too,” Lenny mumbled.

“You’re blind as a bat, you’ve got no business…dammit!” He came up off the couch like a shot when Lenny’s removal of the makeshift bandage proved to be too painful. “Just leave it alone,” he said as Lenny unwrapped his bloodstained jacket and tie.

Lenny ignored the order and took a pair of scissors to his pant leg, cutting the fabric away with an easy touch. “No. It’s going to be cleaned and bandaged properly, and then we’re going to get you out of these filthy clothes and into a warm bed.”

Nick shook his head as he lay back down. The lumpy couch felt as good as any soft bed he’d ever slept in. “They’ll look for me here sooner or later, probably sooner, so I can’t stay. I won’t risk involving you.”

“They won’t think to look here for a while, I reckon,” Lenny insisted.

“Can’t risk it,” Nick whispered.

The roar of water from the bathroom reminded him of Shea’s presence in this house. She should be gone by now; another chance had come and still she didn’t run. He wouldn’t chase after her if she took off now, and neither would Lenny. Nick was crippled and Lenny was half-blind; Shea could walk out of this house and they wouldn’t be able to stop her.

Nick closed his eyes and tried to relax as Lenny very carefully tended to his wounded leg. Nick couldn’t think straight, and that wasn’t good. In fact, it was damn bad. All he could think of with any clarity was one fact: Shea Sinclair smelled great.

When he’d hovered close in the confines of the car, when she’d wrapped her arm around his waist and steadied him, there had been moments when her scent had almost overpowered him. He wanted to bury his nose against her neck and breathe deep, to sleep with that scent in his nostrils.

Nick wondered if he was running a fever; God knows he was delirious.

He should leave right now, while Shea was getting cleaned up and prepared for her grand adventure of a story. Unfortunately, she was right: he needed her. He wouldn’t get far without Shea Sinclair’s help.

As Lenny tended the leg, Nick drifted off. He didn’t wake until he heard Shea’s voice. That voice was already so familiar that it struck a chord somewhere deep inside, like the voice of an old, dear friend.

“How is it?” she whispered.

“Not too bad, considering,” Lenny answered just as softly. They thought he was asleep, and didn’t want to wake him, he supposed. If he had the strength he’d say something and prove them wrong…but he didn’t. “He’s doggone lucky, if you ask me. The bullet grazed his calf. Made a deep furrow, but there doesn’t seem to be any muscle damage to speak of. He lost a lot of blood, though, and he’ll have to watch for infection.”

“I know. I wish we had some antibiotics.” Her voice was a little bit closer now; he could almost feel that voice, as if it vibrated deep inside him. How odd.

“I’ve got part of a prescription I didn’t finish,” Lenny said, a bright note in his voice. “Just a few days’ worth, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Yes, it is,” Shea said, sounding relieved. “He’ll need a change of clothes, too.”