The Hunted

“Who, me? With what they paid me, I was lucky to afford that DVD player on sale. And that’s still here.”

A creeping sense of danger was beginning to run up and down her spine. Discs and computer gone? But not TV and DVD player? “This is weird,” she announced.

“Maybe you interrupted them before they could finish.”

“Maybe.” But she didn’t believe it. She looked at Westlake and saw that his eyes were narrowed, as if he wasn’t buying that, either.

“She needs to go to the hospital,” Jerrod reminded the detective. “I doubt, given the masks and gloves, that you’ll ever know who they were.”

“Not likely,” Flannery agreed, but in a way that suggested he didn’t want to cede an inch to the Feds. “Take her to the hospital, then. We’ll get the crime unit in, and she can give us a list of missing items later.”

“I can’t afford the hospital,” she reminded Jerrod.

“Sure you can. You’re the victim of a crime. The state will reimburse your expenses.”

“The hospital won’t let me through the door. I did a story on the health-care system recently. You wouldn’t believe how many Samaritans aren’t good.”

“They’ll let you in. Under COBRA, you still have insurance, but if it comes to that, I have plastic.”

“Witness protection?”

He half smiled. “Whatever it takes.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t want to stay amidst the ruins of her life. And since thieves had already been through every inch of her apartment, she could hardly feel any more violated by the police following them.

She had to lean heavily on Jerrod to make it down the two flights of stairs. Her knees had begun to wobble as the adrenaline rush wore off. “I hate this,” she announced as they reached the street.

“Few people enjoy being robbed and battered.”

“I didn’t mean that. I hate not being able to take care of myself.”

He fell silent as he opened the door of what was apparently his vehicle. Flex Fuel, the dashboard announced with a fancy plate. Under other circumstances she would have asked about it, but right now she lacked the reporter’s energy to ask a bazillion questions.

He helped her buckle in, then closed the door. The heavy thud of the black SUV’s door was solid, sounding like safety.

He climbed in behind the wheel, and a few seconds later, pulled out into Houston’s late-afternoon traffic. He seemed to know his way around.

“How did you get on the Mercator case?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her mega discomfort.

“I was stationed here in Houston when your story came out in Fortune. I was part of the investigation.”

“Ah.” She closed her eyes, since the traffic seemed to want to spin around her. “I was pretty surprised that the FBI paid any attention to that article.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Mercator is powerful, with powerful friends.”

“Thanks a lot.”

She tried to look at him, then decided the effort wasn’t worth it. “I didn’t mean it as a criticism of you.”

“Sure you did. The thing is, at my level, politics don’t matter. The law does.”

“I wish there were more of you. But right now I can only see two in the seat beside me.”

That got his attention. “You’re seeing double?”

“Not really. Well, only once or twice.”

“Christ.”

“You aren’t supposed to use that word around reporters and other persons not on the inside of your club.”

He surprised her with a short laugh. “I know some other words I shouldn’t use, too.”

“Who doesn’t? Well, don’t guard your tongue with me. I have a few favorites you might be hearing.”

“Curse away.”

She sighed and carefully lowered her chin to her chest. “Agent Westlake?”

“Jerrod, please.”

“Jerrod. I don’t think the break-in was a coincidence.”

He looked at her. “Duh. The question is why it happened after you testified.”

His comment was almost a question, but not quite. She chose to equivocate. “The question indeed.”

But she had a pretty damn good idea.

3

Four hours and five staples later, Erin was back in the car with Jerrod. In her lap were a bottle of pain meds and standard discharge instructions for wound care and dealing with a concussion. The doctor had wanted to keep her overnight for observation. Jerrod, too, had argued for the stay. Yet here she was, on the way back to her apartment.

“You’re stubborn,” Jerrod remarked.

“You don’t survive in my business if you aren’t.”

“Same here.”

“How cool is that? We have something in common besides Mercator.”

He chuckled. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

She half smiled. At least her lips were remembering that it was possible.

“But you’re not staying at your place.”