Chapter Eight
Cappie didn’t sleep, of course. She was replaying the last forty-eight hours in her mind all night, sick with worry about Kell.
It was her fault that Frank Bartlett had ever gotten near them.
If only she hadn’t been so flattered by his attention, so crazy about him that she ignored Kell’s warnings.
If only she hadn’t gone out with him at all.
Pity, she thought, that people couldn’t set the clock backward and erase all the stupid things they did.
Like getting involved with Dr. Bentley Rydel, for example, she told herself.
It had surprised her to find him at the hospital.
Somebody in Jacobsville must have told him what had happened, and he felt sorry for her.
Maybe he was willing to overlook her smarmy past long enough to check on her brother’s condition.
That didn’t mean he believed her innocence or wanted to get involved with her again.
Which was just as well, she told herself, because she certainly wanted nothing more to do with him!
She got up and dressed…in the same clothes she’d worn the day before.
She hadn’t packed anything. She’d have to call Keely and ask her to go to the house and pack a few items of clothing for her and Kell.
But she’d make sure Keely got an armed person to go with her, in case Frank was waiting around to see if Cappie turned back up.
When she opened her bedroom door, the two men were arguing over the coffee in the tiny little coffeepot that came, with coffee, as a perk for staying in the hotel.
“There’s not enough for three people,” Dead-Eye was muttering, refusing to let go of the pot.
“Then you can get yours at a café, because I’m having mine here,” the other man said coldly.
“We’re all having ours at the hospital, because I’m leaving right now,” Cappie informed them, starting for the door.
“See what you get for starting a fight? Now neither of us is having coffee,” Dead-Eye scoffed as he turned off the coffeepot and put the little carafe back in it.
“You started it first,” the other man said coolly.
Cappie ignored the banter and opened the door.
“Hold it right there.”
Dead-Eye was in front of her in a heartbeat, his hand under his jacket as a tall man walked into view in the hall. He stood immobile, waiting.
But it wasn’t Frank. It was another man, and a woman and child suddenly appeared behind him and started talking to him.
“Nice day,” Dead-Eye told them with a smile.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” The man smiled back and herded his family ahead of him down the hall.
Dead-Eye stood aside to let Cappie out. “Wait until one of us makes sure it’s safe,” he told her in a kind tone. “Men who commit battery without fear of arrest are usually not planning to go back in prison, if you get my drift. He might decide a bullet is better than a fist.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” the other man said, following her out the door and closing it. “We’ll think for you.”
“Were you thinking, just then?” Dead-Eye grinned.
The other man indicated his sleeve. The hilt of a large knife was in his palm. He flexed his hand and snapped it back in place. “Learned that from Cy Parks,” he said. “He taught me everything I know.”
“Then what are you doing with Eb?”
“Learning…diplomacy.” He said it through gritted teeth. “They say my attitude needs work.”
Dead-Eye opened his mouth to speak.
Cappie beat him to it. “And you think I need an attitude adjustment?” she exclaimed.
The other man shifted restlessly. “We should get to the hospital.”
Cappie just smiled. So did Dead-Eye.
* * *
When they got to the hospital cafeteria, it was already full. One of the tables was occupied by a somber Dr. Rydel, moving eggs around on a plate as if he couldn’t decide between eating them or throwing them.
Cappie’s traitorous heart jumped at the sight of him, but she didn’t let her pleasure show. She was still fuming about his assumption of her guilt, without any proof except the word of a man who was a stranger.
He looked up and saw her and grimaced.
“Want me to frisk him for you?” Dead-Eye asked pleasantly. “I can do it discreetly.”
“Yeah, like you discreetly frisked that guy at the airport,” the dark-eyed man muttered. “Isn’t he suing?”
“I apologized,” Dead-Eye retorted.
“Before or after airport security showed up?”
“Well, after, but he said he understood how I might have mistaken him for an international terrorist.”
“He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops!”
“The best disguise on earth for a spy, and I ought to know. I used to live in Fiji.”
“Did you, really?” Cappie asked, fascinated. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Have you?” Dead-Eye looked past her to Bentley, who had gotten up from the table and was moving toward them. “Now might not be a bad time,” he advised.
Bentley had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. But he was just as arrogant as ever. He stopped in front of Cappie.
“I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
She didn’t want to talk to him, and almost repeated her words of the night before. But she was tired and worried and a little afraid of Frank. It didn’t matter now, anyway. Her life in Jacobsville was already over. She and Kell would start over again, here in San Antonio, once the threat was over.
“All right,” she said wearily. “I’ll only be a minute, guys,” she told Dead-Eye and his partner. “You can get coffee.”
“Finally,” Dead-Eye groaned. “I’m having caffeine withdrawal.”
“Is that why you look so ugly?” the other man taunted.
They moved off, still fencing verbally.
“Who are they?” Bentley asked as he seated her at his table.
“Bodyguards,” she said. “Eb Scott loaned them to me.”
“Want coffee?”
“Please.”
He went to the counter, got coffee and a sweet roll and put them in front of her. “You have to eat,” he said when she started to argue. “I know you like those. You bring them to work in the morning sometimes when you have to eat on the run.”
She shrugged. “Thanks.”
He pushed sugar and cream to her side of the table.
“I phoned the nurses’ desk on the way here, on my cell phone,” she said wearily. “They said Kell’s having his bath and then breakfast, so I’d have time to eat before I went up to see him.”
“I talked to him briefly last night,” he said.
She lifted her eyebrows. “It’s family only. They posted it on the door!”
“Oh, that. I told them I was his brother-in-law.”
She glared at him over her coffee as she added cream.
“Well, they let me in,” he said.
She lifted the cup and sipped the hot coffee, with an expression of absolute delight on her face.
“He was about as friendly as you are,” he sighed. “I screwed up.”
She nodded. “With a vengeance,” she added, still glaring.
He pushed his plate of cold scrambled eggs to one side.
His pale blue eyes were intent on her gray ones.
“After what happened to me, I was down on women for a long time. When I finally got to the stage where I thought I might be able to trust one again, I found out that she was a lot more interested in what I could give her than what I was.” His face tautened.
“You get gun-shy, after a while. And I didn’t know you, Cappie.
We had supper a few times, and I took you to a carnival, but that didn’t mean we were close. ”
She stared at the roll and took a bite of it. It was delicious. She chewed and swallowed and sipped coffee, all without answering. She’d thought they were getting to be close. How dumb could she be?
He drew in a long breath and sipped his own coffee. “Maybe we were getting close,” he admitted. “But trust comes hard to me.”
She put down the cup and met his eyes evenly.
“How hard do you think it comes to me?” she asked baldly.
“Frank beat me up. He broke my arm. I spent three days in the hospital. Then at the trial, his defense attorney tried his best to make it look as if I deliberately provoked poor Frank by refusing to go to bed with him! Apparently that was enough to justify the assault, in his mind.”
He scowled. “You didn’t sleep with him?”
The glare took on sparks. “No. I think people should get married first.”
He looked stunned.
She flushed and averted her eyes. “So I live in the past,” she muttered. “Kell and I had deeply religious parents. I don’t think he took any of it to heart, but I did.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” he said quietly. “My mother was like you.”
“I’m not trying to justify myself. I’m saying that I have an idealistic attitude toward marriage.
Frank thought I owed him sex for a nice meal and got furious when I wouldn’t cooperate.
And for the record, I didn’t even really provoke him.
He beat me up because I suggested that he needed to drink a little less beer.
That was all it took. Kell barely got to me in time. ”
He let out a long breath. “My stepfather hit my mother once, for burning the bacon, when they were first married. I was fifteen.”
“What did she do?” she asked.
“She told me. I took him out back and knocked him around the yard for five minutes, and told him if he did it again, I’d load my shotgun and we’d have another, shorter, conversation. He never touched her again. He also stopped drinking.”
“I don’t think that would have worked with Frank.”
“I rather doubt it.” He studied her wan, drawn face. “You’ve been through hell, and I haven’t helped. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know that won’t erase what I said. But maybe it will help a little.”
“Thanks.” She finished her roll and coffee. But when she got through, she put two dollar bills on the table and pushed them toward him.
“No!” he exclaimed, his high cheekbones flushing as he recalled with painful clarity his opinion of her as a gold digger.
“I pay my own way, despite what you think of me,” she said with quiet pride. She stood up. “Money doesn’t mean so much to me. I’m happy if I can pay bills. I’m sorry I gave you the impression that I’d do anything for it. I won’t.”