Chapter Ten
Cappie groaned at her own reflection in the hotel mirror when she climbed out of bed the next morning. One whole side of her face was a brilliant purple, and swollen to boot.
“You okay in there?”
She smiled. Bentley had insisted on sleeping on the sofa in the suite, just in case. Rourke and Chet were already up and packing their things for the trip back to Jacobsville. Cappie and Bentley were staying for another day or two, while she gave statements to the police and looked after Kell.
“I think so,” she said. “I just can’t bear to look at myself.”
“I’ll bet Chet knows exactly how that feels!” Rourke called from the doorway of the room he and Chet had shared.
“Will you shut up?” Chet muttered.
“Now, that’s a good example of how much work your diplomatic skills need,” Rourke admonished.
“I’m through trying to be diplomatic,” Chet said curtly. “I’m going back to the company and let them send me off on lone assignments, all by myself. Anywhere I don’t have to try to be nice to people!”
“Yes, and you can take those smokes with you,” Rourke added. “Having to share a room with you is punishment enough for any lawbreaker! Man, you reek!”
“Cigarette smoke is beneficial,” Chet told him.
“It is not!”
“If your quarry smokes, you can smell him from five hundred meters,” Chet returned, and he actually smiled.
Rourke’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen the other man smile.
Chet gave him a haughty, arrogant stare, picked up his bag and walked out. “Hope things go well for you, Miss Drake,” he said as she came out of her room wrapped in a thick robe. He winced. “It will look much better in a week or so,” he assured her.
She tried to smile, but it hurt too much. “Thanks for helping keep me alive, Chet.”
“My pleasure. See you back at Scott’s place, Rourke.”
“You wait for me—I’m not paying cab fare back to Jacobsville all alone,” Rourke said.
He picked up his own bag, shook hands with Bentley and bent to kiss Cappie’s undamaged cheek.
“If he ever walks out on you, just get word to me, and I’ll bring him back to you in a net,” he said in a stage whisper.
“Thanks, Rourke. But I don’t think that will ever happen.”
Bentley smiled. “I can guarantee it won’t.”
“Cheers, then. See you.”
They waved the two men off. Bentley studied her poor, damaged face warily. “I wish there had been some way to prevent that.”
“Me, too. But it’s insurance. Let’s get breakfast. Then we can go down to Detective Marquez’s office and start giving statements. Later,” she added reluctantly, “we can go see Kell and try not to upset him too much when we tell him what happened.”
“Suits me.”
* * *
Detective Marquez had a small office in a big department. It was noisy and people seemed to come and go constantly. The phones rang off the hook.
“This looks like those crime shows on television,” Cappie remarked.
Marquez chuckled. “It’s much worse. You can’t get five minutes’ peace to type up a report.
” He got up to retrieve the report he’d typed at the computer as he questioned her.
He took it out of the printer tray and handed it to her.
“Check over that, if you will, and see if I’ve got it right.
” He pulled out another one. “This one’s for you, Dr. Rydel.
” He handed the vet another sheet of paper.
They went over their statements, made a couple of corrections. Marquez inserted the corrections and printed the statements out again. They signed them.
“I’ll bet Frank’s foaming at the mouth,” Cappie mused.
“He really is, but this time he’s not going to fool any jury into thinking he’s the injured party,” Marquez assured her.
“I’ll bet that judge is feeling bad about now,” Bentley muttered.
“The judge did feel bad,” Marquez agreed. “So did the district attorney, especially after Frank and his cohorts beat up your brother. The whole justice system here in San Antonio went into overdrive to catch the perp.”
“Really?” Cappie asked, surprised.
“Really. The assistant district attorney who prosecuted your case was in the vanguard.”
“Somebody needs to take him out for a big steak dinner,” Cappie commented.
“I’m taking him out for one, at my mother’s café in Jacobsville,” he chuckled. “Of course, he’s eligible and so is my mother.”
“I see wheels turning in your head,” Cappie said.
He grinned. “Always,” Marquez said easily. “He and I have worked several cases together. I like him.”
“Me, too,” Cappie said. She hesitated. “Frank won’t get out until the trial, will he?”
Marquez shook his head. “The assistant D.A. is having the bond set in the six-figure range. I don’t think Frank knows a bail bondsman who’ll take a chance on him for that amount of money.”
“Let’s hope not,” Bentley said.
Marquez gave him a keen glance. “He’ll probably stay in jail voluntarily, to keep from having you come at him again. That was some tackle.”
Bentley shrugged. “I used to play football in college.”
“I played soccer. Don’t get to do much tackling, but I can knock a ball half a block with my head.”
“Is that why it looks that way?” a familiar voice drawled from the cubicle doorway.
“Kilraven,” Marquez grumbled, “will you stop stalking me?”
“I’m not stalking you,” the tall man said easily. “I’m just waiting for you to answer my ten phone calls, six voice mails and twenty e-mails.” He glowered at the younger man.
Marquez held up his hands. “Okay. Just let me finish up with Miss Drake and Dr. Rydel and I’ll be right with you. Honest.”
“No hurry,” Kilraven said, smiling. “I’ll be standing right out here, intimidating lawbreakers.”
“Thanks for looking out for Kell,” Cappie told him.
“What are friends for?” he asked.
“How would you know, Kilraven, you don’t have any friends,” a passing detective drawled.
“I have lots of friends!”
“Oh, yeah? Name one.”
“Marquez!”
“He’s your friend?” the detective asked Marquez, sticking his head into the cubicle.
“He is not,” Marquez said without looking up as he glanced over the statements one last time.
“I am so,” Kilraven said in a surly tone.
Marquez gave him a speaking glance.
Kilraven moved back out of the cubicle, muttering to himself in some foreign language.
“I know what that means in Arabic,” Marquez called after him. “Your brother speaks Farsi fluently and he taught me what those words mean!”
A rolling barrage in yet another language came lilting into the cubicle.
“What’s that?” Marquez asked.
Kilraven poked his head in and grinned. “Lakota. And Jon can’t teach you that—he doesn’t speak it. Ha!”
He left.
Marquez grimaced.
“He’s really very nice,” Cappie said.
Marquez leaned toward her. “He is, but I’m not saying it out loud.” His expression became somber. “I’m working on a cold case with him and another detective,” he said quietly. “It involves him. He’s impatient, because we got a new lead.”
Bentley nodded quietly. “I know about that one. One of my vet techs is married to the best friend of our local sheriff. I hear most of what’s going on.”
“Tragic case,” Marquez agreed. “But hopefully we’re going to crack it.”
Bentley got to his feet, tugging Cappie up with him. He winced as she turned toward him.
“I appreciate the copies of those X-rays,” Marquez added, walking out with them. “Everything we can throw against Bartlett will help put him away.”
“He’d better hope he never gets out,” Cappie said. “My brother will be waiting for him if he does.”
Marquez chuckled. “If it hadn’t been three to one against, and your brother hadn’t been in a wheelchair, I’d probably be helping defend him on homicide charges.”
“No doubt,” Bentley replied somberly.
Cappie frowned. “Is there a conversation going on that I don’t know anything about?” she asked.
Bentley and Marquez exchanged covert glances. “Just commenting on your brother’s justifiable anger,” Bentley told her easily. He caught her fingers in his. “Let’s go see your brother and tell him he’s about to have a new brother-in-law.”
* * *
Kell was a little better, until he saw Cappie’s face. He swore brilliantly.
“I know how you feel,” Bentley said. “But for what it’s worth, Bartlett probably looks much worse. It took two detectives to pull me off him.”
Kell brightened. “Good man.” He winced at his sister’s face, though. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll heal.” She didn’t mention the potential surgery she might have to undergo.
There was no need to worry him even more.
“Detective Marquez said that Frank won’t get out for a long time.
He expects one of Frank’s accomplices to turn state’s evidence.
If they charge him with battery on both of us, he’ll do some serious time. ”
“I expected Hayes Carson to show up here and ask me for a statement for what Frank did to me in Comanche Wells,” he murmured.
“I imagine he’s giving you time to get over the surgery,” Cappie said.
“Probably so.”
“Have you spoken to the surgeon yet?” Cappie asked.
He smiled. “Yes. He’s optimistic, especially since I have feeling in my legs now.”
“At least something good may come out of all this misery,” she said gently.
Kell was looking at Bentley. “Just before we came up here to the hospital, she said she didn’t want to live in a town that also contained you. You told me part of the story, but not any more than you had to. She was going to explain, then they knocked me out with a shot. Care to comment?”
“I made a stupid decision,” Bentley said with a sigh. “I expect to be apologizing for it for the rest of my life. But she’s going to marry me anyway.” He gave her a tender smile, which she returned. “I can eat crow at every meal, for however long it takes.”
“I stopped being mad at you while you were beating the stuffing out of Frank Bartlett,” she pointed out.
He glanced at his bruised, swollen knuckles. “I’ll have permanent mementoes of the occasion, I expect.”
“You’re getting married?” Kell asked.
“Yes,” Cappie said. She touched her face gingerly. “Not until the swelling goes down, though.”