The Dying Game. Beverly BartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Griff squeezed her hand. “Of course I am.” He glanced at Nic. “Special Agent Baxter will speak to the nurse in charge of the ICU and make sure we are contacted if there’s any change in your sister’s condition.”
Gritting her teeth, Nic managed a fake smile as she nodded her head in agreement. “I’ll speak to the nurse right now.” She gave Griff a blistering stare. He just couldn’t help himself, could he? To him, taking charge came as naturally as breathing. In the past, the FBI had cautioned family members about cooperating with any private agency, including the Powell Agency, but legally, the bureau’s hands were tied.
At one-fifty in the afternoon, the cafeteria wasn’t crowded, so it was easy enough to find seating. Griff chose an isolated table in the back of the dining area and parked Barbara Jean’s wheelchair so that she was not near a window and her back was to a side wall. Nic understood his reasoning. If Gale Ann’s attacker had any idea that Barbara Jean had seen him and could possibly identify him, her life was in grave danger. Of course, she hadn’t said that she could ID the man, although she had admitted that she’d caught a glimpse of him as he was coming down the stairs of her sister’s apartment building.
“Is there anything in particular you want to eat?” Griff asked as he laid his overcoat and silk scarf on an empty chair.
“Anything will be fine,” she replied.
Nic and Griff were able to go through the line rather quickly, getting coffee for themselves and a meal for Barbara Jean. No way was she leaving Gale Ann’s sister alone with him. Legally, she could not prevent him from talking to Barbara Jean or offering her his big broad shoulders to lean on; the best she could do was keep a close watch on the woman. Griff handed the cashier a hundred dollar bill. The biggest bill in Nic’s wallet was a twenty. The difference between being rich and simply having a good job.
After slipping the change into his wallet, Griff lifted the tray laden with a full meal, dessert, and three cups of coffee, and carried it to the back table where Barbara Jean waited for them. After removing the plates, silverware, and cups from the tray, he placed it on a nearby empty table, then he pulled out a chair and offered it to Nic. She forced another fake smile—God, her face was going to crack—and allowed him to assist her.
Charming. Gentlemanly. Infuriating SOB.
Their gazes met for half a second, a confrontational exchange. Hostility simmered just below the surface, a reality neither of them could deny. Nic suspected that Griff disliked her as much as she did him, both professionally and personally.
Barbara Jean eyed the plate of food in front of her, then glanced over at Griff. “Everything looks delicious. Thank you.”
“Just eat what you can,” he told her, sympathy and understanding in his voice.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“It’s okay,” Nic said. “No one expects you to—”
“You have no idea what it was like.” Barbara Jean grasped Griff’s arm. “It was the most horrible thing imaginable, finding my sister like that. Her feet cut off. Blood everywhere.” Barbara Jean burst into tears.
Before Nic could say or do anything, Griff slid his chair closer to Barbara Jean’s wheelchair and draped his arm around her shoulders, offering her solace. She buried her face against his shoulder and wept.
Although Nic hated weepy females and had become determined at an early age to never become one, she couldn’t deny that Barbara Jean Hughes had every right and every reason to cry her head off. Good Lord, who wouldn’t have been devastated to find their sister mutilated and bleeding to death. It had been Barbara Jean’s quick thinking that had saved Gale Ann’s life.
After several minutes of sobbing, Barbara Jean lifted her head. “I’m sorry that I fell apart that way.”
Griff pulled a soft cotton, monogrammed handkerchief from the inside pocket of his tailor-made jacket. The man’s suit probably cost more than Nic made in a month, possibly a couple of months. He dabbed the expensive handkerchief under Barbara Jean’s eyes, then handed it to her.
“You must know that you saved your sister’s life,” Griff said as he lifted his arm from Barbara Jean’s shoulders.
“They don’t think she’ll live.” Barbara Jean clutched the handkerchief in her tight fist. “She lost so much blood before—” She gulped her sobs. “If I’d been able to get to her more quickly…if…”
“You can help her by helping us find the man who tried to kill her.” Griff’s voice had softened, taking on a seductive quality that set Nic’s teeth on edge.
“How—how can I do that?” Barbara Jean gulped.
“I understand that you caught a glimpse of a man leaving Gale Ann’s apartment building as you were arriving. Do you feel up to talking about that or would you rather wait until after you finish your lunch?”
Barbara Jean glanced at the fried chicken, creamed potatoes, and green beans on her plate, and Nic could almost hear the woman’s stomach churn. Her right hand shook as she reached for the coffee cup, so she had to use both hands to lift the hot liquid to her lips. After several sips, she sighed.
“Ms. Hughes, I must remind you that Mr. Powell is not affiliated with the FBI or any law enforcement agency,” Nic said, trying to keep her voice calm and friendly. “I must advise you that it isn’t in your sister’s best interest for you to discuss what happened with anyone other than—”
“Special Agent Baxter is right,” Griff said. “I’m a private detective, not a law enforcement officer. But one of my best friends lost a wife to the killer whom we suspect tried to murder your sister. I’ve been working on his behalf for nearly four years to try to find and stop this maniac.”
When Barbara Jean looked deeply into Griff’s eyes and offered him a trusting smile, Nic knew she had lost this particular battle.
“I know all the residents where Gale Ann lives,” Barbara Jean said. “There are only ten apartments in the building. Two are divorcées, like Gale Ann. Two are widows, one is an old bachelor, and the other four are young couples, but only two of the couples have children.”
“This man you saw, he wasn’t one of the residents?” Griff asked.
Barbara Jean shook her head.
“Could he have been a friend of one of the residents?” Nic inquired.
“I don’t know. But I do know that in the six years my sister has lived there, I’d never seen this man before.”
Nic opened her mouth to ask the all important question, but Griff beat her to the punch and asked pointedly, “Could you identify this man if you ever saw him again?”
Dead silence.
Nic gave Griff a heated glare.
“It’s all right,” Nic said. “If you can’t ID the man—”
“What if I can?” Barbara Jean’s gaze locked with Nic’s.
“Can you?” Griff asked.
“You think he’s the one who tried to kill Gale Ann, the one who cut off her feet?” Barbara Jean dropped her hands into her lap and entwined her fingers, trapping Griff’s handkerchief between her palms.
“Possibly,” Nic said.
“Does he know she didn’t die?”
Nic shook her head. “The local police issued a statement to the news media that Gale Ann Cain’s body had been discovered by her sister. Nothing more. But the hospital staff could let something slip, although they’ve been warned to be careful. And there are reporters trying to get to you to find out more details. But I or another agent will be with you twenty-four-seven. There is an agent posted at the hospital, outside the nurses’ entrance to the ICU, to protect your sister.”
“If