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She had been absorbed in recollections of the harrowing experience, but his abrupt question brought her head up. “No.”
“You were holding something back last night? What?”
“The fact that someone tried to open that door before the gunshot.”
“So you do think there were three would-be assassins? Two came to the front door where The Major was shot. Another came in through the back and saw you go into the powder room? He knew you were in there, but his buddies didn’t until after The Major was down? Is that what you think?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think any more.”
They lapsed into silence, but as he looked her over, his grim expression relaxed. “Well, honestly, what I think is that before going on TV you may want to change that outfit.”
Gracie had purchased the fleece tracksuit and sneakers for her to wear as she left the hospital. She looked down at herself. “Good advice. It’s ugly.”
He didn’t echo her self-deprecating laugh. All seriousness, he said, “Better yet, Kerra, change your mind. Don’t do the interview.”
“No one in law enforcement is keen on the idea, so the inte
rview could be scrubbed. If it is, all your ranting over it will have been for nothing. You didn’t give me an opportunity to tell you that before blazing in here and drinking my beer.”
“I was pissed.”
“I gathered that.”
“I’m also a real jerk for not even asking how you’re feeling.”
“I told you. Weary, achy, dizzy. But I was exaggerating a little bit,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. She stood up and walked toward him. “I am sorry that you were taken in for questioning. But I don’t regret telling them about the earring. I had to, and I know you understand that, Trapper.”
“I do. Of course I do. I admire you for it. It’s just that I have issues with authority.”
“I’ve gathered that, too.”
They exchanged smiles. He moved to the door, but stopped and turned back before opening it. “Say, I’ve been catching up on my Kerra Bailey–watching and—”
“You have?”
“On my laptop. Helps kill time in the waiting room.”
“I hope I’m at least as engrossing as white-tail deer.”
“I don’t know,” he said, giving her a lazy grin. “Tell me about your mating rituals.” At her look, he shrugged. “Worth a try. Anyway, I saw an interview you did with Thomas Wilcox.”
“It was one of the first feature stories I did here in Texas.”
“Why’d you choose him to focus on?”
“He’s mega successful.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“Why do you ask? Do you know him?”
“By reputation only. Everything I’ve read about him says he’s secretive. Keeps his business private. Shuns media attention.”
“All true. I had to finagle him.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “That sounds like really dirty foreplay.”
She laughed, but stopped laughing when he slid his hand under her hair at the nape of her neck and turned them until her back was to the door. Leaning in, his lips skimmed her beauty mark on their way to her ear, where he whispered, “I’d like for you to finagle me.”
