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“In his right mind, but groggy.”
“Did he see who shot him?”
“I asked; he said no. He asked about Kerra. Eased him to know that she was all right.” He paused before asking, “Are you going to allow her to do that interview tomorrow evening?”
“I’ve mulled it over. Discussed it with key people. We’ve decided it could actually be beneficial. Nervous suspects do stupid things. We’ll have someone standing just outside camera range to signal Kerra not to answer any questions that could impede or compromise the investigation.”
“What about her personal safety?”
“The place will be saturated with uniforms. Plainclothes, too. She’s already got a guard on her, twenty-four–seven.”
“Yeah, about that,” Trapper said, “I blew right past him when I went into her motel room, ready to throttle her.”
“That deputy knows you. Besides, he said she ‘admitted’ you into her room.”
“But he didn’t follow up. He didn’t come to check on her. In the amount of time I was with her before you came banging on the door, I could’ve strangled her a dozen times over.”
“You’d never do that. Not with a cop car out front and all those witnesses who saw you go in.”
Glenn’s tongue-in-cheek response to his serious observation frustrated Trapper and made him want to shake the older man until he saw sense. “Glenn—”
“Hold on.” The sheriff reached for his cell phone, barked his name into it, listened, then said, “Be right down.” As he clicked off, he said to Trapper and Hank, “Press conference. They’re asking to hear directly from me about the crime scene. Hank, give your mother a lift home, please. Tell her I’ll check in when I can. Trapper, keep your damn phone on and…Aw, hell.”
He left them for the elevators, and one arrived just as he punched the down button, which was a good thing because he looked ready to boil over.
“I’m the one with the right to be pissed,” Trapper said to Hank as they watched the elevator doors close. “His best friend is off the critical list. He ought to be dancing a jig. Why’s he so steamed?”
“It’s a culmination of things,” Hank said. “The investigation is going nowhere. They don’t have any solid leads. No suspects. The Rangers are flexing muscle. The FBI has offered their services should they be needed, implying that they are.”
Sensing that Hank had stopped before he was through, Trapper said, “And?”
“And,” Hank said, stretching out the word, “he’s afraid that your intentions toward Ms. Bailey aren’t exactly honorable.”
“He thinks I want to, uh, in preacher speak, have carnal knowledge of her?”
Hank’s expression formed a question mark.
“It’s crossed my mind,” Trapper said. About a thousand times. In his fantasies, he’d had carnal knowledge of her in every way it was to be had, and if Glenn hadn’t interrupted them at the motel, they might be indulging in one of those ways right now.
“Well,” Hank said, “please wait until she’s safely back in Dallas and no longer in Dad’s jurisdiction.”
“What business is it of his?”
“He’s scared something bad will happen to her on his watch, while the whole world is looking on.”
“Something bad has already happened to her.”
“Something worse.”
“I’m worse than falling over a cliff while escaping would-be murderers?”
Hank winced. “Don’t be mad.”
“Mad, hell. I’m flattered.”
Just then Trapper noticed that Emma’s prayer group was breaking up and members of it were moving toward the elevators, giving him an ideal opportunity to split. He reached out and clasped Hank’s right hand. “Thanks for being here. You and the flock grab the elevators. I’ll take the stairs.”
Before Hank could detain him, Trapper headed for the fire stairs, jogged down to the ground floor, and pushed open the door into the lobby just as Kerra came through th
