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“Everyone has asked why you went after the stroller. The doctors and nurses, et cetera.”
“Oh. Yeah. My parents asked me about it. They commended me, but, you know, they’re my folks. They turned right around and said I shouldn’t have taken the risk. My girlfriend thinks that, too.”
“Shauna Calloway.”
He reacted with a start. “How did you know that?”
“She’s asked to interview me. I’ve declined. She’s dropped your name each time she’s called.”
“Eachtime? How many?”
“Four times, I think.”
He was outraged, especially on behalf of Elle Portman. “I had nothing to do with her calling you. Nothing. In fact…” He stopped there, unwilling to talk about Shauna with her, although he had plenty to say on the subject. “I’m sorry you were made to deal with that on top of everything else.”
“Actually, a friend was fielding my calls. She refused on my behalf.”
He was glad that this friend, referred to by Shauna as a harpy, was running interference with the media.
As for Elle Portman herself, she didn’t come across as a harpy, but not as a shrinking violet, either. When she’d said she wished the boy who’d shot at them had never been born, she’d left no doubt that she meant it.
She wasn’t a militant type, though. More like the student council president, who every guy in school wanted to bone but who was too wholesome to corrupt. Or to even try to corrupt. It would be like drinking communion wine in order to get wasted.
For one with such fair skin, her hair was a dark contrast. It was pulled back, so it wasn’t until she’d turned her head away that he’d seen the long ponytail, almost as thick as his wrist, rippling down her spine.
Shorter strands, just as wavy, framed her face, adding to its overall delicacy. Her wide-set eyes weren’t as clear as they might have been had she not been crying a lot recently, but they were the color of—
“What did you tell them when they asked why you lunged for the stroller?”
He drew his mind away from trying to choose the elusive descriptive word for her eye color and focused on the question she’d asked. “I told them I didn’t make a conscious decision. I didn’t think about the risks or anything else. I reacted, that’s all.”
“You tried to save my child, Mr. Hudson,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t dismiss that brave effort as ‘that’s all.’”
Chapter 9
The door to room 306 suddenly opened, and Perkins stepped out. He greeted them with a half-assedhi, then reached back to hold the door open for a woman who emerged on crutches. As she entered the hallway, she nodded self-consciously at the two of them.
Compton followed her out. Seeing them, the detective said, “Thank you for waiting. I trust you two have introduced yourselves. Elle Portman, Calder Hudson, this is Dawn Whitley.”
Calder, recognizing her, came to his feet. “I saw your interview.”
Feeling guilty for having turned down Shauna to go on camera himself, he’d watched the interview the night it had aired. Of course that was before he knew that she had continued to pester Elle Portman and had brought up his nameeach time.
The Whitley woman’s control of the crutches looked precarious, but she came toward him, smiling timidly. “I’d never been on TV before. I was so nervous. But Miss Calloway put me right at ease. She was very sweet and considerate. She told me that you two lived together but weren’t married yet.”
It made him mad as hell that Shauna had exploited their personal life for her benefit, but that wasn’t this lady’s fault. He smiled at her. “No one would have guessed you were nervous. You handled yourself well.”
“I cried a lot.”
“That didn’t detract from what you were saying.”
Elle Portman stepped forward. “I’m afraid I didn’t see your interview.”
“That’s okay.”
“I heard that it was compelling. How is your leg?”
“I haven’t quite gotten the hang of walking on crutches, but I’m not complaining.” Her expression was almost contrite, and Calder could identify with the survivor’s guilt she felt when in Elle Portman’s presence. “I’m as sorry as I can be about your son.”
