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TWENTY MINUTES AFTER she called 911 from the landline in her apartment, the phone rang. She hoped it would be one of those anonymous county deputies who covered when Nathan was off duty. No such luck.
“What’s this about Leon Stark being injured?” Nathan asked. “I’m out here at his place with the rescue squad, and he’s glaring at us through his front window, telling us to go away. He looks pink and vertical to me.”
“Um...I just thought someone ought to know. He looked sort of shocky when I...uh...saw him a while ago. There was blood on his sleeve, but he wouldn’t talk to me.”
“How exactly did he look?”
“A little pale, clammy. He was holding a hand over his arm. I was afraid he might pass out at his place and get hurt.”
“Did you see what happened?”
“No. I was out for a run when I found him.”
“He seems a little upset with you,” Nathan said dryly. “He’s been shouting something about you telling on him.”
“I tried to convince him to go to the ER and have someone look at his wound, but he wouldn’t do it. Since he’s all alone in that house, I was afraid to let it go.”
An hour after Nathan hung up, the phone woke Sara from a fitful sleep. “I know it’s late,” he said shortly, “but I need to stop by and ask you a few questions.”
Obviously, they’d identified Leon’s wound. Now she could only hope that Leon hadn’t said anything about the gun he’d seen in her hands.
She’d barely stumbled out of bed and into her old terry-cloth robe when she heard footsteps come up the stairs and a knock at the door. A glance through the curtain revealed Nathan standing there, his face tired and drawn.
“What’s wrong? Is Leon okay?” she asked as she opened the door.
Nathan raked a hand through his hair, then nodded toward the small kitchenette. “Do you mind?”
He shook his head as he sank into one of the chairs at the table and regarded her with troubled eyes.
“How is he?”
A corner of Nathan’s mouth lifted briefly. “He might have been wounded, but he sure wasn’t weak. Convincing him to come with us to the ER was like corralling a bull moose.”
Sara settled into the chair across from Nathan and folded her arms on the table. “You had better luck than I did. Is he in the hospital now?”
“Nope. The doc cleaned and bandaged his wound and gave him a tetanus shot. She also gave him some sort of long-acting antibiotic injection, because she figured he might not remember to take capsules.”
“So he wasn’t badly hurt?”
“The wound was fairly minor. It’s the type of wound that concerns me.”
Gone was the relaxed guy who’d taken her to lunch and nearly stopped her heart with a single kiss.
Now she saw only his professional side—the steady, assessing look in his eyes, the calm logic that seemed ready to weigh every word she spoke.
“I couldn’t see much in the dark, and he wouldn’t let me get close. What happened?”
Retrieving a small notebook and pen from his uniform breast pocket, Nathan ignored her question. “When did you first see him tonight?”
“Um...” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Probably fifteen, twenty minutes before I called. Maybe midnight?”
“You were alone?”
She tipped her head toward Harold, who lay on a rug in front of the sink, his head resting on his front paws and his eyes watchful.
“Where did you find Leon?”
“Gosh...I think we were down on Oak, close to Bailey.” Within five blocks of there, anyway, she thought, but he didn’t need to know those details.
