PROTECTION WAS PART OF THE COWBOY CREED

Fate brought Texas rancher Durk Lambert face-to-face with his ex-lover, Meghan Sinclair. The reckless but gorgeous P.I. had been beaten and left for dead, with no memory of her attacker, of Durk…or herself. Years ago she’d broken his heart, but no cowboy walked away from a woman in need.

While Durk kept her safe on his Bent Pine Ranch, his own memories threatened him—laughing with Meghan, making love. He still wanted her, but he feared Meghan was the one woman he could never have—and the one he’d lay down his life to protect. Because while Durk wanted her to remember, a killer needed her to forget.…

Hunger for her was pushing him over the edge.

If he kissed her—Hell. What was he thinking? He was supposed to be watching over her.

He walked out onto the porch, seeking distance, but Meghan followed. “You know you really are a cowboy at heart,” she said. “Seeing you on the ranch, I get it.”

“I’m not that complicated once you get to know me.”

“How well did I know you when we were dating?”

He turned to her. “I couldn’t say. We didn’t do a lot of talking. We were too consumed with the physical side of the relationship.” Somehow he’d let the conversation take a bad turn. “Are you sure you want to get into this?”

“What I want is for you to kiss me, Durk. The way you did when we first met.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Then stop thinking.”

Big Shot
Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joanna Wayne was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organization. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organizations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at P.O. Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Meghan Sinclair—A private investigator who precariously walks the thin line between daring and duty.

Durk Lambert—CEO of Lambert, Inc. He’s still a cowboy at heart and lives by the Cowboy Creed.

Bill Evers—Meghan’s bodybuilder neighbor, who rescues her when she’s attacked in her condo.

Lucy Delmar—Meghan’s sister.

Ben Conroe—Meghan’s assistant, who is murdered in their office.

Detective Sam Smart—He’s in charge of investigating Ben Conroe’s murder.

Dr. Levy—Meghan’s doctor after she’s attacked.

Connie Latimer—She’s hired Meghan to find her sister’s killer when the cops didn’t.

Roxanne—Connie’s murdered sister.

Edward Byers—A possible suspect in Ben’s murder.

Carolina Lambert—Durk’s mother.

Damien and Tague Lambert—Durk’s brothers.

Belle—The foster daughter of Emma and Damien.

Alexis Lambert—Tague’s wife.

Tommy Lambert—Alexis and Tague’s son.

Sybil—Durk’s aunt.

Pearl—Durk’s grandmother.

To my sisters, Mary, Barbara, Linda and Brenda. Always great to get together. You warm my heart. And to everyone who’s ever loved a real or fictional cowboy! And thanks to my editor, who makes me want to keep writing Harlequin Intrigue novels even after fifty-plus books.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

Meghan Sinclair smiled as she exited the elevator to her fifth-floor condominium in downtown Dallas. Her afternoon coffee date had been a resounding success.

Her condo was at the end of the empty hallway, near the stairwell. Meghan slipped out of her shoes about halfway to her door and let her aching tootsies sink into the deep carpet. She slowed enough to bend over and hook the leather shoe straps with a crooked finger.

It was nice to live in luxury, thanks to the generosity of a former client who owned the complex. The fancy handbag was a bit of overkill for this time of day, but it and her dress had done their job. He’d given her a heck of a deal after she’d been instrumental in finding his daughter’s killer. The depraved maniac had been arrested and tried and was now serving a life sentence. Case closed.

If she ever married and had a family, the condo would be too small. But if her love life kept to the same trajectory it was on now, that might never happen.

The door to the stairwell opened as she retrieved her key fob from the silver clutch. She fit her key into the lock before looking up, certain it was Mr. Muscles who lived two doors down.

A bodybuilding fanatic, Bill Mackey claimed elevators were for wimps. But then again, Mr. Muscles didn’t own one pair of stilettos.

Meghan spun around at the sound of heavy breathing and running footsteps. A man bound into the hallway, masked and dressed in black. Definitely not her neighbor. She pushed through her door and tried to slam it shut behind her.

His foot stopped it. Two strong gloved hands closed around her neck, pressing so hard they blocked her airway.

Her P.I. self-defense skills were ingrained and automatic. She jerked upward, bucking hard with her head while she reached into her purse for her pistol. One of the attacker’s hands left her throat, but before she could aim, her body started jerking uncontrollably.

She spotted his stun gun as her pistol fell from her shaking fingers. The attacker kicked her weapon in front of them as he pushed her flailing body into the condo, knocking her to the floor. When she tried to stand, he shoved her and sent her slamming into the wall.

The room began to spin. The scone and coffee she’d just eaten came up, mixed with blood. The last thing she saw was his body coming at her like a demolition ball bent on destruction.

The last thing she heard was her own terrified scream for help.

* * *

D URK L AMBERT STEPPED out of Lambert Towers and was greeted by blinding sunshine and a brisk breeze. The perfect fall afternoon, low seventies and not a cloud in sight. Just the kind of weather he needed to kick off his much-needed vacation.

His black Jaguar was waiting for him in front of the towering skyscraper, motor running with Miguel behind the wheel. Durk shed the jacket of his suit coat as Miguel climbed out of the car.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lambert. Great weather to start a vacation.”

“Couldn’t ask for better,” Durk agreed.

“Are you leaving town?”

“I’m leaving the city but going no farther than the Bent Pine Ranch.” He loosened the knot in his tie, yanked it from around his neck and tossed it in the backseat with his jacket. “Goodbye, ties. Hello, boots and jeans.”

“Good for you, boss man. Have a nice Thanksgiving.”

“Thanks, Miguel. You, too. Do you have plans?”

“I’m driving down to Brownsville to spend a couple of weeks with my daughter and her family. Plan to do some fishing and roast one of their farm-raised goats over a spit. Now that’s eating.”

“Nothing like good cabrito,” Durk agreed. He shook Miguel’s wrinkled hand and climbed behind the wheel. He waited until Miguel had rounded the car and was back on the sidewalk before pulling into traffic.

The man was thin and slightly stooped, his weathered face showing the strain of seventy-seven years of living. He’d been a fixture around Lambert Inc. as long as Durk could remember.

He’d retired as maintenance engineer eight years ago when a heart condition had forced him to slow down. He’d come back on the payroll five years ago when his wife died.

He claimed he hated the empty house after so many years of marriage and he liked to keep busy. As long as he wanted to hang out at Lambert Inc., Durk would make certain they found a few non-stressful things for him to do.

The afternoon traffic was heavier than usual. It was still one full week before Thanksgiving, but already the stores were decorated and pandering for holiday shoppers to give into their whims and the store’s enticements.

Shopping was the furthest thing from Durk’s mind. After the summer and autumn he’d had, he needed to get back in the saddle again. And to reacquaint himself with his family.

While he’d been traveling back and forth to the Middle East working on a new project that was a go and a merger that wasn’t, his brother Tague had taken the plunge into wedlock and instant fatherhood.

No one had been more shocked at that than Durk—unless it was Tague himself. But Tague had adjusted well and had never seemed happier. Neither had his brother Damien, who’d been married for four months now.

Marriage and family weren’t in Durk’s foreseeable future—if ever. Some men were cut out for family life. Some weren’t. He fell into the latter category.

Besides, the one time he’d let himself fall hard for a woman, it had ended badly. Talk about messing with his mind. No way would he go there again.

He turned at the light and headed toward I-45. He was almost to the freeway when his cell phone rang. He punched on his hands-free receiver.

“Durk Lambert.”

“Glad I caught you, Durk. Are you still in Dallas?”

He tensed at the apprehension in his mother’s voice. “I just left the office. What’s up?”

“Sybil’s friend Bessie George called. She said Sybil started having chest pains while they were out shopping. She called an ambulance and they took Sybil to Grantland Hospital.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I just got the call. Bessie was on her way to the hospital to be with Sybil, but she’s stuck behind a fender bender and traffic’s at a standstill.”

“That’s Dallas for you. Traffic’s moving here. I’ll stop by the hospital now and check on Sybil.”

“Thanks, son. Call me on my cell phone as soon as you see her. I’m driving in as well, but it will take me over an hour to get there from the ranch this time of day.”

“Just hang tight until I call you back, Mom. No use for you to make the trip unless they’re going to admit her. The last two times that Aunt Sybil rushed to the emergency room, it turned out to be acute indigestion.”

“Yes, but you never know, Durk.”

“I’ll know after I talk to the doctor. Pour yourself a cup of coffee and try to relax. I’ll get back to you as soon as I find out something.”

“I guess that does make more sense than rushing into the city before I know if it’s serious.”

“Perfect sense,” he agreed.

Durk’s hands tightened on the wheel, the tension returning to his muscles. In spite of his reassurances, he was concerned about his aunt. She was his father’s older sister—not that she was old. Her sixty-fourth birthday was coming up in a matter of weeks. She had lived with them for years, ever since her husband had died from a massive heart attack at the young age of fifty-eight.

The rambling old ranch house that had been in the Lambert family for generations served them all well. Aunt Sybil and his grandmother each had a private suite on the first floor. His mother was still in the master suite that she’d shared with his father before his untimely death, though she’d offered it to Damien and Emma when they’d married. They’d decided the west wing was the better choice for them, probably because it offered more play space for their foster daughter, Belle. Tague and his new wife, Alexis, and stepson, Tommy, had the suite on the second floor above Damien’s, though they were already planning to build their own cottage on the ranch.

Durk’s quarters were just off the huge billiards and game room on the second floor in the east wing of the house. He didn’t need much space since when he wasn’t traveling he spent most of his time in his penthouse condo in downtown Dallas.

In less than twenty minutes, he was standing at the admittance desk in the E.R. The young blonde nurse on duty looked a bit harried, but she managed a smile when she looked up at him. “How can I help you?”

“My aunt, Sybil Ratcliff, should have arrived by ambulance in the last few minutes. I’d like to check on her.”

“Yes. I think the doctor is with her now.” The nurse rifled through a half-dozen admittance slips. “She’s in Room Four. I’ll have someone escort you back there. You say she’s your aunt?”

“Yes, I’m Durk Lambert.”

“Durk Lambert.” She repeated the name as she placed her hands on the counter, showing off her perfectly manicured nails and her ringless wedding band finger. This time her smile lit up her face. “Actually, I’ll walk you to your aunt’s room. If there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to let me know. My name’s Pam.”

She looked around and motioned to a middle-aged nurse who was adding information to a chart. “Can you man the desk for a minute, Ethel? I need to see that Durk Lambert finds his aunt.”

Ethel eyeballed Durk, nodded and smiled conspiratorially. “Sure. Take your time.”

He felt like a participant in The Bachelorette. No doubt the nurse had read the stupid article in a local publication that had named him the wealthiest and most eligible bachelor in Texas.

It amazed him what people posted in the name of entertainment.

They passed several partitions and had almost reached the fourth one when Durk had to step aside to permit a gurney guided by two paramedics to pass. The patient was muttering and fighting the restraints that kept her from propelling herself to the floor. Blood stained the white sheet.

Another nurse rushed over to meet them.

“We called ahead as soon as we got her on board,” one of the paramedics explained. “Patient was attacked in her condo. She was unconscious when we got there and blood pressure is roller-coastering. A Taser was found on the premises. Not sure if it was used on her or not, but somebody’s fists definitely were.”

“Trauma unit is expecting her. Did she call for the ambulance before she blacked out?”

“No. A neighbor dialed 911. Apparently he heard her yell for help and went to her rescue. Huge guy with bulging muscles. Just the kind you want around when you need help. He took a couple of blows himself, but he refused to come in.”

The gurney’s occupant groaned and tried to sit up.

“You can relax. You’re safe now,” the nurse said. She walked beside the patient as they hurried off.

“Who’s driving my car?” the woman asked.

“You’re not in a car. You’re in a hospital.”

“Someone has to drive.”

The voice was slurred, the tone bordering on delirious, yet the familiarity of it cut through Durk like a knife. He caught up with the gurney and caught a glimpse of the battered, confused patient. The right side of her face was red and swollen and her hair was matted with blood.

His insides rolled violently. “Meghan.”

She showed no response. He reached for her hand. “It’s Durk, Meghan.”

“The car is going to wreck.”

She was so out of it that she wasn’t aware he was standing there, nor even where she was.

Pam caught up with him. “Do you know this woman?”

“I do.”

“Are you related?” the other nurse asked.

“No, just friends.”

“Then please stick around in case we need some information about her that she’s not coherent enough to give.”

He followed the gurney around the corner.

“You’ll have to wait out here,” the nurse said as they rolled Meghan through a set of double doors.

“I’d like to make sure she’s okay.”

“Someone will talk to you after she’s been examined. There’s nothing you can do now. She doesn’t even know you’re here.”

He took a few steps back and then leaned against the wall while he struggled for a grip on reality.

Meghan Sinclair, the one woman he’d never been able to forget. Brutally attacked. So confused she didn’t know where she was. Likely suffering from a concussion. Possibly much worse.

Durk had never sought vengeance before, but this was different. Whoever did this to Meghan would live to regret it. He would make damn sure of that.

Chapter Two

“They’ll be awhile. Would you like to see your aunt now?”

Pam’s question jerked Durk back to the situation that had brought him to the hospital in the first place. He nodded his agreement and followed her back down the hall, though his concern for Meghan didn’t let up.

“How qualified is the trauma unit to handle head injuries?”

“We have one of the best in Dallas. Your friend is in good hands.”

“Is there a neurologist on duty?”

“There is and several others they can call in if your friend’s condition warrants it.”

“Good.”

“You seem very concerned. The patient must be a very close friend.”

He let Pam’s comment go without a response while he tried to deal with the emotions bucking inside him. It had been two years since he’d seen Meghan. But he doubted there had been a day since then that he hadn’t thought about her. Not a night that he hadn’t ached to hold her in his arms again.

He heard Sybil’s voice even before they reached her curtained cubicle. She sounded a bit croaky, but her words were distinct.

Pam shoved the curtain back enough to peek inside. “You have a visitor, Mrs. Ratcliff.”

“Who is it?”

“Your nephew, Durk Lambert.”

“Durk. Really? My sister-in-law must be calling the whole family.”

“He can come in,” another female voice said.

Pam pushed back the curtain and ushered Durk inside. “I’ll be back to check on you and your aunt in a bit,” she said. “But don’t leave before the trauma team can talk to you.”

“No, I won’t.” That was a definite.

A female in a white doctor’s coat looked up from the chart she was reading. “I’m Dr. Preston. And this is Bill Henley,” she said, motioning to the nurse who was adjusting a blood pressure cuff on his aunt’s arm. “We’ll be looking after your aunt.”

“Except that I don’t need looking after,” Sybil protested. “What I need is to go home.”

“If you keep saying that, you’re going to hurt my feelings,” Bill teased.

“It’s not you. In fact, you should go home with me,” Sybil said. “A few days on the ranch and away from all these sick people would do you good.”

“Amen to that,” Bill agreed. “Where do I sign up?”

“As you can tell, she’s feeling better,” Dr. Preston said. “The good news is she didn’t have a heart attack.”

“That’s a relief,” Durk agreed.

“I never thought it was a heart attack,” Sybil said. “But when I told Bessie I was having chest pains, she insisted on calling for an ambulance.”

“Always better to err on the side of caution,” Dr. Preston said. “Chest pains are nothing to fool around with.”

Sybil nodded. “I lost my husband to a heart attack almost eleven years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Dr. Preston handed the chart to Bill. “But that means you know how important cardiac care is.”

Bill took the chart and left the room.

Durk stepped to the side of the bed, leaned over and gave his aunt a peck on the cheek. She looked a bit frail and her thick black wig had twisted on her head so that it looked as if it were trying to crawl away.

“When did the pains start?” Durk asked.

“About an hour ago.”

“And you were feeling okay before that?”

“I haven’t been feeling great the last few days, but I haven’t really been sick, either—just tired and out of breath easily. Then, like I just explained to Dr. Preston, Bessie and I were walking to my car in the parking lot outside Neiman Marcus when all of a sudden I had stabbing pains in my chest. I told Bessie what was going on, and she called 911.”

Durk turned to the doctor. “But you’re sure that wasn’t her heart?”

“No. I’m only sure she wasn’t having a heart attack. The symptoms could have been caused by any number of things. We won’t know for certain until we run some tests. Bill’s arranging for those now.”

“Pshaw. It was just indigestion,” Sybil said. “I don’t need any tests.”

Durk took her hand in his. “I think we should leave that decision to Dr. Preston.”

“A good plan,” the doctor agreed.

“What kind of tests are we talking about?” Durk asked.

“I’ve ordered a chest X-ray and some blood work for starters. Then we’ll work from there until we can pinpoint the problem.”

“I’m already feeling much better,” Sybil insisted. She tried to sit up, but winced in pain and let her head fall back to the thin pillow.

“I won’t have to stay the night, will I?” Sybil asked, though her tone was less argumentative than before.

“Why don’t we decide that after I see the initial test results?”

Sybil nodded in agreement but she looked worried and her breathing seemed shallow even to Durk. Someone should probably stay with her, but he doubted it would be him. Any other time, he’d easily be up to the task, but seeing Meghan in that condition had him so shaken it was difficult to focus on anyone else.

“I’m going to step outside and call Mom,” he said. “She made me promise to let her know how you were the second I saw you.”

“Tell Carolina there’s no use in her rushing up here. I’m fine,” Sybil said. “And there’s no reason for you to stay, either. I’m sure I can drive home.”

“I’ll give Mom that message.” Which she’d immediately ignore. And then she’d question him about why his plans had changed and he wouldn’t be coming to the ranch—at least not tonight.

Once he’d made the call to his mother and she’d declared she was on her way to the hospital, he walked back to the area where they’d taken Meghan. One of the nurses approached him.

“Are you here with the patient who was assaulted?”

“Meghan Sinclair?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t come in with her, but she’s a friend and I’m greatly concerned about her.”

“Good. Hopefully you can help us. It’s urgent that we get in touch with a family member.”

Panic swept through him. “How serious is this?”

“Her condition is still being assessed, but she’s unable to give us any medical history. We need to talk to someone who’ll know if she has any allergies or other medical conditions we should be aware of. And we need a next of kin to make medical decisions until she is able to do that for herself. Do you know how to reach Ms. Sinclair’s parents?”

“Her parents are dead.”

“What about siblings?”

“She has a sister who lived in Connecticut,” he said. “I assume she still lives there.”

“Can you give us the sister’s name and phone number?”

“Meghan called her Lucy. She’s married, and I don’t know her last name or her phone number. I’m sure Meghan’s assistant, Ben Conroe, can give you everything you need.”

“Do you have his phone number?”

“Not off hand, but I can get it. In fact, he needs to be notified. I know he’d want to be here.”

“Would he also have her medical insurance information?”

“He’ll at least know who holds the policy.”

“Then have him contact us at this number ASAP.” She handed him a business card for the trauma unit. “Tell him to ask for Jane. I’ll be here until midnight.”

“I’ll get in touch with Ben,” Durk said, “as soon as you give me the honest truth about Meghan’s medical condition.”

“I’m sorry, but since you’re not a family member, the only information I can give you is that she’s being treated.”

Durk understood rules, but he’d never been too keen on following them. “I’m the only one here to make sure she’s taken care of. You want me to cooperate, then do the same,” he said.

It was a bluff. He’d cooperate and do what was best for Meghan no matter what they did or didn’t tell him.

“Wait here,” the nurse said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A couple of minutes later, she returned with a man in a white physician’s lab coat. The apprehension on the man’s face as he stuck out his hand was anything but reassuring.

His handshake was firm as he introduced himself as Dr. Levy.

“I’m Durk Lambert, and I appreciate you talking to me.”

“I understand you’re a close friend of Ms. Sinclair,” the doctor said, his voice matter-of-fact.

“Yes,” Durk agreed even though it was an exaggeration. “How serious are her injuries? I mean, are we talking critical?”

“All I can tell you now is that her condition is being assessed.”

“Exactly what does that entail?”

“Examination, routine neurological tests and a CAT scan.”

“Is she conscious?”

“She’s alert, but exhibiting altered mental status.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s confused. That frequently goes along with a concussion. But we do need to contact a family member. That’s the one thing you can do at this point to help your friend.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Durk said. “In the meantime, I want to make certain that Meghan receives the best care possible, even if that means airlifting her to a different facility.”

The doctor’s brows arched. “At your expense?”

“Yes. I can sign whatever is needed.”

“That’s a very generous offer, Mr. Lambert, but there’s no reason to move her at this time.”

“In that case, when can I see her?”

“That depends on her progress and the test results, but likely within the next several hours. It will be good for her to hear a familiar voice—unless there’s some reason why seeing you would upset her. There isn’t, is there?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll let you know when you can see her.”

Durk reconsidered his answer to that last question as he walked away. He and Meghan hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Not that she’d made a scene. Meghan Sinclair was not one to lose control. But she’d clearly dumped him.

That had been two years ago. When he’d recommended her professional services to his brother Tague just months ago she’d accepted and done a bang-up job.

She’d moved on. For all he knew, she was in a serious romantic relationship. The thought bothered him, though it shouldn’t. He’d bow out quickly enough if he found out that was true.

It wouldn’t change the fact that he planned to make damn sure that whoever did this to Meghan would not get off scot-free.

But the first order of business was contacting Ben Conroe. He searched for a quiet space. When he found none, he walked outside and into the gathering twilight. The siren of an incoming ambulance punctuated the brisk air as he called Meghan’s office.

He got a busy signal instead of the answering machine, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, that meant Ben was still at work. The office was on the second floor of a three-story office building across the street from a strip mall only a few blocks away.

Durk jogged to his truck and a few seconds later was heading out of the parking lot. He dialed the number again as he sped toward her office. The line remained busy.

He glanced at his watch as he parked in the mostly empty lot. It was ten before six. He entered and raced up the stairs to the second floor. He tapped on the closed door to her office. When no one answered, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

Ben was there, but he was not on the phone. He wouldn’t be talking—not now and not ever again. A bullet had apparently ripped through his brain.

Durk went into defensive mode instantly, reaching for the pistol that lay near Ben’s body, listening and looking for any sign the killer was still on the premises.

The office remained as quiet as death.

Feeling a bit more confident that he was alone, Durk stepped closer to the body. Ben’s eyes were open, staring and lifeless. Durk stooped and checked Ben’s pulse, knowing there wouldn’t be one. The body was still warm. He’d missed the killer by mere minutes.

Reality burned in the pit of his stomach as he tried to assess the situation with some degree of clarity. Ben was dead. And whoever had killed him had probably planned the same fate for Meghan. Something had apparently stopped him before he could finish the job on her—possibly the neighbor who’d called the ambulance.

Fury and determination strained every muscle as Durk took out his phone and dialed 911. He gave the operator the information. She asked a few questions, assured him the cops were on their way and warned him not to touch anything before they arrived.

A little late for that since he was likely already holding the murder weapon. Survival topped crime scene protocol any day. Too bad he hadn’t thought to grab his own pistol from the car, but then he hadn’t expected to crash a murder scene.

He let his gaze roam the small outer office. File cabinet drawers were open, loose papers strewn about the floor and across what had been Ben’s desk.

Gun still in hand, he crossed the room and, using the tips of his fingers to hopefully keep from destroying possible fingerprints, he cautiously turned the knob and opened the door to Meghan’s office. The usually neat space was a total wreck.

Whatever the murderous bastard had wanted, Durk assumed he’d found it. Otherwise, he’d have still been here when Durk showed up.

When the cops arrived, they’d take over. From that point on, everything in the office would be in their possession and Durk would be the outsider—or possibly even a suspect since his prints would be all over the Smith & Wesson still clutched in his right hand.

He’d deal with the suspicions, but the idea of losing control disturbed him to the max. The least he could do was locate the insurance information for the doctor so that they could check for a history of allergies.

He made his way to the ravaged file cabinet, stepping over scattered files and loose papers as best he could. Before he could locate the insurance file, the office phone rang. Durk answered quickly.

“Hello,” the female voice responded. “Is Meghan around?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Lucy. Who is this?”

Durk’s mouth went dry. Exactly who he needed to talk to, but he hated the news he had to deliver. “I’m a friend of Meghan’s,” he explained, working to keep his voice steady. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Lucy. There’s been an incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

“Meghan was attacked in her apartment this afternoon. She’s in the hospital.”

He heard the gasp and then the tremble in the voice. “Oh, no. How bad is she hurt?”

“They’re running tests now to determine the seriousness of her condition.”

“What hospital? I want to talk to her.”

“Grantland, but she can’t talk just yet. Her doctor is eager to hear from you, though. He needs to know if Meghan has any drug allergies that he should be aware of.”

“Where’s Ben? Is he with Meghan?”

Durk considered his answer. He hated to throw even more at Lucy when he knew so few facts. “Ben’s not available, but I’ll be with Meghan until she’s out of danger.”

“Who are you?”

“Durk Lambert. We’ve never met, but I’m a friend of Meghan’s.”

“Yes. I know who you are.” Her tone told him she’d not only heard of him, but that he had at least two strikes against him in her book.

“How are you involved in this?” she demanded.

“By chance. I was at the emergency room checking on my aunt when Meghan was brought in. And it doesn’t really matter what you think of me right now, Lucy. The only thing that matters is Meghan, and I promise you that I will see that she has the best of care. Right now you need to call Dr. Levy. Do you have a pen or pencil handy?”

“Wait.”

He could hear her muffled voice talking to someone else. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone. A few seconds later a male voice addressed him. “This is Johnny Delmar, Lucy’s husband. Give me the doctor’s phone number.”

Durk did and then gave Johnny his number, as well. “I’d like permission to hire a private nurse around the clock if that seems warranted.”

“I don’t see any problems with that,” Johnny said. “Except I’m sure Ben Conroe will see that Meghan has whatever she needs.”

“That won’t be possible.”

“Why not? Doesn’t Ben still work for Meghan?”

Durk hesitated, hating to get into a drawn-out explanation when the cops would arrive any second. But better that Johnny be there when Lucy heard about the murder. “You may as well know now as later. Ben’s dead. He was shot in the head.”

A few seconds of silence followed that pronouncement. “Were Ben and Meghan together?”

“No.”

“What the hell is going on down there in Dallas?”

“I’ve told you all I know. I’m expecting the cops any second, but right now Meghan’s medical concerns top the priority list.”

“Absolutely. We have a problem here, as well,” Johnny said. “Lucy is going to want to catch the next flight to Texas, but she’s eight months pregnant. She’s having some complications and her obstetrician has ordered total bed rest until the delivery.”

“Keep Lucy in Connecticut,” Durk encouraged. “When I leave here, I’m going straight back to the hospital and I’ll be there as long as Meghan is at risk. Count on it. I’ll keep Lucy informed of everything.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not sure how much faith Lucy has in you.”

“I understand that. But I still consider Meghan a friend. Nothing that happened between us changed that. I’ll make certain Meghan gets the best of care.”

Durk heard footsteps in the hallway. “I’ve got to go now. The cops are here.”

He hung up the phone and walked into the outer office, leaving the murder weapon behind him on Meghan’s desk.

“Hands over your head and face the wall,” one of the cops demanded. All weapons were drawn and pointed straight at him.

For once in his life, Durk followed orders without as much as a blink.

Chapter Three

Bearing a family name well-known in Dallas’s social, business and philanthropic circles frequently offered significant perks and dismaying pitfalls. In this situation, it definitely worked to Durk’s advantage.

The cops were actually giving him a chance to explain the circumstances instead of just hauling him off in a squad car to be interrogated at the local precinct.

He detailed every move he’d made since he’d first spotted Meghan at the hospital, giving particular attention to his actions at the crime scene. But even though they listened to his account, he wasn’t sure they were convinced of his innocence.

“Check it out for yourselves,” Durk said. “Talk to the cops who answered the 911 call to Meghan Sinclair’s apartment. Talk to the E.R. staff at Grantland. They’ll tell you I was there to see my aunt when they brought Meghan in and that Dr. Levy specifically requested that I help them gather needed medical and insurance information.”

“And so you rushed to the office of a woman you admittedly hadn’t seen for two years?”

“I figured her assistant was the best source of the information they needed. Like I said, I remembered she didn’t have any family in the area.”

One of the cops scratched a craggy jaw that was sporting a five o’clock shadow. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to call the assistant instead of rushing over here?”

“I did, but the line was busy. Besides, I figured this was the kind of news better delivered in person.”

“How long has Mr. Conroe worked for Ms. Sinclair?”

“At least two years,” Durk said. “Probably longer.”

“Did Meghan mention any problems between her and Ben?”

“No, they appeared to be very close, but like I said, I haven’t actually talked to Meghan in a couple of years.”

“Yet here you are,” one of the cops noted. “A busy executive like you, rushing in to help an ex-girlfriend.”

The sarcasm didn’t warrant a response.

“Were Meghan and Ben romantically involved?” another cop asked.

“Not to my knowledge.” At least they hadn’t been two years ago. “As far as I know they were just coworkers and friends,” he added, though he couldn’t imagine what relevance a relationship between them would have to the case. It wasn’t as if Meghan had shot him and then beat herself up.

But Meghan was going to take the news of Ben’s murder hard. And knowing her, she’d be out looking for the killer the second she was released from the hospital—if not before.

A middle-aged cop with salt-and-pepper hair, a nose that showed signs of being broken more than once and a spare tire that hid his belt had asked most of the questions. His was the only name Durk had caught in the noisy confusion that accompanied their arrival. Officer Jordon.

Durk addressed his next question to him. “Do I need to contact my attorney or are you going to release me to return to the hospital and check on Meghan Sinclair?”

“First off, I need to request a crime scene unit. Then I’ll make a few calls to verify your story. If everything checks out, you’re free to go—for the time being. However, I expect you’ll be contacted shortly by a detective. Are you staying in town for the Thanksgiving holiday?”

“Yes, I’ll either be at my home or at the hospital. And you can assure the detective I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. If he thinks a reward will help flush out the perpetrator, I’ll supply the funds.”

Durk waited while Officer Jordon made the calls, his mind struggling to make sense of the attack and murder. Had the killer come to the office first, killed Ben and then gone after Meghan?

Had he gone to both places looking for something in particular—like files on one of her cases? Had he found them, or had Bill Mackey frightened him away before he could fully search her condo?

Or was this someone Meghan had helped put away coming back to exact revenge?

At this point, those were all merely theories. Hopefully when Meghan was talking again, she’d be able to explain everything and identify the man who’d assaulted her and killed Ben.

Assuming they were one and the same.

Fortunately, the officer’s calls backed up everything Durk had told them. Once released, Durk made a quick exit before the CSU team arrived.

On his way to the car, he called the number the nurse named Jane had given him. As soon as he identified himself, she thanked him for having Lucy call them but still refused to release any information on Meghan.

He figured Pam might be more accommodating, but when he got her on the phone, all she could tell him was that his aunt was being admitted to the hospital for observation and further tests.

Which meant Durk would undoubtedly run into his mother before the night was over. She’d be a much tougher interrogator than the cops had been as to his involvement with Meghan.

One thing you could always count on as a Lambert: your secrets never stayed that way for long. Not that he had any reason to hide his past relationship with Meghan. They had been lovers for a while and then they weren’t.

The past was simple. The feelings churning inside him now were inextricably complicated.

Durk made a stop at his penthouse condo to take a quick shower and change from his bloody dress clothes into a pair of jeans, a blue pullover shirt and his boots.

He also took a couple of over-the-counter painkillers. What had started as a dull ache while he was still at the scene of the crime had burgeoned into a hammering throb at both temples.

By the time he made it back to the hospital, stars and a crescent moon were shining in the night sky. Not that they ever sparkled inside the Dallas city limits with the same brilliance as they did on the ranch.

It dawned on him as he parked that he’d never taken Meghan to the Bent Pine Ranch.

He climbed from behind the wheel and walked to the E.R. entrance, hoping to dodge interference and make his way back to the trauma unit on his own.

No such luck. Pam spotted him as he walked through the door. She waved from behind the glass partition and motioned him over to where she was talking to a patient.

“Give me a minute to finish here and I’ll be right with you,” she chirped. She looked back to her patient and handed the woman a clipboard. “Just fill this out while you’re waiting and sign the areas that are highlighted. Bring it back to the desk when you finish.”

As the woman walked away, Pam turned her full attention back to Durk. “I have a break due, so I can show you to your aunt’s room.”

“Actually, I was going to check on Meghan Sinclair first.”

She frowned. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a detective from the DPD waiting to talk to her. I expect he’ll get first dibs when the doctor says she’s up for visitors. And if you’re hanging around back there, he’ll likely question you, as well.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Durk said. “But thanks for the warning.” He smiled and walked away before she could join him.

Durk found Jane in the E.R. nurse’s station arguing with a tall man in jeans and a tan-colored sport coat. The guy looked to be in his early forties and easily as tall as Durk’s six-foot-two-inch frame. Hard body. Craggy, tan face. Thick sandy-colored hair that looked as if it had been held in place with a glue gun.

Jane looked up, her expression flashing relief when she saw Durk. “Here’s Mr. Lambert now.” She motioned Durk over. “This detective has been looking for you.”

“Has there been any change in Meghan’s condition?” Durk asked.

“All I can tell you at this point is that she’s being seen by the trauma medical staff, the same as I told Detective Sam Smart here. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I need to get back to nursing. That is what they pay me for.”

“I still need to talk to Ms. Sinclair the minute she’s able,” the detective said to her back as she walked away.

Jane didn’t respond.

The detective stared at Durk as if he were sizing him up for a new suit—or a fight. Durk figured he was going for intimidation. It didn’t work. He was a master at that himself.

“Glad to run into you here,” the detective said. “It will save me a trip to your house.”

“Is this concerning Meghan’s attack or her assistant’s murder?”

“Both.”

“So you’re in homicide?”

“Exactly.”

“You didn’t waste any time getting started on the case,” Durk said.

“Time is seldom on a detective’s side in a murder case. So let’s talk.”

“Talk or interrogate me?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Is there a difference?”

“Quite a bit. If you want facts, I can tell you the little I know. If you’re going to interrogate me as a suspect, I should call my attorney.”

“I’m just after the facts—unless, of course, you have something to confess.”

“I already confessed to handling the possible murder weapon.” And he had nothing to hide. Unfortunately, he had nothing of any real value to add, either. If and when he needed an attorney, he’d get the best in the business. He didn’t see it going that far, especially since Meghan would vouch that he wasn’t her attacker.

Durk stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “So do we talk here in the middle of the noisy hallway or do you want to try for something a bit more private?”

Smart smirked. “Are you worried about being seen with a homicide detective?”

“Just trying to be helpful,” Durk said.

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

The detective led the way to a back exit. They stepped outside but didn’t venture away from the building.

Smart propped his shoulder against the wall. “How well do you know Meghan?”

“Reasonably well. We dated for several months two years ago.”

“Then I assume you’re aware of what she does for a living?”

“I know she’s a private investigator,” Durk admitted.

“She specializes in cases involving extremely dangerous criminals, the kind of cases best left to trained police officers.”

“And I hear she’s good at it,” Durk said. “So, what’s your point?”

“The point is that you’d be smart not to get involved in this case other than cooperating with me and the rest of the DPD.”

In other words, butt out. Durk had a real problem with ultimatums—unless he was the one issuing them. “What makes you think I’d get involved?”

“You might look like a cowboy, but I know all about you, Durk. You’re a powerful CEO. You’re used to being in charge and running things your way.”

“I’m noted for getting the job done, just like Meghan.”

“But you’re not used to dealing with murderers. Take it from me, they don’t play by any rules. This guy has killed once. He won’t hesitate to do it again if that’s what it takes to save his skin.”

“I plan to stay alive,” Durk said. “With or without rules.”

The groundwork of their tenuous relationship had been laid. The rest of the detective’s questions were routine and the interview was over as soon as the detective realized that Durk knew nothing about the cases Meghan was currently working.

When Smart left, Durk walked back inside. Jane met up with him right away.

“Dr. Levy would like to speak with you.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “When?”

“As soon as he has a minute. If you’ll wait near the trauma unit nurse’s station, I’ll come for you when he’s ready.”

Jane’s voice had taken on a somber tone that set his nerves on edge.

“I’ll be there,” he said. Waiting. Worrying. Agonizing over what Dr. Levy would have to say and unable to do one thing to change it.

* * *

“M S . S INCLAIR IS EXHIBITING symptoms of a severe brain concussion.”

Durk breathed easier at Dr. Levy’s pronouncement. He was familiar with concussions, having experienced two of them while playing quarterback for the Oak Grove Wildcats. But his had been mild, and the only symptoms he remembered were a headache and vomiting all over his uniform.

“What symptoms?” he asked.

“She lost consciousness for several minutes during her exam and she is experiencing AMS—altered mental status. In Ms. Sinclair’s case she’s combative, pushing the medical team away when we try to examine her. She keeps yelling about being in a car wreck.”

“She was doing that when they brought her in,” Durk recalled.

“She’s also unable to answer simple questions or state her name.”

“Is that normal with a severe concussion?”

“It’s not unusual, especially immediately following the trauma.”

“Can you give her something to help her focus?”

“We don’t want to give her any meds at this point. Drugs would affect her neurological functioning and we want to keep a close check on those for the next few hours.”

“Exactly what do you mean when you say neurological functioning? Are there other injuries?”

“She has a relatively small hematoma behind her right ear and two cuts in her scalp that will need to be sutured. But nothing else to be concerned about.”

“What about her blood pressure? The paramedic mentioned that it was roller-coastering when they rolled her in.”

“That was most likely the result of having been Tasered. We’re monitoring that. It shouldn’t present a continuing problem.”

“And that’s it? No life-threatening injuries?”

“That’s all we know at this time. We’re in the process of scheduling a CT scan to see if there are other issues.”

Durk’s apprehension climbed again. He was fairly certain that CT scans were not the norm for a concussion. “You must have noticed some indicator that this could possibly be more severe than a concussion?”

Dr. Levy pushed his small-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re very perceptive, Mr. Lambert.”

“But not particularly medically astute,” Durk said. “Still, I get the feeling that you’re not totally convinced that the concussion is the worst of Meghan’s condition.”

“In truth, I might have ordered a CT scan in this case just because of the severity of the concussion. But your assumption is correct. One of our residents noticed a small bruise, sometimes referred to as a battle sign, behind Ms. Sinclair’s right ear during the examination. It can indicate a fracture to the skull. It’s something we need to check out.”

“Then it’s still a matter of wait and see?”

“For now. If you’ll leave your cell phone number with Jane, I’ll call you when we know more.”

“Good, because I won’t be leaving the hospital until I hear from you.” If then. “But why this sudden decision to share Meghan’s medical information with a nonfamily member?”

“Lucy Delmar got back to us immediately. She gave us the information we needed and faxed us a release form with your name included. I can’t thank you enough for your help with that.”

“Thanks.” So Lucy had come through for him. He had an idea that her husband had convinced her to do that. He’d make sure he thanked him, as well. And he’d make a point of keeping in touch with them until Meghan was fully recovered.

He had to believe that would be soon. It was the only way he could face this without having his own spell of AMS.

Sitting and waiting had never been his style, but this time he didn’t have a choice.

When Dr. Levy left, Durk gave his cell number to Jane and then tracked Pam down again. Armed with his aunt’s room number, he made his way to the elevator.

A few hours ago, he’d been anticipating a week’s vacation at the ranch with nothing more challenging on his plate than deciding whether to take a sunrise horseback ride or sleep until noon.

Now he had a murder to contend with and a detective that clearly wasn’t convinced of his innocence. Yet all Durk could think about was Meghan Sinclair. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be exactly where he was two years ago.

His heart couldn’t take that again.

* * *

S AM S MART PACED the E.R. hallway, racking his brain to figure out how and why Durk Lambert had ended up at a murder scene. Not only was he CEO of Lambert Inc., but his family owned the oil and gas company, along with the Bent Pine Ranch and several smaller subsidiaries related to drilling operations.

Having accidentally encountered Meghan as she was being wheeled into the E.R. didn’t explain his actions, especially when he hadn’t even seen her in two years. There had to be something Sam was missing here.

Not that Meghan wasn’t the kind of woman who could get under a man’s skin and make him do crazy things. She was spunky, analytical, insightful. Not to mention incredibly sexy.

She’d have made a great homicide detective had she chosen to play by cop rules. Instead she was the frequent bane of the DPD, usurping their authority and making them look incompetent.

Sam had tangled with her himself on more than one occasion. And, yeah, he’d experienced a few pangs of lust while trying and failing to best her.

But a man like Durk Lambert had gorgeous socialites at his beck and call. Hell, the man had probably been in and out of bed with dozens of young hotties in the past two years. Not that Sam faulted him for that. He’d have done the same had he been in Durk’s shoes—or boots as was the case now.

That was another thing that concerned Sam. The cops had described the bloody clothes Durk was wearing when they encountered him at Meghan’s office. Expensive clothing, the kind a wealthy oil executive would be expected to wear.

Yet now he’d shown up at the hospital dressed like an everyday cowboy. Faded jeans. Goat-roper Western boots. A knit pullover shirt that could have come off the rack at any department store in Dallas.

If Durk was trying to give the impression that he was just a good old boy out to help a friend, Sam wasn’t buying it. Yet his story about visiting his aunt had been true. Sam had wasted no time checking that out.

He doubted Durk was the loyal friend he played at being, but that was not a good enough reason to blame the night’s violence on him.

But you could never be sure. Men with the kind of assets and power that Durk possessed had a tendency to believe they were above the law.

Maybe Durk had been trying to get back into the saddle with Meghan and discovered that Ben had replaced him. He could have fought with her and then killed Ben. The story about Durk’s handling the murder weapon for his own protection could be just a clever cover-up.

But that was a long shot at best. Meghan Sinclair had countless enemies, dangerous criminals who’d thought they were home free until she showed up. The list of suspects with motives to get back at her was practically endless.

He figured they were looking at just one suspect for both crimes, but he’d keep an open mind about that. Anyway you called it, his best bet at catching their killer would be for Meghan to identify her attacker.

But would she?

Or would she choose to bypass the police and go after the bastard herself? Sam planned to make damn sure she didn’t. He would not be outsmarted by her. Not again.

* * *

D URK TAPPED ON the door to Sybil’s hospital room, and his mother whispered for him to come in. Sybil was sound asleep, snoring, her jaw slack. She was almost unrecognizable without the infernal black wig plastered to her head.

“How is she?” he whispered.

“They’ve diagnosed her with pleurisy.” His mother stood and tiptoed toward him. “Let’s talk in the hall. She needs her rest.”

They stepped outside the room, softly closing the door behind them.

“I feel like I’m getting a crash course in medicine tonight. Isn’t pleurisy some kind of respiratory ailment?”

“Yes, basically. The E.R. doctor described it as an inflammation of the lining of the lungs and chest.”

“Is it serious?”

“It can be. But in Sybil’s case, the doctor expects it to respond to antibiotics. They gave her an injection so that it could start working at once. If she’s feeling better, she’ll go home in the morning and can follow up with her regular doctor.”

“You’re not going to try and stay with her all night, are you?” he asked.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“That doesn’t get my vote. Not only will you be sore from sitting in that chair all night, but you won’t get any sleep. You’ll need your rest tonight if you’re going to take care of Sybil tomorrow.”

“I’ll have plenty of help from Emma and Alexis once I get her home. Your two sisters-in-law will both pitch in.”

“Spend the night at my place,” he urged. “All the comforts of home.”

“I suppose I could stay in your guest room and then drive back to the hospital in the morning.”

“Great idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself,” he teased. “You’ll have the place to yourself and won’t have Grandma Pearl turning the volume on the TV up to deafening decibels. Do you have your key with you?”

“I do. If you’re not going to be at home, does that mean you’re driving out to the ranch tonight?”

“No, and probably not tomorrow, either.” No reason not to level with her except that he dreaded having to explain a relationship with Meghan that he didn’t fully understand himself.

Carolina pushed a lock of graying hair behind her ear. “I’m assuming this has to do with the emergency you mentioned earlier.”

He nodded.

She frowned and pulled her gold-colored cardigan tight around her chest. “You’re letting that oil company take over your life, Durk. You haven’t had a real vacation in months. You have a nephew, a foster niece and two new sisters-in-law you’ve barely met. Whatever it is, can’t you just delegate it to someone else this time?”

He smiled in spite of his worries. He might be thirty years old and a CEO, but that didn’t keep his mother from tearing into him if she thought he needed it. No matter how high up the corporate level he climbed or how old he got, he was still her kid.

“This has nothing to do with business, Mom. I have a friend who’s in the hospital and I’m staying in town to make sure she’s okay.”

“She?”

More reason he hated going there with his mother, the matchmaker. “Just a friend, Mom.”

“Do I know her?”

“Meghan Sinclair.”

Her brows arched. “Isn’t that the private detective who worked with Tague and Alexis when that horrible man was trying to kill Alexis?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’m so sorry. I know Alexis really liked her. Did she have surgery?”

“Not yet, and hopefully she won’t have to. She was the victim of a brutal attack tonight when she was returning to her condo.”

“Oh, no. Will she be all right?”

“I hope so.” And now he might as well tell her the rest since she’d hear it all on the morning news and so would his brothers.

Shock registered in every line of her face as he went over the details of his finding Ben Conroe’s body. By the time he finished, her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“Poor Meghan. She’ll have so much to face and no family here to see her through this. Of course you should stay with her. Just…” Anxiety shook her voice. “Just don’t get involved in the murder case, son. Leave that to the cops. Please.”

He put his arms around her shoulder. “I have no intention of becoming a vigilante, Mom.” That was the most he could promise.

“Why don’t you go to my place now, Mother? There’s no reason to just sit around and watch Aunt Sybil sleep. I’ll stick around awhile in case she wakes up, but she looks as if she’s out for the night. And if she wakes up and needs something, I’ll only be an elevator ride away.”

“Very well. I’ll give your phone number to the nursing staff.”

“And take that god-awful wig with you so that it doesn’t frighten the nurses away during the night.”

“I’m not about to take the wig. Heaven forbid Sybil wakes up in the morning and has to face her doctor without it.”

His mother gathered her things and kissed his sleeping aunt on the cheek. He walked her to his car and then grabbed a cup of coffee from the hospital café before going back to his aunt’s room.

Time dragged by and he’d almost dozed off when his cell phone vibrated. He yanked it from his pocket and rushed into the hall to take the call.

“This is Jane, in E.R. Can you come back to our nursing station, Mr. Lambert? Dr. Levy has the reports back from Ms. Sinclair’s scan and he’d like to discuss the results with you.”

His uneasiness swelled to a sickening dread as he rushed back to the elevator to face whatever news was waiting for him.

Chapter Four

Durk followed Jane to a small conference room that held a metal table and a few hard folding chairs. Dr. Levy sat in one of the chairs, a mug of coffee at his elbow while he made notes on a patient chart.

He motioned for Durk to take a seat.

Durk remained standing. He thought best on his feet. “Did the scan show any skull fractures?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer.

“No, the scan was negative for any type of brain injury.”

Durk took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he slid into the chair. “Can I see her?”

“You can.”

Durk’s hands grew clammy as anticipation and anxiety waged a choking battle inside him. Two long years of fighting the memories and trying to convince himself that he and Meghan had made the only decision that made sense and now he was about to insinuate himself right back in her life. Had he totally lost his mind?

He forced himself to focus on the doctor’s words. Meghan had been moved to a private room in a telemetry unit so that her vital signs could be closely monitored. She was still in a state of confusion. She couldn’t name the president of the United States or even state her own address or her phone number.

The doctor assured him the altered mental status was temporary and not unusual following a concussion. What she needed most from Durk was a calm, assuring, familiar voice.

Problem was that by the time he left the doctor and took the elevator to the telemetry unit, the memories were playing so much havoc with his emotions that he was anything but calm. Losing Meghan had been a hundred times more difficult than he’d imagined. She’d stalked his mind at times when he’d have least expected, haunted his dreams, made every woman he’d dated since seem sensually lame by comparison.

A nurse stopped at his elbow, interrupting his reverie. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to visit Meghan Sinclair.”

“You must be Durk Lambert. One of the nurses from the trauma unit just called. She said you were a close friend of the patient and that you were on your way up.”

She opened the door to Meghan’s room. Ready or not, he thought as he stepped inside. A chilling lump settled in his chest as he stopped next to the hospital bed and stared down at Meghan.

Her eyes were closed. One side of her face was swollen. The hematoma Dr. Levy had mentioned was the size of a walnut. Her head was bandaged where she’d had the sutures.

She looked incredibly frail and much younger than her thirty-one years. He covered her left hand with his. It was cool to the touch and unresponsive.

A flare of dark fury rushed through his veins. If he could just get his hands on the man who did this to her....

He muttered a curse and dropped to a chair next to the bed.

Meghan jerked and groaned without opening her eyes. Durk leaned in close. “You’re safe, Meghan,” he whispered softly. “You’re going to be all right.”

If she heard him, she gave no sign. His mind drifted back to the night they’d first met. At the last minute he’d let his mother, who had been ill with a stomach virus, talk him into attending a fundraiser in her place. It was one of her pet charities, an organization dedicated to helping pay medical expenses for physically handicapped children needing surgery.

He’d been in stressful meetings all day and had gone to the gala with plans to deliver her speech thanking all the donors for their contributions and then immediately cut out.

But then he’d spotted Meghan Sinclair across the room and become totally intrigued. She was stunning in an emerald-green ball gown and a crown of the most gorgeous red silky hair he’d ever seen.

But the real fascination came from the impact of watching her flip her wrist and empty a crystal flute of champagne in the face of his least favorite Texas politician. Durk had no doubt that the jerk deserved it.

Durk had made a point of meeting her after that incident and ended up driving her home and staying for breakfast—two days in a row. He’d never fallen so hard, so fast—not since Ellie Jenkins had kissed him in the sixth grade.

His thoughts shifted from the past to the here and now. Meghan was in the hospital, confused and battered. Ben Conroe was lying in a morgue. And somewhere a killer was going on with his life.

Eventually Durk must have dozed off because the next time he looked at his watch, it was an hour later. He stood, stretched and went to the bathroom. He relieved himself, washed his face in cold water and went in search of coffee.

After he finished the cup of strong brew, he slipped quietly back into Meghan’s room. Only this time, Meghan’s eyes were open wide and she was staring at the ceiling. She moaned as he approached the bed.

“Are you in pain?” he asked. “Should I get the nurse?”

She turned and looked at him, then closed her eyes again.

“Can I get you anything?” he repeated.

Still no response, but he was almost certain she was awake.

He sat and stayed quiet until she squirmed and began to rub her left hand. Then he stood and moved close to the bed.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked, sure that if she were fully conscious, she’d have questions about the attack.

She shuddered and finally met his gaze, staring at him as if he’d interrupted something important.

“Who are you and why are you in my bedroom?”

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