Page 7 of Savage Peril

“That might remain a mystery,” Adam said. “Hospitals aren’t required to perform an autopsy. Insurers don’t pay for them. The coroner is routinely relied on to determine cause of death. Only a small percent of deaths need autopsies.”

“I know that,” Lori said. “It didn’t seem necessary, so I didn’t ask for one. After his death, I was in too much grief to think clearly, and was involved with arranging the funeral, dealing with relatives.”

“An autopsy won’t bring your father back,” Adam said. “Respiratory failure killed him, and discovering the impetus of that won’t change anything.”

“Yes, unless…”

Adam furrowed his brow. “Are you talking about malpractice?”

“No, he self-treated. As far as I know, he didn’t consult anyone besides me.”

Adam looked at Lori. The silence lengthened.

It couldn’t be. Surely, Lori was off base, grasping at straws. There was no chance that…

“Are you considering the possibility of foul play?” Adam gave her a minute to process that.

“I’m sorry,” Lori said. “My mind is playing tricks on me. It’s not possible.”

“I agree,” Adam said. “Your father was loved and respected. What motive could there have been to kill him?”

“There couldn’t,” Lori said. “I need to wipe this from my mind. It remains a mystery I’ll have to live with. The family, friends, everyone has been through enough.”

“You need to let it go.”

Lori’s conscience weighed on her. Because her father had died prematurely, she felt responsible. He had been strong and healthy, except for the virus. She should have been more attentive, made him see another doctor when he hadn’t been feeling well.

Only, she hadn’t—and now it was too late.

*****

Gunner Cantrell was in the business of close protection. The field of personal security was not for the fainthearted, as he had quickly learned. The unexpected was routine, and he had been trained to accommodate a variety of client requirements.

While driving to the VA hospital, Gunner considered the protection business. It required mental agility as well as physical. He was fit for the job, except for a bad ankle. That was an annoyance but didn’t prevent him from working as a bodyguard.

The night before, a celebrity client had required protection at the Greek Theater, near Griffith Park. Due to the smaller venue, watching the performance had been like listening to music in a friend’s backyard. Under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed it.

Concerts were scheduled there from spring into fall, and this time of year it could get chilly. The summer concert season had been the busiest, and Gunner had worked the venue a few other times. A big attraction was the pink hotdogs, but during the event, such things were mere distractions.

Gunner’s job was to keep his client safe, and he was good at that. After college, he had joined the Navy and trained as a SEAL. He was physically fit for the demands of the job. As a linebacker in college football, he had broken his right ankle. Fortunately, the bone had completely mended, and he was accepted into the service.

The Navy career had been challenging, which suited Gunner. He’d retired at the age of thirty-nine, still single and looking for a job in the private sector. Physical stress from many deployments resulted in issues with his joints, particularly his right ankle. The doctor informed him that the ankle was more vulnerable as a result of the old injury.

For the most part, the injury didn’t interfere with Gunner’s life. He ran eight miles every morning and lifted weights to hone his muscles. At six feet one and two hundred and ten lean pounds, he had bulk on his side—which was an advantage as a bodyguard.

Gunner was broad-shouldered and beefy, but all muscle. He had joined the Stealth Security protection team and took special assignments that required an intimidating bodyguard. Travis Hewitt had founded the company to provide protection to VIPs, which included celebrities, sports figures, and CEOs.

Yet that wasn’t all Gunner handled. Ripley McConnell had functioned as the local security analyst before marrying and moving to Texas to be with his new wife. Rip worked remotely, and Gunner teamed up with him and took care of local needs.

When it came to computers, Gunner understood them like he had invented them. It was second nature to take one apart and put it back together. His skills had been valuable in the Navy, as well as at Stealth Security.

Gunner had been told that he was a bit of genius with technology. He didn’t know about that, but he was handy at investigations. He had an affinity for digging up information for the team, coupled with a physique that made him ideal for bodyguard duty. Mainly, he was just pleased to be part of a team of former SEALs in the civilian sector.

The outpatient clinic at the Greater Los Angeles Veteran’s Administration was a multistoried beige concrete building. It wasn’t a place Gunner preferred to hang out, but he had no choice that day. Sometimes, his ankle acted up, despite the stretching routine and wrapping it.

When the pain became more than nagging discomfort—and escalated to a hindrance to his mobility—Gunner made a visit to the hospital for a cortisone injection. One injection handled the issue for a long while, so he didn’t have to go through this often.

He pulled into the parking lot, found a space on the second floor, then headed for the entrance to the clinic. The sterile environment didn’t do much for him, but he would be in and out quickly. If the doctor wasn’t running behind, this shouldn’t take long at all.

---