Page 95 of Close Pursuit

He snatched up his phone and wallet and ran for the elevator that a family was currently climbing into. He barely caught the thing and slipped inside. The parents eyed him warily as they pulled their kids to their sides and rode down in silence.

He must look like shit. Tough. Katie was hurt. How bad was it? Who’d attacked her? Why in the hell had McCloud called to tell him? Had the CIA jumped her to get at him?

On his way out of the hotel, he poured himself two complimentary cups of black coffee from the breakfast buffet and slugged them both down. Then, he headed for his car and prayed the caffeine would counteract any lingering effects of last night’s drinking binge.

Head splitting, he climbed in the car he’d rented yesterday and headed for the hospital. What time was it, anyway? The car clock said nearly ten a.m.

When was Katie attacked? Last night? Had she lain somewhere alone for hours until someone found her? How bad was she hurt? Why hadn’t she called him? The more questions he asked himself, the worse his head throbbed. The panic trying to claw its way out of his gut wasn’t helping matters, either.

Damn, he was out of practice at drinking. He’d forgotten how shitty it felt the day after. Time was when he hadn’t cared if he felt like this. But today of all days, he wished his head was clearer, that he was in better shape to help Katie.

He forced himself to pay attention to the cars behind him, to catalogue makes and models in a running list as cars came and went behind him. As far as he could tell in his debilitated state, he wasn’t followed.

He rushed into the emergency room and went to the check-in desk. “Katie McCloud?” he bit out.

“You family?” the nurse asked briskly.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitating. “How is she?”

“Come with me.”

He followed the nurse through a set of swinging doors and down a hallway. “What happened?” he asked tersely.

“She was mugged in our parking garage. Lucky for her, someone heard her scream. The assailant ran away when the good Samaritan approached.”

“Have the police been called?”

“Don’t know. I just started my shift.”

“How bad is she hurt?”

“Contusions. Swelling. Unconscious when they brought her in.”

Unconscious? He’dkillwhoever did this to her. He asked grimly, “Was she sexually assaulted?”

“Her clothing was intact when they brought her in.”

Praise the Lord. “Purse missing?” he asked.

“No. It was on her shoulder. She must have fought the guy off until someone showed up to scare him off.”

Either that or her mugging was no mugging at all.

Heknewthe bastards would use her like this to get to him! This wasexactlywhy his father had always preached never to get involved with anyone. Loved ones, even friends, were a liability a man like him could not afford.

He rounded the corner into a small room and froze in the doorway. Katie looked so pale and helpless tucked underneath a pile of blankets that his gut clenched in concern.

A butterfly bandage on her left jaw covered a nasty lump. A scrape on her right forehead looked like sidewalk burn. She’d hit the ground, right there.

“Concussion?” he muttered over his shoulder to the nurse.

“Likely.”

“Other injuries?”

“Internist will be in shortly.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and was alarmed at how slowly Katie’s eyes fluttered open. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmured. “I hear you tried to go a few rounds with a bad guy.”

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