“He didn’t just try. He did save your life.” Tate’s eyes, an intense, deep blue held hers. For a second too long before she looked away, before a profound sense of guilt squeezed her heart so tight she couldn’t breathe, before that same sense of guilt clouded her thoughts. She cleared her throat before meeting his gaze again. “Do you know where my brother is? A nurse let it slip that he was in the hospital, but I don’t know anything about his condition.”
“He’s on the third floor. Under guard.” For the first time since she’d roused, she felt a moment’s relief.
“ICU?”
“No . . . don’t think so. I overheard some guards talking. It doesn’t look like Jonas’s injuries are life-threatening. At least that’s what they were saying. Something about cracked ribs and a head injury—no, a ‘slight’ head injury, whatever that means.”
“No one will tell me anything,” she complained, frustrated. “They act as if it’s for my own good, but I think it’s because the police have been here and told them to keep quiet.”
“You’ve talked to the cops?”
“Not yet. But I get the feeling that I’m a suspect.”
“Or that you know something.”
“But I don’t! Jonas was hiding in my car; I didn’t even know he was in there.”
“At Merritt’s place in the mountains,” Tate clarified.
“Right, that’s where—” She clamped her mouth shut. Had already said more than she intended, but, at this moment, he appeared to be her only avenue of information, her only ally. “Look, I assume you know about Merritt Margrove, right? That he’s dead? Was murdered?”
“The whole world does.”
“Great.” God, what a mess. “Do you know anything about Jonas?”
“Just that he’s definitely under guard.”
“Not really. The guards seemed to think he might have a cracked rib, maybe a head injury, but that he was going to be okay.”
“I figured.” Her relief that her brother was still alive washed away as quickly as it had come. “I want to see him.”
“You and the rest of the world.”
“Including you?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”
“Then let’s go.” She pushed herself upright and winced against a sharp pain piercing the back of her neck. “Ooh.”
“Maybe you should rethink that,” he said, again concern visible in his eyes. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Oh—and what is? Running around the hospital in scrubs?” she snapped, then leaned back on the pillows, her frustration intensifying. “Is that”—she pointed at him and rotated her finger to indicate his attire—“your idea of a disguise?”
“It’s temporary.”
“Good.”
“So you drove up to the mountains, to Margrove’s place, and what? Found him already dead?”
“Apparently a habit of mine,” she admitted, flashing back to the horror of that bloody Christmas Eve.
Don’t go there. Do not!
Tate cut into her thoughts. “And Jonas was there . . . at Margrove’s house?”
“Not in the house. Didn’t I just say he was in my—hey wait! What is this?” She stopped before she answered any more of his questions. Wesley Tate was no friend, not a confidante, certainly no one she could trust.
“I just have a few questions.”
“A few?”
“Okay, a lot.”
Her eyes narrowed. He seemed earnest, but then didn’t they all? She’d had her fill of reporters long ago. “I’m not answering any. I think I told you that before.”
“When you almost ran me over.”
“So you think I owe you, is that it? Even though I’m pretty sure we established that you jumped behind my car. Let’s make that clear.” Again she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and gritted her teeth against another stab of pain.
“You’ve had a little trouble behind the wheel recently.”
Quicksilver slices of memories of the accident cut through her mind—massive tires slipping, the huge semi jackknifing and sliding sideways on the icy mountain road. “Bad luck,” she said, and ignored the pang of worry she felt for the truck driver.
For a second she flashed on the two small bottles of vodka she’d downed to fortify herself before discovering Merritt’s body. Alcohol coupled with bad weather and her brother scaring the life out of her, then grabbing the wheel. None of which she wanted to discuss with the police. Not now. Not until she’d talked to Jonas herself. “I need to get out of here,” she said suddenly, wondering if he could be an ally, one she could use. “Can you help make that happen? Give me a ride?”