Sebastian fought the urge to follow him, grab him by the collar and shake him until he had answers. But the doctor couldnât give him answers he didnât have.
Amnesia. Brain damage. He did not want to go there. Sheâd be okay. She had to.
His beeper vibrated against his hip. He didnât bother glancing at it. Sutton was probably three shades of purple by now. But heâd have to wait. Kershaw was after Olivia. He had to make sure Olivia was safe before he focused on Kershaw.
What if he isnât after Olivia? What if you read him wrong because of your fear for her? Then Kershawâs timeline was getting bigger by the minute. Sebastian dragged a hand over his face. Donât go there. Oliviaâs accident on the heels of Kershawâs escape was too much of a coincidence.
The beeperâs renewed massage centered him. What do you know? You know Kershaw wants to hurt you through Olivia. You know he means to keep his promise. You know heâs on his way.
Donât you?
He took his handheld computer from his pocket and punched in numbers. He was letting his fear for Olivia screw up basics. First things first. Check to see if the fugitives were back into custody.
Not as of five minutes ago. That would be too easy.
Kershawâs transfer was to the new federal prison in Berlin, and he had a mother who lived in Nashua. Sheâd been vocal in her demands for a closer incarceration so she could visit. Cruel and unusual punishment having her boy so far away, sheâd claimed. As if sonnyâs kidnappings, rapes, armed robberies, felony assaults and murders were nothing more than school-yard scuffles. Sheâd abet her worthless spawn in a second and lie through her false teeth about it. He made a note to put a check on her telephone records and tack on some surveillance.
The safest thing for Kershaw to do was to hunker down. Hunkering down meant getting outside help. But Kershaw also had an agenda. Heâd keep moving. Moving, he made a target. All Sebastian had to do was connect the dots.
And protect Olivia.
He swore. One was never supposed to touch the other. That was the agreement. That was the plan. How could he be two places at once? How could he stay by Oliviaâs side and stalk Kershaw?
He had to find a way or else all heâd built over the last twenty years was worth nothing.
âBING!â UP POPPED the instant-message window asking if he wanted to accept a message. He clicked yes when he saw Okieâs name highlighted on his buddy list.
Okie: Hey, I think somethingâs gone wrong.
Sk8Thor: No slip, sliding?
Okie: Slip, slide all right. Slip slide right into a coma.
Sk8Thor: Him?
Okie: Her. U said itâd B ok.
Sk8Thor: Heâs hurting, isnât he?
Okie: Yes.
Sk8Thor: Thatâs what you wanted, wasnât it?
Okie: Yes.
Sk8Thor: Then whatâs wrong?
He could feel the hesitation and cursed it. Thatâs what came of counting on someone else. But this required finesse, and one trick heâd learned long ago was how to make the best of any hand he was dealt. This one was too sweet to pass up.
Sk8Thor: He wouldnât help u when u needed it. He had to pay, didnât he?
Okie: Yes, but, sheâs nice, u know. I didnât want 2 c her hurt so bad.
Sk8Thor: This way heâs hurting more. Youâre not gonna quit on me, are u?
Okie: 2 late now.
Thatâs right. Too late now. Youâre my hands and eyes, and youâre my fall guy. One by one he was going to breach each of Falconerâs defenses. Then heâd pull the last pin and watch while all Falconer stood for caved in around him. How far did you have to push a man to betray his ideals? Not as far as most people thought. Affluence made people cream cheese soft. Falconer thought he knew it all, thought he could shed one skin and slip into another without the fat at the seams showing. But Sk8Thor saw through the stitches. A manâs heart never changed. And Falconerâs heart was as black as his. Sk8Thor was lean and mean and hungry. And Falconer, even wearing his hunter skin, couldnât compete with a lifetime of surviving in the sewers.
Falconer didnât stand a chance.
âTime to set up for show-and-tell.â He typed one last note to Okie and pressed the send button. Laughing, he asked the screen, âWho do you trust, Falconer? Who do you trust?â
Chapter Three
When Sebastian could no longer put off Sutton, he stepped out of Oliviaâs room and got out his phone. Leaning against the hallway wall, he tried to blink away the image of Oliviaâs too-still body, but it was etched into his brain. Every detail of angry bruises on chalky skin became a horrid scene filled with accusations. As he punched in Suttonâs number, he started to stride. The only way to stay ahead of the nightmare was to move.
âWhere the hell are you?â Sutton barked.
âHospital.â Sebastian paced the outside of Oliviaâs room as if it were a cage.
Sutton swore more colorfully than a seasoned sailor. âWhat happened?â
âKershaw got to Olivia.â
Sebastian wished for static over the clean phone line. Anything to break the density of Suttonâs silence.
âAre you sure?â Sutton asked.
Sutton liked black and white, but Sutton hadnât worked the field in a long time. And the field was nothing but shades of gray.
At Sebastianâs silence, Sutton cursed again. âNot the gut thing.â
Never mind that gut was often the thing that broke a case wide open. âKershaw swore heâd get back at me through Olivia. The fact Olivia was hurt the same day as Kershawâs escape canât be coincidence.â
âGot anything to back you up?â
âSoon,â Sebastian said, thinking of Oliviaâs car. Cyril Granger should be done with the automotive autopsy by the end of the day.
âHow soon? I need results.â
No doubt because the prison riot, the murder of his men and the escape of three dangerous felons had become a media circus. Wiser to say nothing.
âIâm sending in a team,â Sutton said, his words tight and sharp.
âNo.â
A
