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.
