Dead Reckoning (28 page)

“He used to be a cop.”

“You’re going to owe me for this.”

“I already owe you.”

“You’re going to owe me double, then.”

“Just run the names for me, okay? Let me know what you come up with.”

Frank disconnected. His computer had booted so he launched his Internet browser and pulled up a search engine. Aware that the drugs were beginning to fuzz his brain, he typed in Kate’s name and hit Enter.

The search returned ten results. Frank clicked on the first one and began to read. It was a story from the Lifestyle section of the
Dallas Morning News:
“Dallas County ADA Wins First Case. The First of Many to Come, Legal Eagle Promises.” The story was mostly fluff, but there was a color photo of Kate, and for an instant Frank couldn’t take his eyes off it. Holding a fluted glass, she was smiling at the tall woman standing next to her. Kate looked lovely and elegant in a long blue gown. Frank had seen enough of her through her bedroom window to know the dress didn’t do her justice.

The photo had been taken at a charity ball sponsored by her mother, Isobel Megason, to raise money for a local women’s shelter. Frank skimmed the article, picking up several unimportant facts he hadn’t known about Kate. She and her family, Peter and Isobel, were originally from Houston, where her father had been an investment banker at a Fortune 100 company. She’d never been married. Wasn’t looking for a husband. She liked to cook and ski.

“So what makes you tick?” Frank said aloud.

And he clicked on the next link.

NINETEEN

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 5:43 A.M.

Kate spent the night tossing and turning, her mind grinding with everything that had happened the night before. By the time five A.M. rolled around, she’d given up on the notion of sleep and got up to make coffee.

But two cups of coffee did little to clear her head. Normally, she would have slipped into her sneakers and sweats and gone for a long, brisk run. This morning, she didn’t—and she hated the reason why. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, it was fear keeping her inside. Kate had sworn she would never let it get the best of her. It was one of the reasons she’d become an ADA. One of the reasons she carried a concealed weapon. But here she was, hiding in her house like some scared little rabbit, afraid to come out of its hole.

Was she going to let some low-life son of a bitch do that to her?

“No, damn it,” she muttered.

After slipping into her sweats and sneakers, she zipped her cell phone into her pocket and let herself out through the front door.

The air was moisture laden and so cold she could see her breath. The neighborhood was quiet at this hour. Winter fog swirled within the pre-morning shadows of the woods that ran thick along both sides of the street.

After some light stretching, Kate set off at a slow pace, wondering if she was still in good enough shape to make it to the bridge at Mustang Creek. She waved at her neighbor, Mrs. Beck, as she jogged past her driveway. The retiree waved back as she picked up her copy of the
Dallas Morning News
. “Get some exercise for me, too, Kate!” she yelled.

Laughing, Kate picked up speed and entered the shadows of the woods at a brisk pace. The road was narrow, the asphalt glossy from the drizzle. The trees arced overhead like gnarled fingers, giving the road the feel of a cave. Kate’s footfalls echoed off of the trees. She could hear her breaths coming quickly now. Her hands were cold, but her muscles were warm. Her blood was beginning to pump. She felt good and was glad she’d made herself do this.

She passed by a driveway and mailbox at a fast clip. Through the trees she could see the lights of her neighbor’s house. The Kimberman family, if she wasn’t mistaken. She turned right at the stop sign and picked up her pace. Her arms were pumping. She’d found a good rhythm. She could see the bridge ahead. Deep breaths. Longer stride. Focus, focus, focus . . .

The traffic from Northwest Highway two blocks away was a distant hiss. Her lungs were beginning to burn, but she was going to make the bridge.

Lights flickered off the wet trunk of a live oak to her right. Veering toward the shoulder, she tossed a quick look behind her. She saw headlights. A glimpse of a black hood. Tinted windshield. The car was a little too close.

“Go around, Einstein,” she panted.

Even though her sneakers were reflective and her wind-breaker was yellow, Kate knew from experience that it was difficult to see pedestrians at this hour, so she veered onto the gravel shoulder and kept running. The bridge was just ahead. She was getting winded. Legs still felt good. Fifty yards to go.

Behind her, the car’s engine revved. Too loud. Too close. Kate glanced over her shoulder in time to see the car heading straight for her. Engine roaring. Drizzle flying in the white glare of the headlights. Adrenaline cut through her like a blade. A dozen thoughts descended at once, and in that instant Kate knew the car wasn’t going to stop.

Arms outstretched, she leapt into an all-out run and headed for the ditch. In her peripheral vision she saw one of the tires drop off the asphalt and edge closer. Rubber skidded over gravel. Then it was as if a giant sledgehammer slammed into her hip. A scream tore from her throat. She saw her feet leave the ground. Then she was in the air, brown grass and gravel a blur beneath her.

Her elbow slammed into the windshield. Pain streaked up her arm all the way to her shoulder. The impact sent her into a cartwheel. Her sneaker glanced off the hood. And then she was tumbling end over end.

Kate landed hard in gravel. The breath left her lungs in a rush that was part groan, part scream. Vaguely she was aware of the car speeding away. Pain in her arm. Her hip. Cold water seeping through her clothes. Rain falling on her face.

It was the fear of the car returning to finish the job that had her rolling onto her side. Groaning, she reached for the cell phone and dialed 911.

 
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 7:45 A.M.

Frank woke to the intermittent chirp of his cell phone. “Yeah,” he muttered in a gravelly voice.

“You awake?”

“What the hell do you think?”

Rick Slater laughed outright. “I think you’re damn lucky I called, bro, because you’re about to be late for work.”

Growling beneath his breath, Frank looked at the alarm next to his bed and cursed. “What do you want?”

“I got a hit on Megason.”

“You’re kidding.” Frank sat up straighter. “What you got for me?”

“It’s not the Megason you asked about.”

“I’m listening.”

“There was a police report made back in July of ninety-four by Isobel and Peter Megason.”

Kate’s parents,
Frank thought. “What kind of report?”

“Got a hit on Harris County and Houston PD. Looks like there was a sexual assault and attempted murder of two seventeen-year-old females. Pseudonyms were used. Case is still open, so it’s not a matter of public record.”

Kate?
he wondered.

“Jesus,” Frank said, shocked.

“I couldn’t get much. Because there was a sexual assault involved, no names were released. But these were brutal crimes. One of the females was critically injured. The other hospitalized in fair condition. No arrests were ever made.”

Frank’s mind was reeling. As an ex-cop, he knew that in the State of Texas a victim of sexual assault could be assigned a pseudonym to protect her privacy. At the age of seventeen, a teenager was considered an adult, so the protection of juvenile records would not come into play. Had Kate been one of the minors?

“Hey, my man, if one of these minors was Megabitch, you didn’t get this from me. This is some heavy shit.”

The thought actually made him nauseous. “That goes both ways, partner.”

“Like I’m going to cut my own throat.” Rick laughed. “No, thanks.”

“Thanks for the info, buddy. I gotta run.”

Frank disconnected. He didn’t know for certain if the juvenile female Rick had mentioned was Kate, but he had a feeling it was.

He wondered how the stalker fit into the picture.

Turning back to his computer, he pulled up an online directory and typed in “Turtle Creek Convalescent Home” and hit Enter. The search returned four results, one being the home page of the convalescent home where Kate had visited twice in the three days he’d been watching her. The time in the bottom right corner of his monitor was 8:01 A.M. Using his cell phone, he dialed the number.

“Turtle Creek Convalescent Home,” a clipped female voice answered.

“This is Burt’s Flower Shop Galleria,” he said, naming a prominent North Dallas florist shop. “I got a delivery for a patient by the name of Megason. Can you confirm your address for me?”

The woman rattled off the address.

“What’s the first name?” he asked. “I can’t read it on this form.”

“Kirsten,” she said.

“Kirsten M-E-G-A-S-O-N?”

“That’s correct.”

“Thanks.” He disconnected, then sat there and stared at the phone. All the while Rick’s words rang uncomfortably in his ears.

“Oh, Kate,” he whispered. “Damn.”

But his cop’s mind had already jumped ahead to ponder the question of how an eleven-year-old sexual assault was related to Kate’s being stalked and her association with Jack Gamble.

He jumped when his phone rang. Frowning, he snatched it up. “Matrone.”

“Frank, it’s Mike Shelley. I need for you to get over to Medical City Dallas ASAP.”

The hairs on his nape stood up. “What happened?”

“Kate was hit by a car this morning while jogging. I just talked to her, and she thinks someone tried to kill her.”

 
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 8:35 A.M.

Frank had spent too much time in hospitals in the last year to hold anything but disdain for them. He’d spent six weeks in a military hospital in Germany. Two additional weeks in Ft. Hood, Texas. Once he’d been discharged from the military, he’d had months of grueling physical therapy. He swore he’d never walk into another hospital.

He hadn’t counted on someone he cared about getting hurt.

Mike Shelley’s words chilled him as he strode briskly down the hall that would take him to the emergency room. He reached the nurse’s station and set his hands on the counter. “I need to see Kate Megason.”

A large woman in green scrubs and a nametag that said “Karen” frowned at him, unimpressed. “You and everyone else. Take a number, hotshot.”

Frank removed his badge from his wallet and shoved it at her. “Now,” he said.

Without speaking, she rounded the counter and led him down the hall. Ahead, Frank saw two uniformed police officers talking to Kate’s paralegal, Liz Gordon. He knew one of the cops from his years on the force, a rookie whose name he couldn’t recall.

“How is she?” he asked as he approached.

Liz Gordon turned. Her face was red and tear streaked, and he got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “She was hit by a car. The doctor’s with her.” Liz dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “They won’t let us see her.”

Frank tried hard not to react, but the worry ran through him like a thin, hot wire through flesh. A dozen terrible scenarios had run rampant through his mind on the drive over, and now each and every one of them crowded into his brain like a violent mob. He looked at the young cop standing next to her. “Did you talk to her? What happened?”

“I got a couple of minutes with her. Looks like a hit-and-run,” the young officer said. “Ms. Megason was jogging. Car hit her, and didn’t stop.”

“Anyone get a plate or a make?”

Both cops shook their heads.

He looked at Liz. “What’s her condition?”

“She was awake. I heard her bitching at the doctor a few minutes ago.”

“Bitching is a good sign,” Frank said.

Liz choked out a laugh. “I hope she’s okay.”

All heads turned when the double doors down the hall swung open. A young doctor in wrinkled blue scrubs started toward them, his eyes going from Liz to Frank. “Either of you here for Kate Megason?”

Frank started toward him. “How is she?”

“She’s going to be okay. She sustained a few minor lacerations. Some deep bruises. The good news is that there was no concussion and no broken bones. Her blood work looks good. We’re waiting for one more X-ray to come back from radiology. If everything looks good, she can go home.”

If Frank hadn’t known better, he would have sworn his legs went a little weak.

“Thank God,” Liz murmured.

“Can I talk to her?” Frank asked.

“We gave her a mild sedative, so she’ll be a little drowsy. She’ll need someone to drive her home.”

Liz shot a pointed look at Frank. “Knowing Kate, she’s going to want to go to the office.”

“Not on my watch,” he heard himself say.

“She’ll bulldoze right over you if you’re nice.”

“I think I can handle it.” He smiled, and they shared a moment of understanding.

Liz glanced at her watch, then at the doctor. “Can I see her for a sec? I’ve got to get back to the office.”

“No more than two visitors at a time.”

She headed for the double doors. Frank crossed to the two police officers and introduced himself.

“I knew I’d seen your face before,” the rookie commented.

“I’m working for the DA’s office now,” Frank said. “Did you take the report?”

He nodded. “I was in the area when dispatch put out the 911 call, so I responded and was first on the scene.”

“What did she say?”

“Car came at her from behind. She didn’t see it until it was too late.”

“She get a color or make? Anything?”

“She thinks it was a dark sedan with tinted windows. That’s all I could get.”