Low Pressure (33 page)

A jagged fork of lightning and the sequential crack of thunder emboldened her enough to speak. “I can’t fly in this,” she repeated, since Dent hadn’t responded the first time.

Now, he jerked his head around toward her. “Do you think I would?”

“Then . . .” She gestured at the airport signpost as they whizzed past it.

“I’ve got to secure that airplane. Anything happens to it, it’s my ass.” Snidely, he added, “Unless you’re good for it. You’ve got a lot of money. Maybe your daddy would buy it for you.”

“Shut up, Dent. You’re only mad at yourself.”

“Myself?”

“For being so hard on Moody.”

“Wrong. If I’d been as hard on him as I wanted to be, I would have killed him.”

When they reached the airport, he whipped into a parking space, his motions conveying his short temper as he shut down the car, got out, and slammed the door. Braving the elements, he ran toward the entrance to the airport terminal.

Bellamy cringed when another drumroll of thunder vibrated through the car. She didn’t want to be stranded inside it with nothing to protect her from the storm except for the window glass and a few panels of thin metal. But leaving the car and exposing herself to lightning and thunder was out of the question, even for the short time it would take her to run into the terminal.

Talking herself through her rising panic, she reached for her cell phone and placed a call to Olivia, who answered immediately. “Where are you? What’s that racket?”

“It’s thunder.” But she didn’t say where she was. “How’s Daddy?”

“Doing better, actually.” Judging by the unnatural brightness in Olivia’s voice, Bellamy suspected that she was at his bedside and putting up a false front. “He’s eager to talk to you.”

“I’d like that. But first, tell me how you’re holding up.”

“Hanging in there. I talked to Steven earlier today. That helped.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“And, in spite of everything, he was happy to see you yesterday.”

“I’m glad to hear that, too.”

“I’ll hand the phone to Howard now.”

Through the phone, Bellamy could hear her father urging Olivia to use this time to get something to eat. Seconds later, his weak voice whispered, “Hey, good-lookin’.”

“Whacha got cookin’?”

“Olivia won’t be gone long. She knows something’s up, and it’s scaring her.”

“Maybe you should tell her.”

“It would only cause her to fret, and she’s got more than enough to worry about. I tried to talk to her today about my funeral service. She wept so hard I didn’t have the heart to continue.”

Bellamy made a murmur of regret. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I told you what you could do for me. Any progress?”

It wasn’t exactly progress that Dent had been attacked with a knife. Or that Van Durbin and his photographer had captured compromising pictures of them at the airport and outside Dent’s apartment. But the tabloid exploitation of her circumstances now seemed of little or no importance compared to the seriousness of the circumstances themselves.

“Do you remember Allen Strickland’s brother, Ray?”

“Yes,” her father replied. “He was mouthy with us at the trial, and after Allen was killed, he came to the corporate offices and tried to bluster his way past the guards. He was subdued and escorted off the property. That’s the last I’ve heard of him. Why?”

“He was mentioned in a conversation I had today with Dale Moody.”

“So you saw him? So soon?”

She didn’t waste her father’s time explaining how the meeting with the former detective had come about. “He’s a chain-smoking alcoholic living alone in squalor. He admitted that he never thought Allen Strickland was guilty, but he stopped short of confessing exactly how he and Rupe Collier engineered his conviction.”

“I’m surprised he would admit even that much.”

“He’s a broken man. This case ruined his career and his life. He claims still not to know who killed Susan.” She hesitated to tell him more, but then remembered the importance this held for him. “There’s something else, Daddy.” She told him how she’d come to describe the crime scene.

“But you were never at the crime scene,” he said.

“It seems I was. I just don’t remember being there.”

There was much to explain and only a brief time in which to cover it. Cringing each time lightning struck, she talked her father through it as quickly as possible.

“When I mentioned Susan’s purse, Moody jumped on it immediately. Is it true that he brought it to you days later?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “We were told it had been found in a tree.”

She sighed. “Then it seems certain that I either witnessed the crime or came upon Susan’s body soon after she was killed. In any case, I saw it before the tornado ravaged the area.”

“Jesus, Bellamy. Oh, Jesus.”

She’d expected a swift and firm denial that she’d been anywhere near the crime scene. Instead, he sounded as though his worst fear had been realized.

“Daddy, what?” When he said nothing, she pressed him, “Do you think that I intentionally withheld information?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then did it ever occur to you that I had memory lapses?”

“No. I would have gotten help for you.”

“Would you?”

Instead of answering, he said, “Ah, Olivia’s back and she’s brought with her . . . What is that? Vegetable beef soup. I’d better go now, sweetheart, and make sure she eats all of it. Thank you for calling.”

Then he was gone, and his sudden disconnect left her stunned.

The entire conversation seemed surreal. She needed to think it through and determine what it meant. But just then Dent returned. He got in and quickly pulled the door shut against the gusting wind.

“Damn, it’s blowing.”

“What about the airplane?”

“The hangar manager figured it must belong to somebody important, so he’d already moved it inside. I tipped him twenty bucks.” He took a longer look at her. “You okay?”

Lying, she nodded.

“I also checked the weather radar,” he continued. “This is only the leading edge of a wide band of storms that isn’t predicted to move out until after midnight or better, so I stopped by the rental office and told them we’d be keeping the car overnight.” He turned the ignition key. “I made note of a hotel a few miles back.”

It was a short drive, but by the time he pulled the car under the hotel’s porte cochere, he could tell that Bellamy was holding herself together by sheer force of will. She’d kept her eyes closed and hadn’t uttered a sound. She was drawn up as taut as a bowstring, and her lips were so tightly compressed they were rimmed with white.

He parked the car where it wouldn’t block the through lane, got out, and went around to open Bellamy’s door. With a hand beneath her right elbow, he gently eased her out and placed his arm around her shoulders as he guided her through the entrance.

It was a moderately priced chain hotel, having a typical lobby with a navy and burgundy color scheme, polished brass lamps, and silk plants. Since Bellamy seemed incapable of moving, he secured a room with his own credit card, which he was reasonably sure would clear.

Within minutes of entering the lobby, he was unlocking the door to a room on the third floor and shepherding Bellamy inside. He went straight to the wide windows and closed the drapes, then used the remote on the nightstand to turn on the TV, which would help to muffle the noise of the storm. He switched on all the lamps.

Bellamy hadn’t moved from the spot where he’d left her. He went to her and chafed her upper arms. “Do you get like this every time it storms?”

“Since the tornado.”

“Have you seen somebody about it?”

Through chattering teeth, she laughed, but not because what he’d said was funny. “Thousands of dollars’ worth of somebodies. I’ve tried every form of therapy imaginable. None has helped.”

“Do you have something to take?”

“I stopped getting the prescription filled.”

“How come?”

“The medication didn’t help, either. It only made me woozy in addition to being petrified.”

“Maybe you should try the Dr. Denton Carter remedy.” His arms went around her and pulled her close.

But when he bent his head down to nuzzle the side of her neck, she pushed him away. “That’s your remedy for everything.”

“It works for everything.”

Although she’d squirmed out of his embrace, it hadn’t been altogether unsuccessful. A smile was tugging at the corner of her lips, which had regained some of their color.

“I’ve got to go move the car,” he said. “Are you going to be all right if I leave you alone?”

“I’m usually alone when this happens. I’ve learned to panic quite well in private.”

He bent his knees to bring himself eye level with her and tilted his head. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes. Inside, with the drapes drawn and the lights on, it’s better. I’ll take a hot shower. That’s calming, too.”

“Okay then.” He walked toward the door, but she stopped him. When he turned back to her, she said, “You didn’t get yourself a room.”

He held up the key card. “Yes, I did. Don’t use all the hot water.”

He found a parking spot not too far away from the building. On his race back, he had to lean into the strong wind. Small hail stones pelleted him and bounced on the pavement. The lightning was ferocious. But it wasn’t raining all that hard, so when he reentered the lobby, he was relatively dry. And starving.

From the lobby phone, he called their room. When Bellamy answered, he asked if she wanted to join him in the restaurant. “Or would you rather me have them box up something and eat in the room?”

“I’d prefer that.”

“Need me to come up and wash your back?”

She hung up on him.

He had his hands full when she opened the door to him twenty minutes later, fully clothed, but her hair still damp and smelling of shampoo. “What’s all this?”

“Vending machine toothbrushes. And paste,” he added with emphasis. “Two cheeseburgers, two fries, two beers for me, one split of white wine for you. We’ll toss for the peach cobbler. That was the last of it.”

While she spread their dinner on the round table, he took a quick shower, returning to the main room dressed but without his damp boots.

Bellamy seemed to be as hungry as he was, and they ate quickly, deciding to save the cobbler for later. He carried his second beer over to the bed, rolled the pillow into a ball, and supported his head on it as he stretched out on his back.

“This is cozy.” He patted the space beside him. “It could get cozier.”

“Cut it out, Dent. I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Sleeping was last night’s agenda. Not what I had in mind for tonight.”

With a decisive punch, she muted the TV. Then, curling up in the easy chair, she put her hands palm to palm and slid them between her knees as though to warm them. But it was also a slightly protective gesture, which should have alerted him to what was coming.

“What Moody said—”

He interrupted her with a long, drawn-out groan. “Talk about a mood kill.”

“What he said about you living with what nearly happened.”

“But didn’t.”

“Still, it can’t be easy to know how close you came to—”

“Taking out a hundred and thirty-seven people?” Watching her down the length of the bottle, he took another drink of beer, then set it on the nightstand and came off the bed, all in one motion. “Thanks a lot. I’ve now officially lost my buzz.” He moved to the dresser and leaned into the mirror above it to inspect the cuts on his face.

“Why did you voluntarily leave the airline after the incident?”

“Too bad it’s not Halloween. I could trick-or-treat.”

“Why won’t you talk about it?”

“I wouldn’t even need a mask.”

“It might help if you opened up about it.”

“Bad as these bruises look, I may still have them come Halloween.”

“Dent?”

“
What?
” He came around so quickly she actually recoiled.

But she didn’t give up and go away. “Why won’t you talk about it?”

“Why are you so damn curious? Morbid fascination? Are you one of those people who goes online to watch videos of plane crashes, people jumping off buildings, multi-car pile-ups?”

“Don’t do that.”

“What am I doing?”

“Slamming the door. Getting defensive. Is that how you were with the investigators?”

“No, we all became chums. Christmas cards. Birthday greetings. They name their babies after me.”

She frowned. “You told me that the only way you can relate to a woman is sexually.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

“This is your chance to relate to one, to me, in another way.”

“That way is no fun. No
fucking
fun.”

He returned to the bedside table, picked up the bottle of beer, and took a swallow from it. As far as he was concerned the conversation was over. But Bellamy continued to watch him with those damn soulful eyes that pulled him in and under, and, before he’d even planned it, he asked, “What do you want to know?”

“You were the co-pilot?”

“Yes.”

“You spilled your coffee?”

“Isn’t that what I told you?”

“The mechanic, replacing the electrical panel—”

“All true.”

“The weather?”

“Also a factor, but not severe enough to ground us.”

“But when you were on takeoff—”

“The most critical time of any flight.”

“—you were instructed to turn left to avoid a thunderstorm.”

“Which was the right call.”

“Lightning struck the plane.”

“Popping several circuit breakers, including one that controlled the CVR. Cockpit voice recorder. Which wasn’t relevant until later.”

“A fire warning came on for the left engine, but there wasn’t a fire.”

“Just like I told you. False warning.”

“But the captain shut down the left engine.”

“Correct.”

“That’s what
he
did.”

“Yes.”

“What did
you
do?”

“I flew the frigging airplane!”

His shout was followed by an abrupt, charged silence. Bellamy sat upright. He cursed himself and moved back to the bed, where he sat down on the end of it and pressed his thumbs into his eye sockets. He kept them there for a minute or more, then slowly lowered his hands and looked over at her.