Brace For Impact. Janice Kay Johnson
up. “That’d do it. I think it’s okay.”
That was when she remembered she had a first-aid kit, too. When she told him, he found it in her duffel bag, opened it, grunted and closed it again.
“Nothing really helpful right now.” He laid a hand on her calf. “You’re cold.”
Teeth clenched, she nodded. The heat of his big hand felt so good. She was really sorry when he removed it so he could explore the contents of her duffel more thoroughly. He pulled out the pajama bottoms and clean jeans, then gently dressed her in the two layers. Appearing unsatisfied with the couple of shirts she’d brought, he dug around in his own pack and pulled out a green flannel shirt. It might be way oversize on her, but the fuzzy flannel felt really good when he tugged it on her good side.
Kneeling beside her, he moved the ice on her arm once, finally deciding it was as good as it would get. The splint just looked like a roll of foam to her, but he adjusted it and closed the Velcro fastenings. He frowned when he sat back.
“I should splint your entire arm, but unless you’re airlifted, we have to walk out of here. Plus, I don’t want the weight of your arm hanging, given the break in the clavicle.”
He used the knife on the flower shirt, making a simpler sling that went over the borrowed flannel shirt. Then he rolled the sleeves up half a dozen times, helped her sit up and gave her ibuprofen with water followed by a handful of almonds.
After he tucked the blanket back around her, Maddy saw his expression change, become flat, even hard.
“All right,” he said. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Why you’re scared. And where the wreckage is.”
Her fear blasted through that observation glass and was no longer nicely kept at a distance.
She grabbed his arm. “You can’t use the radio or the beacon. If you won’t promise, I won’t tell you where it is.”
His eyebrows rose at her challenge. “I found you. I can find it.”
Oh, dear God, she thought suddenly. “Have you already called and told anyone what happened?”
His eyes narrowed. They were gray, she’d already decided, clear and occasionally icy. “No,” he said after a minute. “No coverage.”
Maddy sagged. “A bomb brought the plane down. That’s what...” She broke off, trying to think. How much did she have to tell him? Should she still be Cassie or give him her real name? What if he didn’t believe a word she said? Not that he was the enemy; he’d been too kind, too gentle and too thorough with her. Still, he might talk to the wrong person. If she started lying now, would he know? Would he be willing to help her get out of this wilderness, just him?
He wouldn’t if she lied, that was for sure.
So she took a deep breath, which hurt, of course, and said, “One of the men with me was a US marshal. He was alive when I found him. He said it had to be a bomb, and that meant he’d been betrayed by someone in his office. Not to trust anyone there. He said somebody would show up to be sure I was dead. And that I should run.” Unable to read what this hard-faced stranger was thinking, she finished. “So I did.”
And then she held her breath, waiting for him to insist the head injury had made her delusional.
WILL DIDN’T LIKE a single thing she’d said. If she hadn’t been so obviously scared out of her skull, he’d have discounted a story so unlikely. Sure, he was climbing in the backcountry of the North Cascades when a bomb took down a plane carrying a now-dead United States marshal and a woman fleeing...who? What?
He muttered something under his breath he hoped she didn’t make out and rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t care if he sounded brusque when he said, “You need to tell me everything.”
Now she was unhappy, showing the whites of her eyes. Either deciding how much to say or dreaming up lies.
As he waited, he watched every shifting emotion on her pinched face. For the first time it struck him that she might be pretty or even beautiful when she wasn’t injured and in shock. So much of her face was banged up, he wasn’t sure, but...she did have delicate bone structure and big, haunting eyes, mostly green-gold. Calling them hazel didn’t do the rich mix of colors justice.
She bit her lip hard enough that he almost protested, but then she started talking.
“My name is Maddy... Madeline Kane. I’m an attorney with Dietrich, McCarr and Brown in Seattle. I was sent to talk to a potential client at her home in Medina. Um, that’s on the other side—”
“I know where it is,” he interrupted. Medina was a wealthy enclave on the opposite shore of Lake Washington from the city. Was Bill Gates’s house there? He couldn’t remember for sure, but it wouldn’t be out of place.
“While I was there, I had to ask to use her restroom. I wouldn’t usually, but—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I heard the doorbell ring, and the client let someone in. She screamed. I started to come out just as she said, ‘Please, I don’t understand.’” Maddy’s eyes lost focus as she went somewhere he couldn’t go. “She was on the floor, trying to scoot backward. He... I only saw him in profile. He said she was a problem for Brian Torkelson. And then he shot her. Twice. It...was sort of a coughing sound, not very loud.”
Suppressor. Tense, Will waited for the rest.
“And he said, ‘Problem solved.’ He started to turn, but—” She’d begun shivering again. “I stepped back, made it into the bathroom. If he’d walked down the hall—”
Will covered her good hand clutching the blanket to her throat with his hand. “He didn’t.”
“No.” She looked away. “I keep having dreams where I hear his footsteps approaching.”
“Yeah.” If he sounded gruff, he couldn’t help it. “That’s natural. I have nightmares, too.”
Gratitude showed in her eyes when they met his again. “Do you know who Brian Torkelson is?”
The name rang a bell as if he’d seen it in the news recently. But he had been making an effort since he got out of rehab not to follow the news, so he shook his head.
“He’s—well, he was—a Superior Court justice here in Washington. Back when this happened, he’d just been appointed to become a federal circuit court judge, which is a big deal.”
“But he had some dirty laundry.”
“Apparently.”
“And you’re the only witness.”
“Yes. I came very close to being run down in a crosswalk only a few days before Torkelson was arrested. It might have been an accident, but I don’t think so. I ended up going into hiding. I’ve spent the last year in eastern Washington, living under a different name.”
“Witness protection.”
“I haven’t talked to my family or friends in thirteen months. It’s been hard, although at least I knew it wasn’t forever.”
“So Torkelson’s trial is coming up.”
She shook her head. “Not his. The hit man’s.” She made a funny, strangled noise. “I can’t believe I’m even using that word. But I guess that’s what he is. I sat down with an artist, and the police recognized him right away.”
“That can’t be enough to convict him.”
“The police watched surveillance cameras and those ones at stoplights. I’d gotten to the window to see him drive away. I couldn’t see the license plate, but I described the car. It turned out the next-door neighbor had cameras, too. He’s a big businessman who’s really paranoid. Anyway, once they had a warrant, they got his