Big Shot. Joanna Wayne
some indicator that this could possibly be more severe than a concussion?”
Dr. Levy pushed his small-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re very perceptive, Mr. Lambert.”
“But not particularly medically astute,” Durk said. “Still, I get the feeling that you’re not totally convinced that the concussion is the worst of Meghan’s condition.”
“In truth, I might have ordered a CT scan in this case just because of the severity of the concussion. But your assumption is correct. One of our residents noticed a small bruise, sometimes referred to as a battle sign, behind Ms. Sinclair’s right ear during the examination. It can indicate a fracture to the skull. It’s something we need to check out.”
“Then it’s still a matter of wait and see?”
“For now. If you’ll leave your cell phone number with Jane, I’ll call you when we know more.”
“Good, because I won’t be leaving the hospital until I hear from you.” If then. “But why this sudden decision to share Meghan’s medical information with a nonfamily member?”
“Lucy Delmar got back to us immediately. She gave us the information we needed and faxed us a release form with your name included. I can’t thank you enough for your help with that.”
“Thanks.” So Lucy had come through for him. He had an idea that her husband had convinced her to do that. He’d make sure he thanked him, as well. And he’d make a point of keeping in touch with them until Meghan was fully recovered.
He had to believe that would be soon. It was the only way he could face this without having his own spell of AMS.
Sitting and waiting had never been his style, but this time he didn’t have a choice.
When Dr. Levy left, Durk gave his cell number to Jane and then tracked Pam down again. Armed with his aunt’s room number, he made his way to the elevator.
A few hours ago, he’d been anticipating a week’s vacation at the ranch with nothing more challenging on his plate than deciding whether to take a sunrise horseback ride or sleep until noon.
Now he had a murder to contend with and a detective that clearly wasn’t convinced of his innocence. Yet all Durk could think about was Meghan Sinclair. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be exactly where he was two years ago.
His heart couldn’t take that again.
* * *
S AM S MART PACED the E.R. hallway, racking his brain to figure out how and why Durk Lambert had ended up at a murder scene. Not only was he CEO of Lambert Inc., but his family owned the oil and gas company, along with the Bent Pine Ranch and several smaller subsidiaries related to drilling operations.
Having accidentally encountered Meghan as she was being wheeled into the E.R. didn’t explain his actions, especially when he hadn’t even seen her in two years. There had to be something Sam was missing here.
Not that Meghan wasn’t the kind of woman who could get under a man’s skin and make him do crazy things. She was spunky, analytical, insightful. Not to mention incredibly sexy.
She’d have made a great homicide detective had she chosen to play by cop rules. Instead she was the frequent bane of the DPD, usurping their authority and making them look incompetent.
Sam had tangled with her himself on more than one occasion. And, yeah, he’d experienced a few pangs of lust while trying and failing to best her.
But a man like Durk Lambert had gorgeous socialites at his beck and call. Hell, the man had probably been in and out of bed with dozens of young hotties in the past two years. Not that Sam faulted him for that. He’d have done the same had he been in Durk’s shoes—or boots as was the case now.
That was another thing that concerned Sam. The cops had described the bloody clothes Durk was wearing when they encountered him at Meghan’s office. Expensive clothing, the kind a wealthy oil executive would be expected to wear.
Yet now he’d shown up at the hospital dressed like an everyday cowboy. Faded jeans. Goat-roper Western boots. A knit pullover shirt that could have come off the rack at any department store in Dallas.
If Durk was trying to give the impression that he was just a good old boy out to help a friend, Sam wasn’t buying it. Yet his story about visiting his aunt had been true. Sam had wasted no time checking that out.
He doubted Durk was the loyal friend he played at being, but that was not a good enough reason to blame the night’s violence on him.
But you could never be sure. Men with the kind of assets and power that Durk possessed had a tendency to believe they were above the law.
Maybe Durk had been trying to get back into the saddle with Meghan and discovered that Ben had replaced him. He could have fought with her and then killed Ben. The story about Durk’s handling the murder weapon for his own protection could be just a clever cover-up.
But that was a long shot at best. Meghan Sinclair had countless enemies, dangerous criminals who’d thought they were home free until she showed up. The list of suspects with motives to get back at her was practically endless.
He figured they were looking at just one suspect for both crimes, but he’d keep an open mind about that. Anyway you called it, his best bet at catching their killer would be for Meghan to identify her attacker.
But would she?
Or would she choose to bypass the police and go after the bastard herself? Sam planned to make damn sure she didn’t. He would not be outsmarted by her. Not again.
* * *
D URK TAPPED ON the door to Sybil’s hospital room, and his mother whispered for him to come in. Sybil was sound asleep, snoring, her jaw slack. She was almost unrecognizable without the infernal black wig plastered to her head.
“How is she?” he whispered.
“They’ve diagnosed her with pleurisy.” His mother stood and tiptoed toward him. “Let’s talk in the hall. She needs her rest.”
They stepped outside the room, softly closing the door behind them.
“I feel like I’m getting a crash course in medicine tonight. Isn’t pleurisy some kind of respiratory ailment?”
“Yes, basically. The E.R. doctor described it as an inflammation of the lining of the lungs and chest.”
“Is it serious?”
“It can be. But in Sybil’s case, the doctor expects it to respond to antibiotics. They gave her an injection so that it could start working at once. If she’s feeling better, she’ll go home in the morning and can follow up with her regular doctor.”
“You’re not going to try and stay with her all night, are you?” he asked.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“That doesn’t get my vote. Not only will you be sore from sitting in that chair all night, but you won’t get any sleep. You’ll need your rest tonight if you’re going to take care of Sybil tomorrow.”
“I’ll have plenty of help from Emma and Alexis once I get her home. Your two sisters-in-law will both pitch in.”
“Spend the night at my place,” he urged. “All the comforts of home.”
“I suppose I could stay in your guest room and then drive back to the hospital in the morning.”
“Great idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself,” he teased. “You’ll have the place to yourself and won’t have Grandma Pearl turning the volume on the TV up to deafening decibels. Do you have your key with you?”
“I do. If you’re not going to be at home, does that mean you’re driving out to the ranch tonight?”
“No, and probably not tomorrow, either.” No