“I was thinking about you and Noah, and how perfect you two look together, and I wondered if you’ve decided to stay with him.”
The question caught Jordan entirely off guard. “I…I don’t know.”
“Noah’s sure a catch. But then so are you, and don’t you forget it. Jaffee says he’s sure he’s seen your picture in one of those outdoor magazines.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment? An outdoor magazine? Had Jaffee thought she’d made the cover of Lumberjack Weekly?
Jordan laughed. “Are you sure Jaffee didn’t think he saw me in Glamour?”
She was teasing, but Angela was serious. “You’re the Ralph Lauren type, you know?”
“Thank you, but—”
Angela interrupted. “I’m just stating the truth. Just don’t make the same mistake I made, Jordan. Don’t wait eighteen years for any man. And if he doesn’t realize what he’s got right in front of him, he’s never going to know.”
With that as the final word, Angela finally hung up. Jordan found another blank scrap of paper in her purse and again called information. She thought about Angela’s comments while waiting for the operator to key in her request for Dave Trumbo’s phone number.
Behind her, the glass doors opened. A woman walked out carrying a basket of wilted flowers. Jordan looked around and spotted her father stepping out of the elevator at the end of the hall. Behind him was Noah.
“I have two listings for a Dave Trumbo,” the operator said. “A Dave Trumbo Motors at 9818 Frontage Road and a Dave Trumbo at 1284 Royal Street.”
“I want the home…Wait. Will you repeat that second address on Royal please? Did you say 1284?”
“Yes, 1284 Royal. That number is…”
Jordan was so stunned she dropped her phone in her lap. Dave “I’ll-make-you-a-deal” Trumbo lived at 1284 Royal.
Wait until Noah heard this! Jordan grabbed her phone and shoved it into her purse, then jumped to her feet. A car backfired, the sound huge and piercing. A nearby chunk of concrete from the pillar suddenly exploded. She instinctively pivoted to get away from the flying fragments. The car backfired again, and Jordan felt a tremendous jolt from behind. Tires screeched, and a car sped past her in a blur. She caught a glimpse of the driver out of the corner of her eye, just as her legs gave out.
Everything happened in slow motion: Noah pushing her father, running toward her, shouting, pulling his gun from his holster.
Jordan’s eyes closed as she slammed into the pavement.
THE HOSPITAL WAS IN LOCKDOWN. NO ONE WAS GETTING IN OR out until the all clear was sounded. Policemen blocked every entrance, and emergencies were temporarily being shuffled to other medical centers. The police also were doing a thorough search of the garage and a floor-by-floor search of the hospital to make certain there weren’t any other shooters hiding inside.
The attempted murder of a federal judge was big news, and there were television crews set up on all sides of the hospital. They were all competing to get an interview with anyone who might be able to tell them what had happened.
Judge Buchanan’s daughter was reported to be in critical condition. One reporter speculated—on the air no less—that if Jordan hadn’t been within seconds of emergency personnel, she would have bled to death.
That was something the Buchanan family didn’t need to hear. They were gathered in the surgical waiting room, talking in whispers and pacing while they waited for Jordan to emerge from surgery.
Two policemen stood guard outside the door and had made it perfectly clear that they weren’t going to let Judge Buchanan out of their sight until his bodyguards took over. Two of them were on their way to the hospital now.
Judge Buchanan had aged twenty years since he’d watched his daughter crumble to the ground. Noah had thrown him into a wall to get him out of the line of fire. The judge had heard him yell, “Down! Get Down!” as he raced toward Jordan. He’d never forget the look on Noah’s face when he’d knelt beside Jordan. He looked destroyed.
Jordan’s mother sat beside her husband, gripping his hand. Tears streaked down her face.
“Someone needs to call Sidney,” she said. “I don’t want her to hear it on the news. Has anyone called Alec? Dylan? Where’s Father Tom?”
“He’s on his way back to Holy Oaks,” the judge told her.
“Someone needs to call him. He’ll want to know. And we need a priest here now.”
“She’s not going to die,” Zachary, the youngest, shouted angrily.
Noah had separated himself from the family. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He couldn’t talk now. Standing in front of a window across the room from the others, he stared blankly out into the night. It was difficult to breathe, impossible to think. He was in a cold rage. Blood…there had been so much blood. He had felt Jordan slipping away from him.
This waiting was horrific. He’d been shot before, and he remembered it had hurt like hell, but that pain was nothing compared to what Noah was feeling now. If he lost her…Oh God…he couldn’t lose her…couldn’t live without her…
Nick had taken the elevator down to Laurant’s room to tell her what had happened. His wife was sound asleep, and so he decided not to wake her. He pulled the plug on the television set on his way out the door and told the nurse on duty not to mention the shooting. Tomorrow would be soon enough to hear such bad news.
When Nick returned to the surgical floor, he spotted Noah standing alone. He went to stand beside him.
And the wait continued.
Twenty minutes later, the surgeon, Dr. Emmett, walked into the room. He was smiling as he pulled off his cap. Judge Buchanan rushed to meet him.
“Jordan did just fine,” the doctor said. “The bullet went through her rib cage, and she lost some blood, but I expect a full recovery.”
The judge shook the doctor’s hand and thanked him profusely.
“How soon can we see her?” he asked.
“She’s in recovery now, and she’s already coming out of the anesthesia. I’ll let one of you go in, but only for a minute. She needs to rest.” The surgeon started for the door. “If you’ll follow me.”
The judge didn’t move. “Noah?”
“Sir?”
“If she’s awake, give her our love.”
Nick had to give him a shove to get him moving. The news that Jordan was going to be okay had made Noah weak with relief. He followed the doctor down the hall.
“Just one minute,” Dr. Emmett instructed. “I want her to sleep.”
Jordan was the only patient in the recovery room. A nurse was checking her IV, and when she saw Noah, she stepped out of the way.
Jordan’s eyes were closed.
“Is she in pain?” he asked.
“No,” said the nurse. “She’s coming in and out of consciousness.”
Noah stood beside her bed, content to watch her sleep. His hand rested on top of hers, and he could feel the warmth. The color was returning to her face.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead and then whispered into her ear, “I love you, Jordan. You hear me? I love you, and I’m never letting you go.”
“Noah…” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She didn’t open her eyes as she said his name.
He wasn’t sure she had heard him, and so he tried to soothe her. “I love you. You’re going to be okay. The surgery is over, and you’re in recovery. You need to rest now. Sleep, Sugar.”
She tried to raise her hand, and her brow wrinkled into a frown.
“Sleep now,” he whispered, gently stroking her hair.
“He shot me.” Though weak, her voice was surprisingly clear.
“Yes, you were shot, but you’re going to be fine.”
She struggled to open her eyes, but her eyelids were too heavy. “I saw him.”
She drifted off again. Noah waited. She saw him? She saw the shooter? Did she know what she was saying?
She whispered the words again. “I saw him.”
Her voice faded. He leaned over her with his ear clos
e to her lips. Her words were faint but slow and measured. “He tried to kill me…Dave…Trumbo.”
She fell back into a deep sleep.
DID JORDAN UNDERSTAND WHAT SHE HAD TOLD HIM? OR was she hallucinating from the drugs that were still in her system? Noah had to make sure. He waited by the side of her bed, and each time she awoke he asked her again to tell him what she had seen.
The answer was always the same. Dave Trumbo.
Her eyes were open now, and he could see that she was in pain.
“You have to let her sleep,” the nurse told him. “You’ve been in here fifteen minutes, and that’s enough time.”
“She’s hurting,” he said anxiously.
“Yes,” she said. “I was just about to give her something. It’s important to keep ahead of the pain. She’ll sleep until tomorrow. She’ll be moved to ICU by then.”
The nurse injected morphine into the IV. He waited until she had finished and then asked, “Does she know what she’s saying?”
“I doubt it,” she answered. “Most of my patients don’t make much sense at all. And she won’t remember anything she said by tomorrow.”
Noah kissed Jordan again and went out into the hallway. Nick leaned against the wall, waiting for him.
“I don’t know what to do,” Noah said. “I can’t think…”
“Jordan’s going to be okay. Take a breath, Noah. It’ll be all right.”
He didn’t understand. “Yeah, I know she’s going to be okay. That’s not the problem now. She told me something, and I don’t know if I should believe her or not.”
“What’d she tell you?”
“She saw the shooter,” he said. “She’s pretty out of it,” he admitted, “but she kept saying the same thing. Her voice was getting stronger, and she seemed more alert. I tell you, I think she did see the bastard. I heard the car tearing out of the parking lot, but I got outside too late to see it.”
“I don’t know if you can believe anything she said. She’s drugged…”
Noah threaded his fingers through his hair in agitation. “The nurse told me she hears some crazy things, but still…”
“You gotta wait until Jordan really wakes up. She’s going to be in so much pain they’ll keep her sedated for at least twenty-four hours. It will be a while before she’s lucid.”
Noah shook his head. “She saw him, and she told me who he was. Dave Trumbo. He’s the guy who sells cars in Bourbon. A big shot around Serenity. I don’t think you met him.”
“Why would a car salesman come all the way to Boston to kill Jordan?”
“I don’t know, but ten to one he wouldn’t come here unless he thought she could connect him to the three murders in Serenity. I’m not going to wait around until she’s clear of the pain medication.”
“You can’t put his name out there yet. What if it’s all in Jordan’s head? You have to have more before you go after him.”
Noah nodded. “It’s Trumbo.”
“Easy way to find out. Call him at home. If he answers the phone, you’ll know Jordan dreamed it up.”
Nick got the number from information. He made sure he’d blocked the caller ID and handed the phone to Noah.
Trumbo’s wife answered.
Noah’s voice was syrupy sweet. “Hi, there. This is Bob. I’m really sorry I’m callin’ so late.”
“Oh, it isn’t late,” she said.
“Could I speak to Dave? He told me to call him if I had a question about my car, and darned if I can’t figure out this remote alarm thing.”
“I’m so sorry, Bob, but Dave’s not here. He’s in Atlanta at a big auto show. May I take your number and have him call you?”
“I’m in a real fix. Don’t know if you can hear it, but the car’s alarm is blarin’ away outside and is wakin’ up all the neighbors. Do you happen to know where he’s stayin’ in Atlanta?”
“No, I don’t. What a shame. He just called me a few minutes ago. But he was in such a hurry, we didn’t have long to talk, so I didn’t get the name of his hotel. He was planning on coming home tomorrow but said something’s come up and he may have to stay in Atlanta longer. What about the service manager? I’m sure he’d be happy to help you. I could give you that number.”
“I really appreciate it, but I think I should be able to work this out myself. Hope Dave’s havin’ a good time in Atlanta. ’Bye now.”
Noah disconnected the call, looked at Nick, and said, “That son of a bitch is here. She said he’s at an auto show in Atlanta, but he’s here, Nick.”
They headed down the hall toward the waiting room.
“What do you know about this Dave Trumbo?” Nick asked.
“He’s a car dealer. That’s about it, except for two other things. He isn’t home, and he hasn’t told his wife where he’s staying in Atlanta.”
“We need more than that to go after him. He could be taking a vacation with his mistress or maybe he really is at a car show. I’ll get some agents to look for him in Atlanta. They can check the show as soon as it opens tomorrow morning.”
Noah nodded. Nick was calming him down. “Okay, good,” said Noah. “We’ve got to see what we can find out about Trumbo. Call Chaddick and tell him what happened. See if he can get any leads to locate him. And tell him he’s got to figure out a way…a quiet way…to get Trumbo’s fingerprints.”
“You think he’s in the system?”
“That’s what we need to find out. I want to know everything there is to know about him.”
Nick nodded. “I’ll run his name and see what I can come up with. One phone call and we can get his history.”
“Is your father still here?” Noah asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“I want to put a twenty-four-hour guard on Jordan, and I want her to stay in critical condition. Your father needs to know that the party line is that Jordan’s still critical.”
“Okay, what else?”
“Find Trumbo. If Jordan knows something that connects him to the murders, he’s going to come after her again.”
NICK HAD TAKEN OVER ONE OF THE HOSPITAL’S WAITING rooms and was using it as a command post as he called in every possible favor. He got Pete Morganstern out of bed to make calls because he knew the eminent doctor could get the information much quicker than either he or Noah could.
Noah was also on the phone to Texas, Chaddick had really come through for him. Noah didn’t know how the agent had accomplished it, but he had gotten into Trumbo’s office and had taken several items he was certain had Trumbo’s fingerprints on them. One of those items was a coffee mug with the imprint “Best Dad in the World.”
Chaddick gave Noah an update while on his way to the lab. “Should have something in a couple of hours…hopefully a couple of hours,” he qualified. “How is Jordan doing?”
“Okay,” Noah said. “She’s sleeping.”
“It’s a hell of a situation we’ve got here,” Chaddick said. “Street is on his way to the office. He’ll run a computer search on Trumbo and see what he can find.”
There were now at least four agents searching through the FBI’s voluminous computer files, but Dr. Morganstern was the first to break the strange news to Noah.
“Dave Trumbo’s life started fifteen years ago. According to the records, he didn’t exist before then. New social security number, new name, new everything.”
“Witness protection?”
“Maybe,” Morganstern agreed. “I’m waiting to hear something more. Fingerprints would certainly save us some time. Any possibility…”
Noah told him about Chaddick. “As soon as he knows something, he’ll call. I’m betting his prints are in the system.”
Noah found Nick and explained what Morganstern had found out. Nick wasn’t surprised. He’d heard the same information from another source a short while ago.
Every few minutes Noah would look in on Jordan to assure himself that she was sleeping soundly. He was becoming so familiar with the monitoring devices, he didn’t need to ask h
ow her body was responding to trauma. Her pulse and blood pressure were both steady. The rhythmic beeping sound of her heart was a comfort to him.
He didn’t sleep at all through the night, and when he had gone in to check on Jordan around seven, they were in the process of moving her to a private room.
“It’s a step down from ICU,” the nurse said. “She’s doing just great. Once we get her settled, you can sit in the room with her.”
It was great news. He was walking out of the unit when the nurse caught up with him.
“Excuse me…Agent Clayborne?”
“Yes?”
“Is the patient still supposed to be listed as critical?”
“That’s right,” he said.
She looked worried. “I’m afraid word will get out. Someone will leak it to the media. They always do.”
He agreed. “I’m just trying to buy us a little more time.” He was desperate to find out who Trumbo was before that news was also leaked to the press.
Nick had done a complete turnaround from the night before. He now wanted to plaster Trumbo’s face and name everywhere.
Noah held him off. “Obviously fifteen years ago he changed his identity. He can do it again,” he pointed out. “And we would never know if and when he might come after Jordan again. We have to wait until we hear from Chaddick. We both know the guy’s been hiding from something, so his fingerprints are bound to turn up on a file.”
Noah paced for a while and then went into Jordan’s new sterile, white room. He stood at the foot of the bed watching her, his hands shoved in his pockets.
Nick entered a minute later. “Man, you look worse than she does,” he whispered.
They both noticed her smile. It was fleeting, but it was there. “You hear us, Jordan?” Noah asked.
She smiled again. And then she fell back asleep.
Judge Buchanan stood at the door. “How is she?” he asked.
Noah beckoned to him. “She’s good.”
“I’ll sit with her for a while,” the judge said. He quietly pulled the chair close to the bed. “Go get some rest,” he ordered both of them, knowing full well neither would. Nick turned to follow Noah out the door when his father called his name.