“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what?”
“I’m saying your reputation is on the line, and so is mine.”
“And you always have your ass well covered, don’t you, Wes?”
“You’re goddamn right I do,” he fired back.
Dutch snorted. “You always had big, bad linemen blocking you, and if they didn’t, you gave them hell. I was out there being hammered by linebackers with necks thicker than my waist. You didn’t give a shit that I got creamed, so long as you were protected.”
Realizing how juvenile he must sound, harking back to their football days, he bit back any further comments. What Wes had said was the sad, ugly truth. He knew it. It just irked him to hear it.
“Dutch,” Wes said in a carefully measured tone, “we’re not playing tiddlywinks here. Or even football. Our little town has got itself a psycho, some weirdo, snatching up women. Five of them now. God only knows what he’s doing to them. People are scared, on edge, wondering how many are going to fall victim before he’s caught.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that I haven’t seen you get worked up over our town crisis nearly the way you got worked up over Lilly being stuck in a nice, cozy cabin on a snowy eve. Sure, you’re worried about her. Okay. Some concern is justified. But for chrissake give it some perspective.”
“Don’t preach to me, Mr. Chairman of the city council.” Dutch’s soft-spoken voice was in contrast to the rage pulsing through him. “You’re hardly a moral yardstick, Wes.” To hammer his point home, he added with emphasis, “Especially where the welfare of women is concerned.”
CHAPTER
11
YOU HAVE ASTHMA?”
“Chronic asthma. Nonallergic asthma.” Lilly ran her hand around the inside of her empty handbag, knowing it was futile. The small pouch in which she kept her medication wasn’t in there. Anxiously she pushed her fingers through her hair, then cupped her mouth and chin with her hand. “Where is it?”
“You’re not having an asthma attack.”
“Because I take medication to prevent them. An inhaler and a pill.”
“Without them—”
“I could have an attack. Which would be bad since I don’t have my bronchodilator.”
“Broncho—”
“Dilator, dilator,” she said impatiently. “An inhaler to use during an attack.”
“I’ve seen people use those.”
“Without it I can’t breathe.” She stood up and paced a tight circle. “Where is that bag? It’s about this big,” she said, holding her palms six inches apart. “Green silk, crystal beads on it. One of my staff gave it to me last Christmas. She’d noticed the one I had was worn out.”
“Maybe you left—”
Even before he finished, she was shaking her head and interrupting. “It’s always in my purse, Tierney. Always. It was there this afternoon.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Breathing cold air can bring on an attack, so I used one of my inhalers right before I left the cabin.” Growing more frantic by the moment, she wrung her hands. “It was in my bag this afternoon, but it’s not there now, so what happened to it?”
“Calm down.”
She rounded on him, angry over his inability to understand her panic. He didn’t know what it was like to gasp for breath and fear that soon he’d be unable to do even that. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You don’t know—”
“Right.” He took her by the shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “I don’t know anything about asthma except that hysteria can’t be good for it. You’re working yourself into a tizzy. Now calm down.”