Page 11 of Fire and Ice (Buchanan-Renard 7)

  Jack got up to help. Cordie handed him a bag of groceries and Regan handed her husband the barbecue.

  Sophie called from the sofa, “Did you get my batteries?”

  “Triple A, like you asked,” Regan replied as she stocked the refrigerator. “I’ll put them here on the counter.”

  Sophie wasn’t hungry, but Cordie coaxed her into drinking some of the hot soup she’d stopped to get at the Chinese restaurant down the street. The tasty soup picked her up.

  Sophie’s friends hovered over her. Cordie put the back of her hand on Sophie’s forehead to make sure she wasn’t feverish, and Regan shoved pillows behind Sophie’s back and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

  “It was minor surgery,” Sophie protested. “Minor,” she repeated. “Stitches come out in a week, and then I’m back to normal. I could even get back to the weights.”

  “When have you ever done weights?” Cordie asked.

  “I’m just saying I could.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do for you?” Regan asked.

  Sophie looked around the room. The drapes were closed for the first time in probably a year, and it reminded her of how the glass had been shattered by the bullet.

  Alec followed her gaze. He and Jack had finished eating and were sprawled in easy chairs flanking her fireplace. “Gil took care of the window for you. He had people here early this morning.”

  “I just may have to marry that man,” Sophie said. “He’s so efficient.”

  “What else can I do?” Regan asked.

  “You could put the groceries away and then go home. You’re making me nuts hovering. I’m fine.”

  Cordie followed Sophie into her bedroom and would have gone into the bathroom with her if Sophie hadn’t quickly shut the door. She changed the bandage and was surprised that the incision didn’t look all that bad. After washing her hands and face, she grabbed a tube of moisturizing cream and opened the door. She burst into laughter. Cordie had made the bed and fluffed the pillows.

  “Do you want to get into bed now?”

  “Good God. No, I don’t want to get into bed. I had minor surgery,” she repeated. “It’s not even seven o’clock, and I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Cordie followed her back to the sofa. “I have to call Mr. Bitter-man,” Sophie said. “Where’s the cordless phone? I know he must be worried.”

  “I already talked to him,” Alec said. “He called me on my cell phone when he heard you’d been shot, and I assured him you were fine.”

  She nodded. “Cordie, did you e-mail everyone to let them know I’m okay?”

  “I did.”

  “Who did you notify?” Alec asked. He sounded mildly curious.

  “Family and friends,” Cordie said.

  “What about her father? Did you notify him?”

  Regan gave her husband “the look,” which he completely ignored.

  “We’d really like to talk to him,” Jack said. “You know, take him out for a beer …”

  “He’s a hard man to pin down,” Alec added.

  “He moves around a lot,” Sophie said. “My father is a busy man. At the moment, he’s out of the country.”

  Cordie and Regan knew how uncomfortable Sophie was talking about her father, and they quickly changed the subject.

  “One of my kids tried to blow up my lab,” Cordie said.

  “Cordie teaches chemistry at one of the high schools,” Sophie explained to Jack. “Didn’t one of your kids blow up the lab last year?”

  “Sort of,” she answered.

  Jack smiled. “How does someone sort of blow up a lab?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Cordie looked at Regan and tilted her head toward Sophie, a hint that it was her turn to keep the conversation away from Bobby Rose.

  “I’m never going to forget that noise,” Regan blurted.

  “What noise?” Sophie asked. She remembered she hadn’t taken her antibiotic and was now tackling the childproof bottle.

  “Over the phone, I heard a booming sound and glass shattering and then a crash.”

  Sophie didn’t have the patience for the bottle, and without thinking what she was doing, she tossed the bottle to Jack. He’d opened one bottle; he could open another.

  “I thought you were dead, Sophie,” Regan said and immediately became teary-eyed. “I really did. I called nine-one-one on one house phone and called Alec on another. But I kept the cell phone line open, hoping you’d answer me. Did you hear me shouting to you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “How’d you manage three phones at once?” Cordie asked.

  “I don’t know how I did it, but I did. Alec and Jack were in a meeting, and usually the secretary won’t interrupt, but I didn’t have to do much explaining. I think I freaked her out, shouting about you getting shot.”

  Alec reached for Regan and pulled her into his lap. “We made it to the hospital before you did, Sophie,” he said.

  Regan dabbed her eyes. “I’m going to go home and have a good cry.”

  Alec patted her arm. “Why don’t you go ahead and cry now? You’ll never make it all the way back to the hotel dry-eyed.”

  Sophie laughed. Regan could cry at the drop of a hat. It was really kind of impressive. When the three of them were in elementary school, Cordie and Sophie would see who could make Regan cry first. Sophie always told a sad story she’d made up, and Cordie always sang a sad song. Now that she thought about it, what they did wasn’t very nice. Fun, but still not nice. This was an odd time for these memories to surface. Maybe the pain pills had something to do with it.

  “I’m sorry I made you cry when we were little,” Sophie said, suddenly feeling guilty.

  “When did you make her cry?” Alec asked.

  “All the time,” Cordie admitted.

  “Until I caught on.” Regan shrugged. She went into the foyer to get her sweater and purse. She turned around to Cordie and said, “I’ll drive you home if you’re ready to leave.”

  “If Sophie doesn’t need me …”

  “Please go,” Sophie said. “I’m begging you, and take these two with you.”

  It took five more minutes before her friends made it to the door. Regan turned back one last time and asked, “I was wondering. Who was on the cell phone when you got shot? Whoever it was must have been freaked out, too.”

  “Oh, yeah, about that … we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Alec and Jack hadn’t picked up on her evasive answer. They seemed rooted to their chairs.

  Once Regan and Cordie were gone, she turned to the men. “You should go home, too,” she suggested.

  “We’re going to wait until Gil gets here,” Alec said.

  “Both of you have to wait with me?”

  “I’m Jack’s ride home, so yeah, we both have to wait.”

  “Who was on the cell phone?” Jack asked. Now he was curious.

  “I already explained it all to Detective Steinbeck.”

  “Explained what? Who was it?” Alec asked.

  Up to now, she had avoided telling them, but she guessed this moment was inevitable. There was no getting out of it.

  “The man who shot me.”

  JOURNAL ENTRY 290

  ARCTIC CAMP

  Something dreadful has befallen the pack. Allie, one of the females, died yesterday. We noticed she had been unusually quiet the last couple of days, but we didn’t pay close attention.

  Eric took me aside to assure me he had nothing to do with Allie’s death. I believe him, but I’ll be relieved when I find no unusual hormone in Allie’s blood.

  Two more wolves are showing symptoms. We’re guessing the cause is a virus, but we’ve been unable to identify it. We all feel so helpless and pray the others remain healthy.

  BUT YOU WOULD HAVE LOOKED,” SOPHIE PROTESTED.

  B “Are you nuts?” said Alec. “No, I would not have looked. Would you have looked out that window, Jack?”

  “Of course not.”

; Sophie glanced from one to the other. “Oh, come on. If someone called you, and that someone’s voice sounded familiar, and he told you that he didn’t want to ruin the surprise …”

  The two men appeared so incredulous that she stopped trying to justify her actions.

  “You’re pretty much reacting the same way Detective Steinbeck reacted,” she said.

  “Did you ask him if he would have looked out the window?” Jack wanted to know.

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “And?” Jack prodded when she didn’t continue.

  “And he said he wouldn’t have looked,” she admitted reluctantly. “He’s a homicide detective. What else could he say?”

  “Don’t you remember why your boss wanted you to work from home?” Alec asked. “Did you forget about the threats?”

  “No, I didn’t forget,” she said quietly. “I just didn’t take them seriously.”

  “Why not?”

  “I get threats all the time—at least every time my father is in the news being unfairly accused of some crime or other. He’s never been convicted, I might add.”

  “In the past, what kind of threats have you gotten?” Jack asked.

  She gave a nonchalant shrug. “The usual stuff. You know: ‘I hate you,’ ‘I’m gonna make you sorry,’ ‘I’m gonna rip your head off … blah, blah, blah …’ ”

  “I’ve told her to report these the minute they happen,” Alec told Jack.

  “Tell the police?” Sophie scoffed. “And have them hovering around me even more than they already do? For what? The threats always stop within a week or two. Alec, I am not going to live my life in fear.”

  “What else did the shooter say to you before you looked out the window?” Jack asked.

  “ ‘Be a sport.’ I asked him to tell me his name, and he said, ‘Be a sport.’ He also said he didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

  “So you looked,” Jack said, shaking his head.

  “Obviously.”

  “Hmm … Yeah, I guess getting shot might be considered a surprise, ” Jack said.

  “It’s not helpful to be sarcastic.”

  Jack, sitting in the other chair across from her, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “So if I ask you to be a sport, you’ll pretty much do whatever I want you to do?”

  Sophie didn’t appreciate his attitude. If it involves shooting you, I probably would, she thought.

  Alec wanted her to continue. “You said the voice sounded familiar.”

  “Sort of familiar,” she replied. “He was very cheerful, and he reminded me of a salesman. At the time I thought his voice sounded like I’d heard it before, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “The next time you get a threat, you call me immediately. Understand?” Alec said, his tone hard.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  Wrong thing to say, she realized, especially since she had just been released from the hospital and was nursing a gunshot wound. Alec looked as though he wanted to shake some sense into her. Jack’s expression was even worse.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “How am I looking at you?” Jack asked.

  “Like you think I’m an idiot.”

  “Then I nailed it. Good.”

  What did they want from her? The truth? Not going to get that, she decided. Of course she was scared, and so tired, tired of pre tending that none of the threats bothered her. They were both waiting for some contrition. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I wasn’t being cautious.”

  Jack nodded agreement and turned to Alec. While he recited a litany of all the horrible things that could happen to her if she were not more careful, she sat in silence and observed. He really was a jerk, she thought. Too bad he was so damned sexy. She couldn’t believe she was actually attracted to him. But why not? He was one fine specimen of masculinity—tall, broad-shouldered, muscular. He had thick, dark hair, a chiseled face, and piercing eyes, and his bad boy smile made her stomach shiver when he looked at her a certain way.

  She knew he was attracted to her, too. The way he watched her was awfully personal for an FBI agent. He looked at her the way a man looks at a woman he’s interested in. She also knew he didn’t want to want her. Considering that he thought she was an imbecile with a smart mouth, and considering who she was related to, who could blame him?

  She studied Jack MacAlister closely as his conversation with Alec proceeded without her. Did he know she was attracted to him? She hoped not. Oh, God. FBI. What was wrong with her? What had happened to her standards?

  She could go to bed with him, she supposed. It would just be sex, a lot of wild, amazing, passionate sex. No love involved, though. She couldn’t allow herself to fall in love. She had to protect her heart. She wasn’t like other women. She could never get married and have children … not with her family history.

  Animalistic, crazed sex … no strings … nothing wrong with that, was there?

  Hello…. FBI. Stop it, Sophie, she scolded. She had to be crazy thinking such thoughts. FBI. Why couldn’t she seem to remember that when she looked at him?

  She needed to occupy her mind with something else so she wouldn’t have time to think about her warped choices of men. It was like dieting. Whenever she was on a diet, she had to keep busy so she wouldn’t think about the quart of Häagen-Dazs chocolate chunk ice cream in the bottom of her freezer. Granted, she usually caved and ate the ice cream anyway, but she was determined not to cave with Jack. That was one craving she could resist.

  William Harrington. With all the turmoil of the last twenty-four hours, she’d practically forgotten about him. Now there was a mystery she could concentrate on. What had happened to him? And why had he gone to Prudhoe Bay? Did he go there after leaving the race? Why, then, had she been told he’d gone to Europe? Something was wrong here, but what?

  Sophie wasn’t sure how to proceed. She thought about running her thoughts past Alec. She could tell him how she had met Harrington and explain the bizarre circumstances surrounding his death, but what could Alec suggest? That it was an accidental death? A horrible way to die, but still accidental?

  She needed to talk to Mr. Bitterman. He was an expert on checking sources, and he would certainly know how she should investigate this. After all, he’d played in the big leagues, working at one of the most prestigious newspapers in the world for over twenty years. She should call him.

  Alec and Jack had ended their discussion of her, and Alec was texting on his iPhone.

  “Alec, do you think someone could be listening in on my phone conversations?” she asked.

  He didn’t look up as he answered, “Gil checked. He’s positive no one is tapping the line. Why do you ask?”

  “I was curious, that’s all. Agent MacAlister, do you have someplace you need to be? You keep checking your watch.”

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Jack? And no, I don’t have any plans that can’t be changed. I’ll just make a quick call.”

  “Alec, for goodness’s sake, drive Jack to his car. Let him keep his date. It’s rude for him to cancel so late in the day.” She couldn’t leave it at that. “Besides, I’ve heard that some of the high-priced escort services charge for last-minute cancellations.”

  Jack flashed a smile and said, “Can’t leave until Gil gets here.”

  The doorbell rang just then. Jack burst into laughter. “I swear I didn’t plan that.”

  Gil was two hours early. He rushed inside carrying three large pizza boxes with two six-packs of bottled Kelly’s Root Beer balanced precariously on top.

  “Out of my way, Alec. We’ve got to eat these pizzas while they’re nice and hot, and drink these sodas while they’re nice and cold. Hey, Sophie, darling, how are you doing? Feel like eating a slice or two?”

  “Maybe later. Where’d you get the Kelly’s?”

  “Black market,” he answered with a grin.

  “You went to a lot of trouble bringing hot food in,” she said. She was about t

o add that it was a shame Jack and Alec had already eaten and Regan and Cordie had already left, but Jack followed Gil to the table while Alec went into the kitchen to get some napkins.

  “What kind did you get?” Alec asked.

  “What do you mean, what kind? The works, of course. If it’s edible, it’s on there.”

  Sophie crossed the room and nudged Jack out of the way to examine the huge pizza Gil had just opened. “You’re really going to eat again?” she asked, looking up at Jack.

  Jack glanced down and suddenly felt tongue-tied. Damn, she was pretty. Face scrubbed, not an ounce of makeup, and she still looked gorgeous. Seductive as hell, too. Another time, another place, he’d make a move.

  “What?” he said, trying to remember what she’d asked him.

  “I asked you if you were going to eat again.”

  “Yeah, of course I’m gonna eat. It’s pizza. We’ve gotta eat while it’s hot.”

  “That’s a no-brainer, Sophie,” Alec said.

  It’s more like gluttony, she thought. She left them to their Roman feast, which seemed to be close to an orgasmic event, and went into the kitchen to make a cup of hot tea. She spotted the package of triple A batteries on the counter and was reminded of the digital recorder she’d used to interview Harrington. Tonight, no matter what, she was going to listen to every single word Harrington had said. It was a fitting penance for calling him a narcissist. He was a narcissist, but she felt bad saying so.

  This time she would pay attention. He might have said something relevant about Prudhoe Bay while she had zoned out, and maybe that something would explain the where, when, and why. The poor man was dead, and so she made a promise to herself not to complain while she listened to him drone on and on and on about each of his twenty-four races. And, oh yes, also the saga of his blisters. She would not fast forward through any of it no matter how strong the urge. She sighed. That poor dead man. That poor, god awful boring, dead man.

  She sipped her tea and went into the bedroom to get the digital recorder. She thought she’d left it on her desk, but it wasn’t there. As she was checking the drawers, she remembered she’d put it in her purse just before Regan called. Uh-oh. It was all coming back to her now. She remembered holding the purse, the call interrupt, and now the infamous “Be a sport” spoken to her in such a cheerful voice.