Share No Secrets (12 page)

“What is your name?”

“My name?” Dismay flared in the girl’s vulnerable eyes as if she thought she were going to be reported. “Ah, Miss Leary.”

“Well, Miss Leary, if someone sits by my bedside all night, will I be safe from slipping into an irreversible coma?”

“A nurse’s presence always helps,” Miss Leary said mechanically, clearly missing Adrienne’s sarcasm. “You’re just getting yourself all upset, Mrs. Reynolds.” Miss Leary stood helplessly in front of Adrienne, who had begun to untie the strings on the back of her hospital gown. Frustrated and unreasonably angry with everyone on the hospital staff, Adrienne was at the point of ripping off the worn, flimsy garment. The emergency room was freezing. She wanted her clothes. “If you’re cold, Mrs. Reynolds, let me put a blanket across your shoulders to warm you,” Miss Leary pleaded. “Please don’t tear up the gown. The doctor will be here in a couple of minutes, and in the meantime, you can talk to Mr. Reynolds. He’s right outside and he’s been awfully worried about you.”

“My husband is dead,” Adrienne stated baldly.

The girl blushed crimson at her faux pas, her gaze skittering back to the medical chart. Adrienne looked at her closer, unwillingly feeling a twinge of sympathy. The poor girl couldn’t be past twenty-one and was clearly inexperienced with pain-in-the-ass patients.

“I’m sorry, Miss Leary,” Adrienne said in a milder tone. “I’m tired and worried and my head hurts like hell.”

“It’s just that there’s this man in the hall. He brought you in and he seems very worried about you. I assumed he was your husband.”

Drew, Adrienne thought. “The man in the hall was once a Mend of mine. He found me after I’d been attacked on the street His name is Drew Delaney. He’s the editor of the newspaper.”

“You don’t say?” Miss Leary breathed in awe.

“That’s right And if you’ll throw that threadbare excuse for a blanket over me, he can come in until the doctor arrives.”

Miss Leary looked as if she were going to burst into tears of relief The harridan on the examining table was obviously losing steam, and no one was going to write her up for not being able to keep her patient under control. “Of course you can have a blanket, Mrs. Reynolds. Why, even your hair is wet You must be freezing.” She whipped a blanket out of nowhere and, with hands moving so fast they seemed a blur, began spinning the cloth around Adrienne.

“You know, the rain stopped for a while, then it started up again about twenty minutes ago,” she said in her professional “calming” voice as she wielded the blanket “Just hearing rain, even in the summer, makes me feel cold, especially in the ER. I always wear a sweater myself.”

“The one you have on is a lovely shade of blue,” Adrienne said, trying to make up for her earlier sharpness.

“Oh, thank you. My mother knitted it for me.” For a finishing touch, Miss Leary tucked the blanket under Adrienne’s chin as if she were an enfeebled old lady. Adrienne cocked her head, the only part of her body she could still move, listening to a demand over the loudspeaker for Drs. Gorman and Price, STAT. Miss Leary looked troubled. “I heard out at the desk the EMS is bringing in a terribly burned man. I just
hate
burn cases.”

“I’ve always thought death by fire would be a horrible way to go,” Adrienne said. “Any idea who it is?”

“No. And I hope I don’t have to help with this particular case. I’m always afraid I’ll faint if the person looks too gruesome.” She gave Adrienne a shaky smile. “I have to get over my squeamishness or I’ll never be a good nurse, and I want to be the best.” She stood back and looked at Adrienne. “There. You should be all nice and warm. I’ll go get Mr. Reynolds. I mean, Delano. Whatever. He’s very handsome. Oh, don’t tell him I said that. It was inappropriate.” Miss Leary blushed again and fled the emergency room.

In a moment, Drew sauntered in, took a long look at her, and said, “Greetings, Nanook of the North. Planning on going ice fishing?”

Adrienne unsuccessfully tried to loosen the blanket. “I made the mistake of saying I was cold, and that sweet nurse put me in this straitjacket.”

“Want me to help you out of it?”

Adrienne thought of her thin gown hanging open in the back. “Never mind. At least I’m warmer than I was before.”

“No wonder. You’re in a cocoon.” He frowned. “How on earth did she manage that arrangement, anyway?”

“I have no idea, but she meant well, Drew. And she thinks you’re handsome, which I wasn’t supposed to tell you. I
will
tell you to leave her alone. She looks like she’s about Skye’s age.”

Drew grinned. “Contrary to popular belief, I do not chase every woman I see. But even after all these years and with your dripping hair, scraped forehead, bad temper, lack of gratitude, and abysmal fashion sense, I find you appealing. I’ve only made myself stay away from you since I came back to town because you’re seeing the formidable Sheriff Flynn.”

The same old Drew, Adrienne thought. Always joking to hide more serious feelings. She felt a jolt of surprise. He
was
feeling something more than ordinary concern about her. He smiled, but in his dark brown eyes she saw deep worry. “I’m okay, Drew. Really. I just want to get out of here and be with my daughter.”

“Your daughter is fine.”

“Is she with Vicky yet?”

“No. Philip and Vicky are at a party and Rachel is out with the great white hope of the Allard family—”

“Bruce.”

“Yes, Bruce, one of my intrepid reporters. Anyway, everyone will be home within a couple of hours. In the meantime, Margaret will pick up you and Skye.”

“Margaret?”

“Margaret Taylor, the pitt bull Philip calls a campaign manager. I don’t think Vicky has been
informed
of your attack. We couldn’t have it spoiling any of Philip’s political socializing.”

“I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Well, the pitt bull is here to rescue you,” a female voice said pleasantly. Adrienne and Drew looked at the woman standing in the door of the emergency room. Her black hair was as always pulled into a glossy French twist, her makeup subtle and flattering to her olive complexion, her almond-shaped eyes as clear as a teenager’s. She wore a sage-green linen pantsuit, perfectly tailored and without one wrinkle. “I was shocked to hear about what happened to you,” she said. “Are you all right, Mrs. Reynolds?”

Adrienne was deeply embarrassed that the woman had heard Drew call her a pitt bull, but Drew looked unfazed. “Yes, I’m just banged up a bit. I look a sight. And please call me Adrienne.”

Drew smirked, recognizing Adrienne’s friendly tone as a palliative for guilt. He probably knew how much Vicky resented Margaret, and that naturally her resentment would affect Adrienne’s feelings. “I spoke with your doctor in the hall,” Margaret went on affably. “He said you’re determined to go home, and although he’d rather you stay, he can’t force you. I’ll help you dress, then drive you home. Or rather, to your sister’s house. The doctor says you shouldn’t be alone tonight.” She turned to Drew and said coolly, “May we have a bit of privacy, Mr. Delaney?”

Drew smiled. “Adrienne, I’ll leave you in capable hands.”

“Thank you so much for everything,” she said sincerely. “If you hadn’t come along when you did—”

“But I did, so don’t dwell on dark thoughts. Say hello to Skye for me.” He turned to Margaret, his smile turning mechanical. “Ms. Taylor.”

“Mr. Delaney.” Her own smile was stiff, her dark eyes cold. “Although since I have you here, I must say I thought your editorial on Philip in last night’s paper was rather unfair, don’t you?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have printed it. But now isn’t the time for a debate. Please take Mrs. Reynolds home and make her comfortable. She’s had a hard evening.”

As Drew left, Adrienne had a wild desire to call out, “Come back!” For some reason, she didn’t want to be left alone with Margaret. The woman intimidated her, which Adrienne knew was ridiculous. They were both college educated, successful—at least Adrienne believed she was on the road to success—but there was something about Margaret that made Adrienne feel unpolished and bumbling. No more than five feet two, Margaret gave the impression of being much taller with her perfect posture, ever-present high heels, and hair always pulled back in a gleaming black twist, which gave her a look of dignity and maturity although she was only thirty-two. Then there was her body language, graceful yet assertive, and a quick, stunning smile that won over people even if it never seemed to reach her eyes. Her slightly sharp nose and thin lips kept her from being a natural beauty like Julianna or Rachel, but she was certainly striking and emanated a cool, controlled sex appeal.

She drew near Adrienne, a tiny worry line daring to mar her forehead. “Earlier Mr. Delaney filled me in on your attack, so please don’t feel you have to explain it to me. For now I think trying to keep your mind off what happened would be best for you.” She smiled. “I’ll leave you alone so you can get dressed. Unless you need some help, that is.”

Adrienne looked at Margaret’s immaculate, expensive pantsuit and thought of her own old jeans, T-shirt, and worn denim jacket soaked with rain. “I can manage but thanks anyway.”

“Fine,” Margaret said in a way that made Adrienne feel she knew exactly why her help had been declined. “I’ll get you out of here in a jiffy and then we’ll pick up Skye. I’m sure seeing her will make you feel better.”

“About a hundred percent better.” Adrienne slid off the examining table. “I’m so glad she wasn’t with me.”

“The attack wouldn’t have happened if she had been.”

Adrienne looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“The attacker wouldn’t have been eager to take on two women instead of one. And Skye seems like a strong, quickwitted girl to me. She would have fought.”

And I do not seem strong, quick-witted, or able to fight, Adrienne flared mentally, but managed an imitation of a smile. ‘Of course, you’re right Two against one.” But she couldn’t resist adding, “But I can hold my own in a fight.”

“Yes, I believe Philip has said you were always something of a scrapper.” Margaret gave her a disparaging look as if she thought Adrienne had probably indulged in plenty of scraps, no doubt in back alleys and seedy bars. Adrienne couldn’t win with this woman. Margaret was too adept at crushing a person’s image with a look and a few masterfully chosen words. She probably did the same thing to Vicky, Adrienne thought.

“We couldn’t locate Sheriff Flynn, so there’s a deputy here waiting to take a statement from you,” Margaret went on. “I’ll give you about ten minutes to get dressed before I send him in. Don’t put on your jacket—it’s soaking wet. You’ll catch cold. I have a dry raincoat in the back of my car you can use. And I certainly wish I’d thought to bring a blow-dryer for your hair. It’s hanging in soggy ringlets all over your shoulders.”

With that Margaret swished out of the door, marching smartly down the corridor to efficiently accomplish “springing” her from this prison, while Adrienne stood in the cold room with her cut forehead and soggy ringlets. She yanked the flimsy gown over her head and slipped into her damp jeans that had gotten filthy at the knees when she fell. She no longer felt like an attack victim deserving sympathy, but instead like a slovenly, tiresome creature purposely messing up everyone’s evening. Honestly, she thought in annoyance, even when Margaret Taylor was being helpful, she still managed to be an absolute menace to one’s self-esteem.

Before he left the hospital, Drew Delaney stopped at a vending machine. A can of Coke slammed out in return for his quarters and he opened it, drinking deeply as he realized how thirsty he was. It had been a long evening and he was tired. He leaned against the side of the machine, realizing his lower back had begun to hurt after all the hours he’d spent on his feet today. You’re getting old, Delaney, he thought, although he’d never admit it to anyone except himself.

“I heard downtown that Adrienne Reynolds had been assaulted on the street. How is she?” he heard a man ask. The guy couldn’t have been more than two feet away from Drew, who was hidden beside the vending machine, but the man’s voice sounded familiar.

“Roughed up a bit,” a woman answered. Margaret Taylor, Drew realized immediately. He’d know that clipped tone anywhere. “It could have been worse if Drew Delaney hadn’t shown up to play the hero.”

“You sound disappointed that it
wasn’t
worse.” Who the hell was that? Drew wondered. Deep, self-consciously polished voice. So familiar. “Did you want her to be killed?”

“Of course not. I’m not a monster, Gavin.”

Gavin Kirkwood! Drew hadn’t realized Gavin and Margaret had more than a polite acquaintance formed at the Hamilton parties, but they were sounding confidential with each other now. He shrank against the wall, hoping neither came nearer the vending machine and saw him.

“Does Kit know what’s happened to Adrienne?” Margaret asked.

“No. She’d be here in a minute if she did. I didn’t stop by The Iron Gate and tell her. I didn’t want to upset her.”

“Do you really care if she’s upset or not?”

“Yes. You probably don’t believe it, but I do.”

“You’re right. I
don’t
believe it.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Gavin said.

Margaret laughed softly. “Why, Gavin, you
should
care what I think. Don’t forget—you have a lot to lose.”

After a pause, he almost hissed, “You’re a monster.”

“Sticks and stones, darling.”

“Listen, Margaret, I’m not going to let you push me around anymore.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Our arrangement is
off.”

A beat of silence followed before Margaret said in a soft but somehow dangerous voice, “Our
arrangement,
as you so delicately put it, is off only when I say it’s off.”

“Or what?”

“Or I go to your rich wife and I tell her everything. Is that what you want, Gavin? Because you know I don’t make empty threats. You also know you’re nothing without Ellen to give you the kind of life you could never in a million years make for yourself!”

Drew waited for an angry response from Gavin, but nothing followed. He could almost picture the handsome but characterless Gavin Kirkwood standing in the hall with his mouth slightly open, searching madly in his mind for a scathing reply and coming up dry.