Ten

Sarah awoke to the gurgle of fish tanks and the spiked end of a spider plant tickling her nose. She’d acquiesced to another night on the futon in Juliet’s front room and slept better, but not much better, than she had the night before. When Juliet suggested they get breakfast somewhere, Sarah jumped at the chance.

They walked to a diner and tucked themselves into a small booth with cracked red vinyl seats. Sarah ordered a cheese omelette and iced tea. She didn’t feel as trapped, as hemmed in and claustrophobic, as she had yesterday and realized it had been her own fears at work, not anything her brother’s colleagues had done to her.

At least she’d had the good sense not to mention the man at the park to Juliet or especially to Nate Winter. Thinking she’d recognized him from Amsterdam seemed even more ridiculous this morning. It was simply her nerves playing on her, ratcheting up the stakes and the tension. Her Dunnemore genes kicking in.

The omelette was hot and perfectly cooked, and Sarah ate every bite, determined not to let low blood sugar affect her thinking-she’d had a shock. Even if Rob’s situation was far worse than her own, she had to give herself time to adjust to what had happened.

Juliet had a bagel and three cups of black coffee.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asked Sarah.

Sarah nodded. “The aquariums and the street traffic are like white noise after a while, aren’t they? I haven’t lived in a city in so long.” She drank more of her tea. “Where are you from originally?”

“The boonies of Vermont.” But Juliet was obviously uncomfortable talking about herself and picked up the bill, heading for the cash register. “Come on. We’ll take a cab to the hospital. I’ll figure out a way to bypass the media if they look like they’re going to pounce.”

They’d watched the news last night and heard Wes Poe’s statement about his friendship with the Dunnemores. It was no secret-it’d been covered in his campaign. Just no one had thought the deputy shot in Central Park was a member of that Dunnemore family.

Wes hadn’t called, but Sarah told herself that she couldn’t expect him to.

When they arrived at the hospital, over a dozen reporters had gathered at the ambulance entrance not far from the main door. Video cameras were rolling, photographers snapping pictures, reporters asking questions. Sarah got out of the cab, then noticed Nate Winter in the middle of the throng.

“Ouch,” Juliet said, coming up next to her. “He doesn’t look very happy, does he? Hell. They’ve got him surrounded. He should pull a faint or something and get out of there.”

A young female reporter thrust a microphone in his face.

“Deputy Winter, Hector Sanchez was a known informant. Did you or Deputy Dunnemore tell him that you would be at the news conference?”

Then more questions, coming all at once.

“Do you believe he was the shooter?”

“Sources say he died of a drug overdose-do you think he was celebrating the Central Park attack?”

“Can you confirm that the rifle allegedly used in the shooting was found at his side?”

“What about the president? Has he talked to Rob Dunnemore?”

Nate held up a hand. “Sorry. No comment. If you’ll excuse me.”

That was it. He was done.

Juliet huddled close to Sarah and maneuvered her toward the main entrance. “Let’s get you out of here before they recognize you.”

“What about Nate?”

“He can take care of himself.”

Once past security and into the hospital lobby, Sarah shuddered as if she’d shaken off a swarm of bees. She turned to Juliet. “What was that all about? Does the FBI have the sniper? It sounds as if he’s dead-”

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Who’s Hector Sanchez? Did you realize he was a suspect?” She took a breath, but Juliet didn’t respond, simply banged the up button for the elevator. Sarah felt a stab of dread. “It sounds as if the media think someone screwed up-”

“It’s the FBI’s investigation,” Juliet said tightly. “Let’s go-”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m fine on my own today. Really. Tell your bosses I appreciate the moral support.”

“Sarah-”

“I’m used to being on my own, and I’m not in any danger.”

Juliet sighed. “I’ll see you upstairs in ten minutes.”

She headed back through the lobby toward the main entrance and the reporters, presumably, Sarah thought, to find out what was going on.

The elevators churned and groaned inside the empty shafts. She didn’t feel nearly as raw and exhausted as yesterday. She’d showered, put on fresh clothes-black pants, a blue silk sweater, shoes that could handle New York walking. Her quick, early-morning call to Rob’s nurse had left her feeling optimistic. He’d had a good night and was more alert today. They’d be getting him up and moving.

A trio of medical students floated toward the elevators in an intense discussion.

Nate Winter walked past them at a fast, deliberate pace.

There was no sign of Juliet behind him.

Where was he off to?

The elevator dinged. Sarah watched its doors open, then bolted down the corridor, going after Nate at a half run.

He had a decent head start on her-she almost missed him retreating through a side door. It was an “exit only,” not an entrance, and she went through it without hesitation.

When she reached the street, Nate was climbing into the driver’s side of a black sedan parked about fifty yards up from the ambulance entrance and the throng of reporters.

With an outward calm, Sarah stepped off the curb and stuck her hand up in the air, flagging a cab before she had seriously considered her options. She opened the rear door and climbed in. “Can you follow that black car just in front of us? He left his wallet.”

“I can flash my lights-”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll just give it to him wherever he stops.”

She knew what she was doing was wrong. Impulsive, insane. Even dumb. She was following a deputy U.S. marshal who’d just been shot and undoubtedly was in no mood to find her on his tail. Nate didn’t seem to have a lot of patience on a good day. And, given the journalistic onslaught he’d just faced and the possibility that a USMS informant was the shooter, this couldn’t be starting off as a good day.

Not that he’d looked upset or irritated. He’d looked focused, as if he were on a mission.

Possibly doing something he shouldn’t be doing?

She’d sensed his bridled energy last night. As exhausted as he was, he was a man of action. He didn’t take to being on the sidelines.

Wounded, still experiencing the shock of what had happened to him, he could easily go off half-cocked.

Maybe today was his day to fall apart, to feel trapped and hemmed in by events, and if she could keep him from doing something he’d later regret, why not?

It was her version of catching him before he fell flat on his face.

Payback for saving her brother’s life.

She stared out the window, her cab speeding north. She knew she was rationalizing her behavior.

But she didn’t tell her driver to turn around, and tailing Nate proved easier than she expected.

They ended up in a run-down section of the city on a mixed bag of a street, some buildings neat and clean, even boasting window boxes, others complete wrecks with nasty graffiti, broken windows, people loitering on the steps. Fortunately, Nate’s car stopped in front of one of the neat, clean buildings.

He mounted the front steps at a trot and disappeared inside. No one had buzzed him in, and he hadn’t used a key-which meant there was no lock on the main door.

Sarah paid her cab driver. “I’ll only be a minute. Can you wait for me?”

He didn’t answer, but the moment she shut her door, he was hurling up the street, leaving her on the curb.

Okay, so she’d have to find another cab back.

Or ask Nate for a ride.