Chapter Twenty-three

Regan was a little surprised he didn’t put handcuffs on her and read her her rights. Actually, Detective Buchanan took the news well, considering that she surely now was his number one suspect.

He was quite good at hiding his reactions. Had she not been looking into his eyes, she wouldn’t have noticed his attitude had hardened toward her.

She was too shaken to care what the detective thought about her. She was scared and worried and didn’t like feeling that way at all. She checked the time, calculated that Henry would be back at his desk in about fifteen minutes, and left him a note explaining where she was going. She also instructed him to call Sam Baldwin, the in-house attorney who, with an overworked staff of three other full-time attorneys, handled all the legal problems involving the Hamilton Hotels and/or any of the Madisons. Spencer jokingly referred to the attorneys as Walker’s personal team, since he was the family member who most often needed their expertise. Sam would be shocked to hear it was Regan who now needed him.

She rode in the detective’s car to the police station, and on the way she tried to explain all about the spontaneous exercise Dr. Shields had had the registrants do during the reception.

He was weaving in and out of traffic, narrowly missing one car after another. The man drove like a maniac, and she felt it was her duty as a concerned citizen to tell him so.

“Are you kidding me?” he said. “You’re Walker Madison’s sister, aren’t you? If anyone drives like a maniac, it’s your brother.” He paused to think about what she had been telling him and then asked, “What did you mean when you said the bodyguard was still watching you? Had something happened earlier that got his attention?”

“No,” she answered. “But from the minute I walked into the room, he locked in on me. It was really strange. I hadn’t done anything to draw his attention, but he wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

Alec didn’t think it was strange at all. Rude, maybe, but not strange. Hell, he himself was having trouble not staring. The bodyguard was a man, and Regan Madison was a very beautiful woman.

“I can prove all of this happened,” she said.

He glanced at her. “Prove what?”

“That I’m not making this up… the exercise, I mean. Sophie taped it. She had a recorder in her purse, and she sat close to Shields. You can listen to it.”

“Yes, I will.”

“And just so you understand, I didn’t have any intention of doing the exercise, but then Shields said that, when time was up, we all had to hold up our lists, and he was going to walk around the room to see if we’d all written names. I decided then I’d let him know what I thought of him. He posed the question, after all, and he told us that if the world would be a better place without certain people in it, then put their names down.”

“His name was on your list?”

“Yes.”

“How many names did you write on your notepad?”

“Six… no, five.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, there were five names.” She prayed to god she was right.

“Okay, so Shields was one, and the Patsy woman, and Detective Sweeney,” he said. “Who are the other two?”

“The bodyguards.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not normally so bloodthirsty.”

He flashed a grin. “I didn’t think you were.”

“The reception seems such a long time ago. I had surgery shortly after that and the days all blended together. As far as the list goes…”

“Yes?”

“I thought I was going to tear it up and throw it in the fire like all the other people were doing, but I had to step into the hall to take a phone call, and when I went back inside, Sheilds had moved on to what Cordie called his inspirational, aren’t-I-wonderful segment.”

“What was that like?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t listen. I went to get the car. That’s when the man came after me, and I fell. I dropped everything. I didn’t realize I’d left my phone and the folder there.”

“So, tell me exactly what was in the folder.”

She looked off into space trying to remember. The image of the blue folder filled with the glossy pages vaguely emerged. “There was the notebook I wrote the list on… and there were testimonials about Shields… and photos… I took one of them and began a reminder list… notes, work stuff… things I needed to get done… just stuff.”

“You’re going to have to remember what all the ‘stuff’ was and, when we get to the station, you can write it down for Detective Wincott.”

“Why?”

“Those notes were left in the folder. He’s going to want to know about them.”

Regan didn’t know if she could remember what she’d written. She thought about it and didn’t say another word the rest of the way to the station.

Alec parked the car in the adjacent parking lot, opened her door for her, and took hold of her arm when they crossed the street.

“It’s going to be a long afternoon,” he said. “Everything you’ve gone over with me, you’ll have to go over with Wincott.” Again and again and again, he silently added. Wincott was big on repetition.

“And what will you be doing?”

“I’ve got some calls to return and some paperwork to finish up. Wincott will let me know when you’re finished.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“I think maybe you do.”

“Then I’ll hire-”

He interrupted. “Look, you’re stuck with me no matter how many others you hire. The choice isn’t yours.”

She decided that arguing with him would be pointless. She must have looked forlorn, though, because he said, “Cheer up. It could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could have written ten names on that list, or twenty, or thirty…”

They started up the flight of stairs. “How many names did your friend Cordie write?”

“Seven,” she said.

They reached the landing, and he led her down a narrow hallway. “There you go,” he said. “Your friend’s more bloodthirsty than you are. That ought to make you feel better.”

“Not really. She wrote the names of the Seven Dwarfs.”

He laughed. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head.

“What’s she got against the Seven Dwarfs?” he asked.

She gave him a weak smile. “Nothing.”

“It’s impressive,” he added. He opened the door and stepped back so that she could go inside first.

“What’s impressive?” she asked as she walked past him. “That Sophie and Cordie were smart enough not to write names of real people?”

“No, it’s impressive Cordie could name all Seven Dwarfs. I can only get to four. Let’s see. There’s Doc and Sleepy and Dopey and Slurpy-”

She interrupted. “Slurpy isn’t one of the Seven Dwarfs. It’s a beverage.”

“Huh. What about Loopy?”

“Sorry, no,” she said. And then she laughed. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Why?”

“Because you look like you’re on your way to a firing squad.

And we stopped doing that over a month ago. And like I said, it’s going to be a long afternoon for you.”

The police station seemed to be a maze of corridors. Alec reached around her to open yet another door. She was going to need bread crumbs to find her way out of here.

“Where are we going now?”

“The coffee room. I told Wincott we’d wait there for him to get back.”

“What about the sketch artist?”

“He’s next.”

He pulled a chair out for her and got a whiff of her perfume. Damn, she smelled good.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“Water, please.”

Regan looked around with interest. The coffee room was nothing like the ones she had seen on television with peeling paint and dirty barred windows. This one was spacious and clean and had obviously just been remodeled. The faint smell of paint still lingered in the air. The walls were bright-almost too bright-and the color was a rather putrid shade of turquoise. There were two square tables with chairs that looked new.