Eleventh Hour

Carla said, arms crossed over her chest, eyes suspicious, “You don’t know anything about it, do you, so your opinion doesn’t count. Now, tell me why two Federal agents are here to see Captain DeLoach.”

“Sorry,” Nick said, “it’s on a need-to-know basis and you’re not in the loop.”

Nurse Carla harrumphed and laid the palm of her hand on Captain DeLoach’s forehead, nodded, pulled a small notebook out of her pocket, and scribbled something down. She didn’t say anything else.

Nick wished Dane would come back. She knew he was looking to see if there was any sign of an intruder, any sign that Weldon DeLoach had been there.

Ten minutes later, they were in Mr. Latterley’s office with its long glass windows looking onto Bear Lake. He’d just returned, and was still breathing hard.

“Have you seen Weldon DeLoach recently, Mr. Latterley?”

“No. I understand he visited a week or so ago, but I didn’t personally see him. He’s very dependable, as I’m sure everyone’s told you. Once every couple of weeks, he’s here to see his father, make sure he’s got everything he needs. Sometimes Weldon comes more often.”

Dane sat forward. “Have you seen anyone, any stranger, around lately? Today, to be specific?”

Mr. Latterley shook his head. “Well, I was in town for a couple of hours, so you’ll have to ask the staff. But I’ll tell you, Agent Carver, there’s no reason for someone to come here. Oh, we get an occasional hiker in the summer or a tourist who takes a wrong turn, but today? Not that I know of.”

Nick said, “The glass doors in Captain DeLoach’s room weren’t locked, Mr. Latterley. Someone could have simply opened them and walked in.”

“Well, yes, they could, but why? You don’t think that someone actually came in and struck Captain DeLoach, do you? He’s a very old man, agents. Why would anyone seek to hurt him?”

“I asked him who hit him and he told me it was his son.”

Mr. Latterley blinked. “You must have misunderstood him,” he said. “Or the old man was just weaving in and out and that was what came out of his mouth. No, not Weldon. That’s ridiculous.”

He was shaking his head, an interesting head, Nick thought, staring. Shiny, bald, and pointed. She’d never seen a bald head quite so pointed before.

“No,” he said again, more forcefully this time. “Impossible. You didn’t see any sign of anyone, did you, Agent Carver?”

“I can’t be certain. We would like to speak to all the staff who work near Captain DeLoach’s room.”

Dane spent the next hour doing just that. To a person, they shook their heads and looked bewildered by his questions.

Nick sat beside Captain DeLoach’s bed, holding his hand, speaking quietly to him, hoping for a sensible response, but he didn’t speak. She said to Dane when he came in, “He did open his eyes a couple of times, but he looked right through me, didn’t respond at all. I’ve been speaking to him, about lots of silly things, but he hasn’t answered me.”

Just before they left, the doctor came out to say, “I examined Captain DeLoach’s head wound. He seems to be all right. To be perfectly honest, I can’t tell if it happened because he hit his head when he fell or if someone indeed struck him. But on the face of it, it seems strange to even consider that some miscreant from the outside would come into the old man’s room and smack him around.”

Dane said as he walked beside Nick toward their car, “Captain DeLoach said that he told his son he wouldn’t keep quiet anymore and his son hit him. I wonder what he meant by that?”

“I’m begi

He laughed. “Not a bad idea.”

“I just realized, I’m really hungry. Do you think we could stop at a Mexican place on the way back to LA?”

“Sure can.”

Dane walked into Nick’s co

She was on the phone. She hadn’t heard him, she was so intent on the call.

He stopped cold. Who was she speaking to?

“Listen,” he heard her say, “I’m calling from the Los Angeles Times. My editor asked me to check out for sure whether he was traveling west. Does his schedule include either San Francisco or Los Angeles?”

She sensed him, there was no other word for it, and whipped around. She met his eyes, and quietly eased the phone back into the cradle.

“I can get the number from the hotel clerk, but it would be easier if you just broke down and told me what’s going on.”

Nick felt a corrosive fear leap to life. She wanted to cover up with a dozen blankets or run as fast as she could.

“Go away.”

He sat down beside her on the queen-size bed, picked up her hands, and held them between his. She had nice hands, short nails, no rings. The skin was smooth again. Her hair was half-dry and she was wearing a bit of lip gloss. Nice mouth, too. No, he wouldn’t go there. He said, looking at her straight in the face, “Listen to me, there’s a lot going on here, and on top of it all, here you are scared out of your mind about-whatever. Why won’t you let me help you? My brain can handle more than one thing at a time. I can multitask as well as a woman. Come on, trust me, Nick.”

She suddenly looked very tired, and flattened, yes, defeated. She looked desperately alone.

Very slowly, he pulled her against him. He felt the panic rise in her, but he didn’t do anything at all but hold her, give her what comfort he could. He said against her damp hair, which smelled just like his, since they both had used the hotel shampoo, which had a girlie-girl smell, floral and soft, “You’ve seen firsthand that there’s lots of bad stuff and bad people in the world. But you know what? Some of it we can actually do something about. We’re going to catch the man who killed all those people, my brother included.” He stopped. If and when she was ready to tell him about herself, then she would. Maybe it was all a matter of trust. So be it. No more pushing. He said only, “I’m here for you, Nick.”

“Yes, and so is the murderer, and he’s already tried to have me killed. I want to leave, Dane. You don’t need me anymore.”

“It’s too late, Nick.” He raised his finger and lightly touched it to the Band-Aid that covered the bullet graze. “That’s the whole point. Milton failed so the guy who hired him will try again, count on it. You need me, if for nothing else, as a bodyguard.”

“Everything is rotten,” she said. “All of it, just plain rotten.”

“I know. But we’ll take care of things. Trust me on that. Hey, rotten is my stock-in-trade. I get a paycheck because of rotten. It gives me motivation.”

She fell silent. She didn’t move either, just let him pull her close and hold her. She felt the core of steadiness in him, felt how solid he was, physically, and his heart, that was solid, too. She knew he was a rock, that once this man gave his word, you could bet the bank on it.

She thought of Father Michael Joseph, his face identical to Dane’s, but he was dead now. She knew Dane was alone with that and she knew he was battling each hour, each day, just to get through. Here she was leaning on him, and he was comforting her. Who did he lean on?

“I’m all right,” she said, slowly pulling away from him. She looked at him then and lightly laid her palm against his cheek. “You are an estimable man, Dane. I am so very sorry about your brother.”

He closed down, and his face went blank, because he had to hold himself together.

“I would appreciate it,” she said, standing, straightening the sweater he’d picked out for her the previous Friday, a lovely V-necked sweater, deep red, that she was wearing over a white blouse, “if you wouldn’t try to find out who I was speaking to.”

She saw in his eyes that he wasn’t going to ask the front desk. At least he was still willing to give her some leeway. He said, “I will find out sooner or later, Nick.”