Nightway Page 15

  “Coffee?” His inquiry seemed to surprise her, as if she had forgotten anyone was in the room with her.

  “No.” On second thought, she changed her mind. “Yes, please.”

  Hawk filled two cups. A container of sugar and powdered cream sat on the table near the coffee urn. “Cream or sugar?”

  “No.” She shook her head and Hawk presumed it applied to both.

  Crossing the room, he handed her one of the cups. She took it, holding it while he sipped at the scalding black liquid in his cup. She looked brittle, tears lurking somewhere near the surface. She seemed lost in her own mental anguish. He absently admired her control. It was evident to him that she had been deeply involved with J. B., which did nothing to ease his irritation.

  “How long have you known J. B.?” He shot the question at her, startling her into looking at him, confused by the seething hostility in his voice. Hawk tempered his features into smoothness. “Why don’t you sit down, Miss Marshall?”

  “No, I can’t sit anymore!” There was frustration in the words that burst from her, frustration at being able to do nothing to help.

  “How long have you known J. B.?” Hawk repeated his question, not pressing her into sitting down.

  “Since June.” She pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. “It seems longer than three months.”

  That discounted the possibility that she had met him a year ago when J. B. had suffered his first heart attack. “You’re a nurse? How did you meet him?”

  “I was on my way home from work one evening. It was storming. His truck had broken down on the highway. I stopped to give him a lift.” She tipped her head back, revealing the clean, smooth line of her throat, and released a short, vaguely incredulous laugh. “I didn’t even know who he was until tonight. Isn’t that incredible?” She lowered her head to gaze at Hawk, her expression mocking her own ignorance. “He said his name was John Buchanan and that he worked as a night watchman. I believed him. I mean, why should I have doubted him?”

  “His name is John Buchanan Faulkner,” Hawk stated.

  The more he considered her story, the less surprised he was by the fact his father had kept his identity a secret. It would be like him to seek anonimity, to have an affair with a woman who wasn’t attracted by his status. Hadn’t J. B. done that when he’d chosen Hawk’s mother as his mistress? A Navaho woman who had no conception of who his father was?

  “A nurse found his identification. Why did he keep his true identity from me?” She questioned Hawk in confusion. “I understand why he probably did in the beginning, but later on … Did he think it would change the way I felt toward him?”

  But Hawk wasn’t interested in discussing his father’s possible motivations. He wanted details more pertinent to the present situation.

  “I want to know precisely what happened this evening, Miss Marshall. What brought on his attack?”

  Her downcast gaze stopped on the untouched cup of coffee that she now held in both hands.“It was my birthday.” The flatness of her voice indicated how much pleasure had been lost. “John took me out to dinner to celebrate—champagne, candlelight, the works.” Hawk could imagine the romantic setting, with his father smiling and laughing across the table at this young attractive woman, bolstering his own ego with her youth and beauty. “He never mentioned that he wasn’t feeling well. I suppose he didn’t want to spoil my evening. And I never noticed.” There was self-blame in her expression. “Afterward, when we went to my apartment, I was going to make coffee—”

  “After what, Miss Marshall?” His sudden question cut through the pain of her recollection. “I don’t particularly care what sexual activity you and J. B. engaged in. I merely want to know whether or not he was dressed when the ambulance arrived and if he was in bed.”

  “Yes, he was dressed! And no, he wasn’t in bed!” she answered hotly. “John and I are friends! I wasn’t having an affair with him! It was strictly friendship on both sides! Why is that so impossible for people to believe?!” She turned away from him, choking on an angry sob.

  Hawk made no response, studying her silently. Her outraged disavowal sounded genuine. Perhaps he had misjudged the relationship, but it was immaterial what the truth might be. For the time being, it was enough that he had received the answers to the two most important questions. Now his work could begin.

  Turning, he walked away. It didn’t occur to him to apologize or offer a word of comfort. He wasn’t deliberately callous. Simple thoughtfulness had never been shown to him, so it didn’t occur to him to express polite, consoling phrases to someone else.

  Leaving his half-empty cup of coffee on the table near the urn, he left the lounge and retraced his path to the nurse’s desk. The list of names was prepared and waiting for him. Hawk had barely glanced at it when Chad walked in.

  The camel vest suit concealed a waistline that had begun to thicken from too many martini lunches, and it allowed Chad to retain a trim look. He walked with a stiff erectness that came from years spent in the private military school. Not a hair of golden brown hair was out of place as it framed his incredibly handsome, suntanned face. Coldness gleamed in his light brown eyes when he noticed Hawk.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He moved away from the desk. Chad’s striking looks had attracted the nurse’s attention, and Hawk wanted their conversation to take place out of her range of hearing.

  “I flew Katheryn here—at her request.” That information wouldn’t sit well with Chad. He didn’t understand the cruel game his mother played with Hawk and resented, jealously, any inclusion of Hawk within the family circle.

  “Where are Carol and Johnny? Are they here?” His gaze made an arc of the waiting room, looking for his wife and son.

  “No. Her parents are driving them here in the morning.” It occurred to Hawk that when J. B. died, there would be no one standing in the way of the Faulkners and the Rawlinses. With his father’s silent consent, Hawk had been free to come and go these last ten years. Now they would see to it that he left. At the moment, it didn’t trouble him unduly.

  “What about J. B.? Is he going to make it?”

  Hawk wondered if vultures asked such questions when they circled a fallen animal. Whatever feeling Chad once had for J. B. had been eroded long ago by bitterness. Hawk understood about vultures and the vital role they played, even if sometimes they didn’t wait for death to feast on the flesh of the dying.

  “He’s alive, but it doesn’t look good,” Hawk admitted. Through half-closed eyes, he regarded Chad with amusement as his half-brother attempted to show concern.

  “Where is he? I’d better go there. Mother will need me,” Chad said.

  “There is a more immediate problem that needs your attention.” Hawk forestalled the move Chad made toward the desk.

  “What?” Chad immediately challenged.

  A corner of Hawk’s mouth deepened in wry grimness. “It seems that J. B. was at a friend’s apartment when he suffered his heart attack—a woman friend.”

  The information slowly sank in, a mottled rage building beneath Chad’s tan. “That son-of-a-bitch!” he muttered through clenched teeth. “He can’t even die without dragging us through his mud.”

  “This is a list of the people who know the circumstances.” Hawk showed him the paper. “So far, the media haven’t gotten hold of the story, but you and I know they’ll have a field day with it once they get their hands on it.”

  “What the hell are we going to do?!” Chad raked a hand through his hair.

  Suddenly it was “we.” “Call Judge Garvey. He owes J. B. some favors. Collect on those political debts. Garvey’s house is in the vicinity of this woman’s apartment and within the radius of the same ambulance. I’m sure you can convince Garvey that J. B. was with him when he had the attack,” Hawk concluded.

  “How do you know about Garvey?” Chad studied him through narrowed eyes, surprised and suspicious.

  “I listen.” He dismissed his knowledge as unimport
ant at the moment. “You’re going to need to grease some palms to hush the people on this list. The hardest part is going to be changing the log on the ambulance call. How much cash are you carrying?” Hawk knew Chad generally carried a lot. Turning to shield his action from the nurse at the desk, Chad took out his wallet and checked inside. “Good,” Hawk pronounced. “I have some poker winnings on me. Between the two of us, we should have enough to take care of this.”

  “Cheated the boys out of their pay again, did you?” Chad said.

  “I don’t have to cheat.”

  Hawk remembered well the one and only time Chad had sat in on a poker game in the bunkhouse. For all his charming, handsome facade, Chad had a face that was as easy to read as a child’s book. He’d lost his money within half an hour. Because Hawk had happened to win most of the pots, there had been an ugly scene that had been prevented from erupting into violence only by the intervention of a couple of cowhands who hadn’t been playing.

  Since that time, whenever Chad showed up, Hawk would deal himself out of the game regardless of whether he was ahead or behind. Hawk was aware Chad believed he was afraid to fight him. But there were a variety of reasons why Hawk avoided a confrontation. One was he didn’t know how impartial the cowhands would be. None of them could afford to be his friend and remain working for the Flying F brand. Rawlins saw to that. Perhaps the underlying reason was buried in the knowledge that Chad was Katheryn’s son. To hurt him would be to hurt her.

  Hawk never bothered to analyze his motives or actions, nor dwelled on the past. He handled a situation the way it seemed appropriate at the time and didn’t concern himself with whether he had been right or wrong—just as he was doing now in a situation that called for swift, decisive action. He wouldn’t be thanked for it. More than likely, Chad would take the credit. But Hawk would accomplish his purpose—to spare Katheryn public humiliation. Now that Chad had agreed to the plan, it was the time to act.

  “You’d better make that phone call to Garvey,” Hawk prompted. “As soon as you get the facts straight, we can start to work on this list.”

  “Right.” Chad made a move toward the telephone, then paused. “What about the woman?”

  “We’ll discuss that as soon as we have this settled.”

  After a little verbal arm-twisting, Judge Garvey agreed to the story to protect the good name of his friend. Then it became a matter of talking to the people on the list and appealing on behalf of innocent family members who would be hurt while slipping money into their hands. In total, it took lees than half an hour, leaving only the ambulance log to be altered. Although the truth had been suppressed, Hawk knew the story would continue to circulate. Scandal always did. But, at least, it wouldn’t be publicized.

  By previous arrangement, Hawk and Chad met again near the nurse’s desk. A grin was playing about his face as Hawk approached. “Frank Broadmore is going to handle the logbook. He just happens to be their attorney, as well. All that’s left is the woman,” he concluded.

  “She’s here—” Hawk began but never got any further.

  “Here?!” The word rushed from Chad in a stunned underbreath. “In this hospital?”

  “Yes. She rode in the ambulance with J. B.,” Hawk replied evenly.

  “Where is she now?” Chad wasn’t interested in how she had gotten here. “My God, the isn’t with him, is she? I won’t have Mother subjected to such humiliation!”

  “Katheryn isn’t even aware of her existence at the moment. I’m sure she’ll have to be told later on, but the doctor—Dr. Sanderson—has agreed to keep the knowledge from Katheryn for the time being,” Hawk explained. “The doctor gave me permission to take her to the staff lounge, in case any reporters showed up and started asking questions.”

  “I want her out of here immediately!” Chad snapped.

  “She seems to be determined to stay until there is some word on J. B.’s condition. And she claims they were just friends,” Hawk added, remembering how vehement the young woman’s denunciation had been.

  “Friends?” An eyebrow was raised in arrogant skepticism. “J. B. has always had only one use for women.” The look in his eye condemned Hawk to the same category, cold hatred shining because of Carol, his wife, who had known Hawk, in the Biblical sense, before their marriage.

  “Either way”—Hawk shrugged—“she doesn’t strike me as the kind you can buy. She seems genuinely fond of J. B.”

  “He was, and is, a bastard,” Chad declared thickly. “I have never understood why women couldn’t see that, including my mother. But if she truly cares about him, she can be persuaded to leave.”

  “Not by me.” After his interview with her, the woman would never listen to any argument from him. Besides, Chad was the one with the charm.

  “I’ll talk to her. You just show me where she is,” Chad ordered.

  Hawk obeyed, but not out of any sense of servitude. He led him down the hospital corridor to the staff lounge. When he opened the door, the brunette was Standing at the window looking out into the night. With a certain eagerness, she turned at the sound of the door opening. Coldness invaded her hopeful expression when she recognized Hawk.

  Behind him, Chad murmured, “For once, J. B. showed some taste.” It was an indirect insult aimed at the Navaho blood Hawk’s mother possessed. Fire flashed in Hawk’s blue eyes for only a second before it was banked.

  Lanna had thought it might be a member of the hospital staff, bringing her word of J. B.’s condition. When a pair of reckless blue eyes returned her look, a faint arrogance in the expression, she went cold with anger. She hadn’t thought that man with devil-black hair would dare to return after the vile accusations he had made against her. She should have known he was the kind who dared anything.

  His brutally frank questions had made her realize that he was saying what half a dozen other people were probably thinking. Knowing the truth didn’t make it easier to face strangers. Therefore, Lanna was on her guard when she noticed the second man.

  The man was handsome—breathtakingly so. No taller than the first, he was dressed in an expensively tailored suit that gave him a solid, polished look. As he crossed the room toward her, Lanna saw the faint smile that touched his mouth and the gently sad light in his pale brown eyes. Her wariness began to crumble at this first exposure to someone reaching out to comfort her.

  “I’m Chad Faulkner, J. B.’s son,” the man said. It explained it all to her. The gentleness, the quiet strength—yes, he resembled John in several ways. “I came as soon as I heard. Thank you for staying until the family could arrive, Miss——” He paused expectantly for her to introduce herself.

  “Lanna Marshall.” When he took her hand and held it warmly in both of his, she wanted to weep in relief that her anguish was being shared. “H-how is he? I haven’t heard anything for half an hour or more.”

  “He’s holding his own,” his son reassured her and smiled to enforce the encouragement. “You know how strong he is. He’s a fighter.”

  “Yes.” Her gaze slid past Chad Faulkner to the man silently observing them. She saw the mockery in his expression; it seemed permanently stamped there. “John and I are friends,” she stated to quickly assert her relationship before Chad Faulkner could receive the wrong impression.

  “Yes. I heard you were with him when he had the attack. This must have been very hard for you,” he said, comforting her.

  Lanna was tempted to lean her head on the shoulder of this man, who seemed to understand so much of what she was feeling. “We had gone out to dinner to celebrate my birthday. I asked John to come in for coffee when we got back to my apartment. When I went into the kitchen to fix it, I heard him fall. I—”

  “You don’t need to talk about it,” Chad offered when Lanna hesitated. “It didn’t turn out to be much of a birthday with all this happening, did it?”

  “No.” She began to feel she was treading unfairly on his solicitude and stood up straighter, withdrawing her hand from the clasp of his. She smiled wea
kly to show him that she was all right. All the while in the background, she was conscious of the man watching them, so aloof, so unreadable.

  “Lanna—may I call you that?” Tipping his head to the side, Chad smiled in an engaging fashion that brought an immediate nod of permission. “I have something to ask you, but I don’t want you to misunderstand my reason.”

  “What is it?” She gave him her undivided attention.

  “I would prefer that no one knew my father had been with you this evening when he had his attack. However innocent your friendship is with my father, once the newspapers get hold of the story, it won’t matter. I don’t want to see my family hurt or your reputation damaged by any sly innuendos that would appear in print,” he explained. “With my father being who he is, the news that he has suffered another heart attack will naturally be reported. That can’t be avoided. But I can shield you and my mother from the gutter mentality of the press. I can do this with your cooperation.”

  “How can I help?” His thoughtfulness and his concern for her reputation touched Lanna and disarmed her completely.

  “I’d like you to go home. Hawk will take you.” At her expression of dismay, he added, “And I promise I’ll call you if there is the slightest change in my father’s condition. Reporters will be coming. If I’m going to keep your name out of the paper, it will be wise if you aren’t here; otherwise, your presence will cause a lot of difficult questions. I wouldn’t want to put you through that.”

  “Yes. Yes, I understand,” Lanna agreed.

  “Thank you, Lanna.” His smile warmed her with its gentleness. “And I promise you, your name won’t be mentioned at all in connection with my father. I know it’s what he would want.”

  There was no question in her mind that John was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. So, it seemed, was his son. She found that very reassuring.

  “You are very kind, Mr. Faulkner,” she murmured.

  “Call me Chad,” he insisted, then straightened with a certain grimness. “I’m sorry I can’t stay any longer, but you must understand that my mother needs me.”