Heart Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz
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Iverson turned sideways. The good doctor would scram if he got half a chance, Sebastian thought, and blocked the doctorâs route of escape. Youâre not going anywhere until I have answers.
âThe injury is located on the left hemisphere,â Dr. Iverson said. âShe may have changes in thinking, behavior and personality. Problems with motor skillsââ
âLike painting?â God, no. Olivia came alive when she painted. She created magic with her colors and brushes. If she couldnât paint, there would be nothing to hold her home. And he needed her. Why hadnât he told her so before? Why had he let her go? Because heâd never been good with wordsâat least the out loud kind.
âPainting. Writing. Organizing,â Dr. Iverson said. âWith the temporal lobe involved, she may also have problems with memory. But itâs really too early to tell.â
The ticking stopped and something seemed to implode. âMemory? As in amnesia?â
Dr. Iverson shrugged. âAmnesia. Short-term memory.â
âTemporary?â His fists curled. What if she couldnât remember him? Their life together? She would remember. She had to.
âWeâll hope for the best.â
Hope? Doctors were supposed to do more than hope. They were supposed to have answers. There was always some other trail to sniff, some other trigger to follow, some other fact to unearth. âCanât you run some tests? There must be something you can do.â
âWeâve done everything we can for now. When she wakes up, weâll do a full neurological workup designed to tell us problems with reasoning, memory and other brain functionsââ
âWhen will that be?â
âThereâs no way to tell. The sooner the better.â
A squawky announcement over the P.A. system had the doctor cocking his head. Was it standard procedure? Give the doctor two minutes with the family, then page him to save him from their stupid questions? âI want to see her.â
Dr. Iverson nodded. Without a goodbye, he spun on his heels and squeaked his way down the green hall and through the beige swinging double doors.
Sebastian fought the urge to follow him, grab him by the collar and shake him until he had answers. But the doctor couldnât give him answers he didnât have.
Amnesia. Brain damage. He did not want to go there. Sheâd be okay. She had to.
His beeper vibrated against his hip. He didnât bother glancing at it. Sutton was probably three shades of purple by now. But heâd have to wait. Kershaw was after Olivia. He had to make sure Olivia was safe before he focused on Kershaw.
What if he isnât after Olivia? What if you read him wrong because of your fear for her? Then Kershawâs timeline was getting bigger by the minute. Sebastian dragged a hand over his face. Donât go there. Oliviaâs accident on the heels of Kershawâs escape was too much of a coincidence.
The beeperâs renewed massage centered him. What do you know? You know Kershaw wants to hurt you through Olivia. You know he means to keep his promise. You know heâs on his way.
Donât you?
He took his handheld computer from his pocket and punched in numbers. He was letting his fear for Olivia screw up basics. First things first. Check to see if the fugitives were back into custody.
Not as of five minutes ago. That would be too easy.
Kershawâs transfer was to the new federal prison in Berlin, and he had a mother who lived in Nashua. Sheâd been vocal in her demands for a closer incarceration so she could visit. Cruel and unusual punishment having her boy so far away, sheâd claimed. As if sonnyâs kidnappings, rapes, armed robberies, felony assaults and murders were nothing more than school-yard scuffles. Sheâd abet her worthless spawn in a second and lie through her false teeth about it. He made a note to put a check on her telephone records and tack on some surveillance.
The safest thing for Kershaw to do was to hunker down. Hunkering down meant getting outside help. But Kershaw also had an agenda. Heâd keep moving. Moving, he made a target. All Sebastian had to do was connect the dots.
And protect Olivia.
He swore. One was never supposed to touch the other. That was the agreement. That was the plan. How could he be two places at once? How could he stay by Oliviaâs side and stalk Kershaw?
He had to find a way or else all heâd built over the last twenty years was worth nothing.
âBING!â UP POPPED the instant-message window asking if he wanted to accept a message. He clicked yes when he saw Okieâs name highlighted on his buddy list.
Okie: Hey, I think somethingâs gone wrong.
Sk8Thor: No slip, sliding?
Okie: Slip, slide all right. Slip slide right into a coma.
Sk8Thor: Him?
Okie: Her. U said itâd B ok.
Sk8Thor: Heâs hurting, isnât he?
Okie: Yes.
Sk8Thor: Thatâs what you wanted, wasnât it?
Okie: Yes.
Sk8Thor: Then whatâs wrong?
He could feel the hesitation and cursed it. Thatâs what came of counting on someone else. But this required finesse, and one trick heâd learned long ago was how to make the best of any hand he was dealt. This one was too sweet to pass up.
Sk8Thor: He wouldnât help u when u needed it. He had to pay, didnât he?
Okie: Yes, but, sheâs nice, u know. I didnât want 2 c her hurt so bad.
Sk8Thor: This way heâs hurting more. Youâre not gonna quit on me, are u?
Okie: 2 late now.
Thatâs right. Too late now. Youâre my hands and eyes, and youâre my fall guy. One by one he was going to breach each of Falconerâs defenses. Then heâd pull the last pin and watch while all Falconer stood for caved in around him. How far did you have to push a man to betray his ideals? Not as far as most people thought. Affluence made people cream cheese soft. Falconer thought he knew it all, thought he could shed one skin and slip into another without the fat at the seams showing. But Sk8Thor saw through the stitches. A manâs heart never changed. And Falconerâs heart was as black as his. Sk8Thor was lean and mean and hungry. And Falconer, even wearing his hunter skin, couldnât compete with a lifetime of surviving in the sewers.
Falconer didnât stand a chance.
âTime to set up for show-and-tell.â He typed one last note to Okie and pressed the send button. Laughing, he asked the screen, âWho do you trust, Falconer? Who do you trust?â
Chapter Three
When Sebastian could no longer put off Sutton, he stepped out of Oliviaâs room and got out his phone. Leaning against the hallway wall, he tried to blink away the image of Oliviaâs too-still body, but it was etched into his brain. Every detail of angry bruises on chalky skin became a horrid scene filled with accusations. As he punched in Suttonâs number, he started to stride. The only way to stay ahead of the nightmare was to move.
âWhere the hell are you?â Sutton barked.
âHospital.â Sebastian paced the outside of Oliviaâs room as if it were a cage.
Sutton swore more colorfully than a seasoned sailor. âWhat happened?â