Blackfoot Affair Part 4

"I was hoping to get in to see your brother."

The girl folded her arms and stared back at Marisa, who refused to flinch.

"You want to visit my brother, Ms. Hanc.o.c.k?" she asked, raising her dark brows.

"Well, yes."

"Do you really think he'll want to see you?"

"It's more like I need to confirm for myself that he's all right," Marisa admitted.

"The word of Jack's doctor is not good enough for you?"

Marisa sighed and looked down at her hands. "Ms. Carter, this situation is complicated. Suffice it to say that I feel a responsibility for your brother's injury. Isn't that enough reason to be concerned?"

"Yes, I talked to Mr. Brady. I can understand your position, Ms. Hanc.o.c.k, and I would not want to be in it."

Marisa straightened and looked at the other woman directly. "Do I get to see him or not?" she asked baldly.

"Not," Ana Carter replied crisply. "Relatives only today."

"What about tomorrow?"

"That's up to the doctor."

"Fine. I'll be back tomorrow."

Marisa turned to go and Jack's sister called after her, "You'll probably be wasting your time."

"I'll take that chance," Marisa replied. She went around the bend in the corridor as Ana Carter looked after her.

That evening Marisa met with Randall Block from the Bureau. He was concerned only with winning the legal case and irritated her with a number of impractical suggestions designed to inflame the situation even further. After that unproductive experience she went to the police station and answered a lot of obvious questions. When she got back to the hotel she learned that the case had been continued for two weeks, and that her firm had given her permission to remain in Florida to work on it.

"Are you surprised Charlie isn't flying down here to oversee things himself?" Tracy asked. They were both too keyed up to sleep.

"I'm surprised I haven't been recalled to Maine and then shot at sunrise," Marisa replied wearily, stretching out on her bed.

"Are they going to blame you for Bluewolf's injury?" Tracy asked quietly.

"What does it matter? I blame myself."

"Why? Legally, you made the right decision. If Brady wasn't going to risk angering Lasky you had every right to resist doing so yourself. Any attorney would have done the same."

"I didn't make the decision for legal reasons only," Marisa said, closing her eyes.

Tracy sat at the foot of the bed, waiting.

"I said I did, I even convinced myself that I did, but if I'm brutally honest I have to admit there was another element involved." Marisa opened her eyes.

"Well?" Tracy said.

"I'm attracted to Bluewolf, and he knows it. He was trying to use that to manipulate me into doing what he wanted."

"Oh, Marisa, are you sure?"

Marisa put her arm across her forehead. "I haven't been with him that much, but the chemistry was vividly, definitely there. I'm sure he's accustomed to having that effect on women and I didn't want to be just another bimbo he dazzled and then controlled."

"Even so, you made the right move for your client," Tracy said stubbornly. "And I'm sure you would have made the right move for your client anyway, you're too professional to do anything else."

Marisa smiled wanly. "Thanks, Tracy. I can use the vote of confidence right about now."

"And that Randall Block's a jerk, isn't he?" Tracy inquired sympathetically.

Marisa laughed. "Well, he's a bureaucrat, forgive the pun. He goes back to Washington in the morning, thank G.o.d, and I hope he stays there." She sat up. "What do you say we hit that Italian restaurant on Evans Boulevard tonight? I could use a break from all this angst, and Charlie's picking up the tab."

"You're on." Tracy rose and they headed for the door.

It was two more days before Marisa got in to see Jackson Bluewolf. His sister finally took pity on her- or got tired of seeing Marisa sitting in the visitors' lounge-and led her into Jack's room with a murmured, "I will probably regret this."

Jack looked up as Ana said brightly, "Someone here to see you." She vanished immediately as Marisa stepped into the doorway.

Jack was propped against a pile of snowy pillows, his dusky skin a pleasant contrast with the stark white linens. The stands for intravenous fluids were still next to his bed but the tubes had been disconnected. He was stripped to the waist, his left shoulder swathed in bandages. Marisa was relieved to see that he was looking far from frail; in fact, he appeared rather remarkably hale and strong for a recent gunshot victim. And it was clear that he was angry. Very angry.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded furiously.

"I... I..." Now that she had finally made it into his presence, Marisa seemed to have nothing to say.

"I will have a few choice words to say to my sister for bringing you in here. Did you cast a spell on her?" he said.

"I just told her I wanted to see for myself that you were all right," Marisa replied.

"Well, you've seen me. I'm alive. You can go." He looked away from her pointedly.

"Is there anything I can do?" she said helplessly.

"Don't you think you've done enough already?" he countered.

"You know I never wanted this," Marisa said quietly, gesturing toward the bed.

"You wouldn't listen to me!" he snapped, stabbing a forefinger in her direction. "If you had this never would have happened!"

"How nice for you that you know everything," Marisa said sarcastically, losing patience with his att.i.tude.

"How nice of you to apologize!" he countered. "You can't even admit that you were wrong. G.o.d, I've heard of stubborn, but you are the living, breathing limit."

"Oh, come on, there was more to it than that and you know it!" Marisa replied with equal heat.

"What do you mean?" he said, his eyes narrowing. He pushed himself upright in the bed impatiently, the muscles in his upper arms flexing as he did so.

"I mean the flowers, the nifty rescue from the reporters, the practiced routine. Don't think I couldn't figure out the reason for all that attention."

He stared at her a long moment, his dark eyes penetrating, the hollows beneath them more p.r.o.nounced from his recent illness. The shadow of stubble on his square jaw made him look even tougher than usual, and curiously even more attractive.

"Perhaps you'll enlighten me," he said quietly. Too quietly.

"You thought if you romanced me a little you could influence my conduct in the case," Marisa said bluntly.

There was a silence for several beats, and then he said flatly, "You must not have a very high opinion of yourself, Ms. Hanc.o.c.k."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Can't you think of any other reason for my 'attention,' as you put it, than my desire to best you in court?"

Marisa could feel herself flushing. She gripped her hands together, striving for equilibrium. "If you think I'm going to fall for that line you're mistaken a second time," she replied unsteadily.

His mouth tightened. "Oh, the h.e.l.l with you," he said disgustedly. "Get out."

"Wait a minute..."

He picked up the empty plastic carafe from his bedside table and threw it. The bottle exploded against the wall behind her head. "I said get out!" he yelled.

Marisa stared at him, stunned. "You tried to hit me with that thing!" she gasped.

"If I were trying to hit you I would have hit you," he said through clenched teeth. "I merely want you to leave."

A nurse appeared in the doorway, staring in astonishment at the jug on the floor. "What the devil is going on in here?" she demanded.

"Remove this woman from my room," Jack said distantly. "She's making me sick."

The nurse looked at Marisa.

"I'm going," Marisa said meekly and slipped into the hall. The nurse followed her out.

"Miss, we can't have you upsetting the patients this way," the nurse hissed.

"Don't worry," Marisa said in defeat. "I won't be causing any further disturbances."

She hurried off down the hall before she could provoke any more flying missiles.

A couple of hours after Marisa's abrupt departure, Jack shoved his dinner tray aside and sat up on the edge of the hospital bed. The room swam for a moment and then righted itself. He glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes before visiting hours began again, which meant that his mother and sister would be back. He sighed. He appreciated their good intentions, but after a while he usually couldn't think of anything to say to them.

He knew one visitor who wouldn't be returning. He closed his eyes resignedly. Had he actually thrown a bottle at her? He winced and shook his head. Soon he would be knocking her on the head and throwing her over his shoulder. Of course, that was what he really wanted to do; maybe the ancients had the best idea. They just acted, without worrying about the niceties of civilized behavior.

Marisa Hanc.o.c.k did not make him feel very civilized.

When she first left his room, he had been ready to give up on her entirely. But then he had replayed the preceding scene in his mind. He remembered the look on her face when he asked her if she couldn't think of the real reason for his attention. For one brief, glorious moment, she had known what he meant and wanted to believe him. And then her guard went back up and her expression changed to detached, cynical denial.

That one moment was enough to give him hope. When he was sprung from this cage he would find her and try again.

And he must make very sure to control his temper and not throw anything at her.

"So how did it go?" Tracy asked, looking up from her notes when Marisa entered their hotel room.

"Disaster, utter disaster. I should have listened to you and stayed away from him."

"Is he all right?"

"Oh, he's wonderful. He's in fine, even athletic, form," Marisa replied wryly.

"What does that mean?"

"Never mind. He's recovering nicely, that's what it means. I'm sure he'll be back tormenting us in court as soon as we resume the case."

"Which reminds me," Tracy said, brandishing an envelope with the seal of the State of Florida on it. "A little missive for you from Judge Lasky."

Marisa accepted it wearily. "Anything else?"

"Charlie called. He wants you to call him back at home tonight."

Marisa nodded.

"Oh, and the records from the Seminole cemetery have been released to the court. You can see them any time in Lasky's chambers."

"So he says here," Marisa observed, looking up from the letter. "Well, I guess we'd better get to it."

"Now?"

"Why not? Isn't that what we're here for?" Marisa said testily.

"Marisa," Tracy said gently, "the court is closed."

"In the morning, then. First thing."

Tracy nodded, certain that Marisa's mood had more to do with her visit to the hospital than her eagerness to peruse the history of an ancient graveyard.

Marisa spent the next day with the cemetery records and collapsed in her room that evening while Tracy went to the movies. She was staring at a rerun on television when there was a knock on her door.

"Just a minute," she called, pulling a dressing gown on over her pajamas and running her fingers through her tumbled hair.

There was no sound from the hall.