“I’ve never accused anyone falsely,” she defended herself.
“Only Frank Bartlett?”
She swallowed, hard. “He broke my arm,” she said with quiet dignity. “It wasn’t the first time he hit me, either.”
“He told me you’d say that,” he replied. “Poor guy. You ruined his life. Well, you aren’t going to get the chance to ruin mine. You can work your two weeks’ notice.” He got to his feet.
“You’re firing me?” she asked weakly.
“No, you’re quitting,” he returned coldly. “That way, you won’t be able to let the state support you with unemployment insurance, or sue me for unlawful termination of employment.”
“I see.”
“Women,” he muttered coldly. “You’d think I’d already learned my lesson. You all look so innocent. And you all lie.”
He opened the door. “Back to work, Miss Drake,” he said in a formal tone. “It’s going to be a long day.”
She worked mechanically, even managed to smile at old Mr. Smith’s jokes and Dr. King’s bland comments. Keely was looking at her oddly, but nobody else seemed to find her behavior out of the ordinary.
At the end of the day, she went to her car almost gratefully. She still couldn’t believe that Dr. Rydel had fallen for Frank’s lies. But she was going to do something about it. She just didn’t know what. Yet.
She pulled up in the front yard, puzzled at the colorful cloth piled at the foot of the steps. Was Kell cleaning house…?
She slammed on the brakes, cut off the engine and ran as fast as she could to the front door. That wasn’t a bundle of cloth, it was Kell. Kell! He was unconscious, lying beside the wreck of his wheelchair and he was bleeding from half a dozen cuts. She felt for a pulse and, thank God, found one! At least he was still alive.
She saw the front door standing open and didn’t dare go inside, for fear someone might be waiting there. She ran back to her car, jerked out her cell phone and punched in 911. Then she ran back to Kell and waited.
* * *
The next hour was a blur of ambulance sirens, police sirens, blue uniforms, tan uniforms and abject terror.
She waited for Dr. Micah Steele to come out and tell her what Kell’s condition was. She was sick and chilled to the bone. If Kell died, she’d have nobody.
He came back out to the waiting room a few minutes after Kell was brought in, tall and blond and somber.
“How is he?” she asked frantically.
“Badly beaten,” he told her, “which you already know. His back is one long bruise. We’re still doing tests, but he has some feeling in his legs, which indicates that the shrapnel in his back may have shifted. If the tests verify that, I’m having him transported to the medical center in San Antonio. I have a friend who’s an orthopedic surgeon there. He’ll operate.”
“You mean, Kell could walk again?” she asked, excited.
He smiled. “Yes.” The smile faded. “But that’s not my immediate concern. He said there were three men. One of them was a man you’ve had dealings with, I understand. Frank Bartlett.”
“Beating up a paralyzed man, with a mob,” she gritted. “What a brave little worm he is!”
“Sheriff’s got an all-points bulletin out for him and his friends,” Micah told her. “But you’re in danger until they’re found. You can’t stay out there at the house by yourself.”
“If you send Kell to San Antonio,” she said, “I’ll call a friend who works for the same veterinary practice that employed me until I moved here. She’ll let me stay with her.”
“You’ll have to be in protective custody,” Micah said firmly.
She smiled. “Her brother is a Texas Ranger. He lives with her.”
“Well!”
“I’ll call her as soon as I see Kell.”
“That will be another twenty minutes,” he said. “We have to finish the tests first. But he’s going to be fine.”
