Part 7 (2/2)
The thought that someone might still be in the parking decks made her skin crawl. But if he were, wouldn't he be hunting for her? If she were the target, why hadn't they made sure they'd hit her?
Or was it a dangerous prank? Meant only to scare, not to kill?
She ran through her mind a list of people who might want to hurt her. Rick Fuller was one. Several other ex-husbands who had lost their wives to the women's shelter or divorce. Criminals she had sent to prison as an a.s.sistant DA. As she waited for security, the list grew uncomfortably long.
Shouts and flashlights. Finally. She released a deep breath she hadn't realized was bottled in her throat. ”Over here.”
In seconds she was surrounded by uniformed men. One stepped closer. ”Ms. Rawson?”
She nodded, afraid her voice might come out as timorous. 'Never show weakness'. Something drummed into her by her father.
”The police are on their way.” He aimed the flashlights at the broken lights. ”What happened here?”
”I'm not sure. I heard the shattering of gla.s.s and the lights went out. I think it might have been a silenced pistol. As soon as the lights went out, I heard a car tearing toward me. I just managed to jump out of the way.”
”You think the driver was trying to run you down?”
”If not, he was giving a good imitation of it,” she said. ”He couldn't have missed seeing me.”
”What were you doing here so late?”
”My mother is a patient. She's very ill.”
”Next time, call for a security guard to accompany you,” he said briskly but with a hint of sympathy. ”Can you tell us anything about the car?”
”Big and dark.”
”Not much help.”
”Sorry, I was busy rolling under a car.”
He flashed his light over her. She'd left her suit jacket in the car, and her plain white short-sleeved blouse was stained and torn. Her arm had sc.r.a.ped along the pavement and blood trickled from it.
”I need to get you inside to Emergency.”
”It's a scratch,” she said.
”But it's a scratch on hospital property,” he said with a wry expression. ”Lawsuits, you know.”
”You know I'm an attorney?”
”I recognize the name.”
”Don't worry, Mr....”
”Adc.o.c.k. Head of security.”
”Mr. Adc.o.c.k. Right now I just want to get home. I have no intention of filing a lawsuit.”
A police car arrived, then a second.
She repeated everything she'd said to Adc.o.c.k, then reluctantly went into the emergency room with him. The wound was cleaned, swabbed, then bandaged. She was even given several pills ”for pain,” though she said they weren't necessary.
Police reports were taken. A detective--Cliff Morris-- arrived, and she told the story for the third time.
He offered to follow her home and check out her house, and she accepted. She didn't like being frightened. She didn't like asking for help, either, but she wasn't a fool. If the attack 'had' been aimed at her personally, then there might be another attempt.
From now on, she vowed to herself, she would carry a weapon with her.
It was nearly four in the morning before they arrived at her house, a small historic home near the French Quarter. It had been her inheritance from her grandmother. Both her parents came from old New Orleans families.
Morris took her key from her but tried the door first. It was unlocked. She knew she'd locked it.
He looked at her.
”I locked it,” she said.
”Get back,” Morris said. His gun was immediately in his hand and he slowly opened the door.
”What can I do?” she asked.
He hesitated. ”Do you know how to use the police radio?”
She nodded.
”Go to the car and call headquarters. Ask for backup.” He stepped inside, holding his gun in both hands.
She ran to the car. It took her thirty seconds to make the call and give directions. Heart thumping, she went back to the front door of her home. Listened. Once again, she knew what terror truly was.
It made her d.a.m.ned angry.
The sound of wailing sirens rent the air, then flas.h.i.+ng blue lights were visible through the rain.
Two uniformed officers sprinted out of the car and up on the porch. ”Ms. Rawson?”
”Detective Morris is inside. The door to the house was open when we arrived. It was locked when I left. I was attacked just hours ago in a hospital parking area.”
The officers already had guns in their hands. One man yelled out, ”Police.” Then the two went inside.
She waited, then heard voices, and all three came out. Morris holstered his gun. ”All clear.” He stepped in front of her before she could go in. ”It's a mess in there. The whole place has been tossed.”
He moved aside, and she entered, only to stop in astonishment and outrage. Sofa cus.h.i.+ons had been slit open and tossed on the floor. Volumes from the bookcases lay strewn around the floor, spines broken in some cases. A vase was shattered. Tables upturned. It wasn't just a simple burglary. It was damage for damage's sake.
”All the rooms are like this,” Morris said grimly. ”It appears that someone doesn't like you.”
”I've concluded that,” she said, barely holding back tears. But she had learned never to cry in public. Tears were strictly private.
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