Page 50 of Unlikely Guardian

“It must be bad news,” she mumbled.

She was right, of course.

Jason pocketed his cell and debated how much he should tell her. After all, she was supposed to be relaxing, waiting for the drug to take effect so she could be hypnotized. She was drowsy, no doubt about that, but since he knew she was anxious for an update, Jason proceeded with the recount that he’d just gotten from a fellow detective.

“Still no sign of Corinne, and the crime scene techs estimate there’s about a half a pint of blood on the trail leading away from the car.” A trail that stopped one street over. Which meant Corinne had likely gotten into another vehicle. Now the question was, had that happened voluntarily or had she been forced to go? And if it’d been voluntary, why hadn’t she gone to the ER? There was one just a few blocks from the scene, yet there was no record of anyone matching her description.

“They’re sure it’s Corinne’s blood?” Lilly asked.

“It’s consistent with her blood type. She’s not in any of the data banks, so the CSI guys will first need to obtain a sample of her known DNA to compare to what they collected from the scene.”

She nodded. Or rather tried to, but it was obvious the drug was taking effect. “She could have faked her injuries.”

Jason was surprised she could come up with that theory while under sedation. But he’d already considered it. “You mean, maybe Corinne stockpiled some of her blood and used it to make us think there was foul play?”

Another shaky nod.

It was possible, but if Corinne had done that, it was because she was scared and wanted to make them believe she was no longer alive. Or else she wanted her fake death to allow her the lack of scrutiny from the police so she could finish what she had started. It sent a chill through him to consider what Corinne might have started.

“I learned something else,” Jason continued. “It’s not good news, either. The lab got the results from the clothes that Sandling and Klein were wearing the night of the shooting, and neither showed any signs of gunshot residue.”

That proved nothing, of course. There’d been time before their interrogation so they could have changed clothes and given themselves a thorough scrub-down to remove any residue.

The door swung open and Jason automatically reached for his weapon. He stopped, however, when he realized it was the shrink. Dr. Malcolm McCartle. Tall, imposing. A dark tan with a shiny bald head that was less indicative of age than the fashion trend. Thankfully, the doctor had dealt with enough cops and police situations that he didn’t even question Jason’s actions.

“Lilly, how are you doing?” Dr. McCartle asked. He rolled over a chair, plopped down right next to her bed and took the notepad from the nightstand.

“Fine,” she mumbled without even opening her eyes.

The doctor looked up at Jason. “Since she gave permission, you’re welcome to stay, but I’d prefer if you didn’t ask questions. And don’t say anything, for that matter. I have your list of things here that you’d like to know, and I’ll go from there.”

Jason nodded, took a seat and listened as the doctor murmured words of reassurance to Lilly. It took McCartle several minutes to finish, and then he glanced down at the notepad, where Jason had written the questions. Jason only hoped they were the right questions and that Lilly could answer them.

“Lilly, I want you to think back to the night of your car crash,” the doctor instructed, his voice soft and flat. “Nineteen months ago. You leave your office. It’s night. The air is chilly because it’s winter, and it’s drizzling. Do you remember that?”

“Yes. I have on my coat. The black wool one with the silver buttons.”

Well, that was a good start. Jason hoped it continued because there were some difficult questions on that list.

“You’re walking through the parking lot and you get in your car,” Dr. McCartle prompted. “And then you start driving on San Pedro. You head north on Highway 281 to Anderson Loop. Think about that drive, Lilly. Take yourself back to that night. Can you see if anyone is following you?”

Even though her eyes were closed, he could see the movement beneath her lids. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Look around the inside of your car. Do you have the computer disk with you?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “It’s on the front passenger’s seat, next to my purse. It’s important. It has a lot of information about my father.”

“What kind of information?” the doctor asked.

“Copies of forged and altered agreements and deals. There are some bids and paperwork that he stole so that competing companies wouldn’t get city contracts that he wanted. He bribed people. He intimidated them. And I have proof of all of that.”

Jason didn’t doubt that such proof existed. It was just too bad that the cops hadn’t realized just how much danger Lilly was in because she possessed such evidence. If they’d known, they likely could have given her protection and saved her from the accident and the coma.

“Lilly, are you nervous about the disk?” Dr. McCartle questioned.

“Yes.” Another fast answer, and her face became tense. “I’m going to take it to the police.”

“Does anyone know you’re planning to do that?” the doctor asked.

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