Beneath the Silk by Wendy Rosnau Page A

of the examining table she was sitting on. “Can’t you talk to the officer I spoke with earlier? He wrote down what I said.”
    “Oh, you can bet I’ll talk to him. But I want to hear it from you firsthand. If this was no accident then maybe I’ve been wrong about you, Miss Blais.”
    Glad to hear that, Sunni told the detective that she’d left Masado Towers at five-thirty like usual. She’d hailed a cab and was headed home when a black car suddenly appeared and swerved into them, forcing the cab into a concrete divider.
    “Can you give a description of the driver?”
    “No. The car windows were tinted black.”
    “You said the car swerved into the cab. Could the car have been changing lanes, and—”
    “No. If it had been an accident, he wouldn’t have fled the scene, would he?”
    “People panic. It’s a common reaction. You used the word ‘he.’ I thought you said you couldn’t see who was driving.”
    “I couldn’t.”
    “Then using he is speculation, Ms. Blais. It suggests you saw the driver.” He looked up from scribbling something down on his pad. “But you say you didn’t see the driver.”
    “No.”
    “I suppose you didn’t get the license plate number?”
    “No.”
    “This isn’t much to go on. Let’s hope the cab driver pulls through and has something to add.”
    Sunni felt dizzy. She closed her eyes, trying to think rationally. She heard the door, and she blinked her eyes open, relieved to see Jackson with Mac beside him.
    She was sitting on the examination table with her feet dangling two feet off the floor. Her gray silk skirt was blood-stained from trying to help the cab driver before the ambulance had arrived. She’d lost her white silk scarf and the end result was too much cleavage. Only that didn’t matter, all that mattered was that Jackson had come to take her home.
    His eyes met hers, and then he was crossing the room, planting himself directly in front of her. It was so strange to feel such utter relief, but that’s exactly what she felt as his big hands brushed her hair away from her face. “You hurt?”
    “No. Just a few bruises.”
    The heat from his hand on her face as he examined the bruise on her forehead was shockingly soothing. His hip leaned into her thigh, and that, too, was comforting.
    “What do you got, Stud?” he asked, not turning around.
    “Hit and run, or attempted murder. Can’t say just yet.”
    Mac decided he’d been ignored too long, and he leapt up on the table and sat next to her. “Hi, Mac,” Sunni whispered, then leaned into the dog’s shoulder. He leaned back—his sturdy body supporting her—and bent his head to nuzzle her ear.
    His fur was wet. She asked, “Is it raining?”
    “Started about an hour ago.” Finally Jackson turned to Detective Williams. “Got a lead on the car yet? A license plate number?”
    “Miss Blais didn’t get the plate number. We’re going to have to wait until the cab driver comes around. Right now we don’t have much. Maybe you were right. Maybe there’s more to this than we first thought.”
    “We?” Jackson shook his head. “You mean, you first thought.”
    “Okay. Have it your way. You always did when we were working together. Why should anything change now?”
    “So we’re sharing information. Is that it?”
    “Makes sense.”
    “Take down my cell number so you can reach me day or night.”
    Jackson recited the phone number while Detective Williams wrote it down. Then Stud said, “Here’s mine. If Miss Blais remembers something, I’d appreciate hearing about it. Need a lift home?”
    “No. We’ll catch a cab,” Jackson said.
    When Detective Williams walked out and closed the door, Sunni sighed. “Can I go home now?”
    “Not a problem, Sis. Put your arms around my neck, and we’re out of here.” As she raised her arms, he scooped her up and drew her against his broad chest. Then they were on the move, heading out of the emergency room with Mac trotting to keep up with