might have gone. He slid into his car as the call connected. "This is Reece Sheridan," he barked, as the jag roared away from the curb. "Get me Detective Mike Iagos."
*****
SIMONE STOOD in the shaded alleyway beside the clinic. Port Aransas was overflowing with people, spring break in full swing. All the better to blend in. And fortunately, the clinic was already closed for the day, the parking lot empty, the traffic on Alister fairly light.
She'd already cased the clinic and there were no signs of occupation. There'd probably be a cleaning crew later on, but for the moment she seemed to have the place to herself, which was exactly what she needed.
She'd have preferred taking Martin to the hospital in Aransas Pass instead of the cottage, but just at the moment, she couldn't risk the questions and attention his arrival at the medical center would generate. Fortunately, the wound seemed to have stabilized.
She needed to remove the bullet, but to do that she needed the proper supplies.
The clinic should have everything she required.
Checking once more for last-minute returnees, she skirted the left side of the building, moving around to the back. The lock took only a few seconds to pick, and with a last furtive look behind her, she was in.
It didn't take much longer to secure the items she needed. Suturing thread, disposable scalpel, tweezers, needle, antibiotics, pain pills and bandages. She'd have Martin as good as new in no time, and hopefully on his way back to Reece. She shuddered to think what her ex's reaction to all of this would be. But hopefully, she'd be long gone before there was hell to pay.
Not that she was a chicken exactly. In fact, truth be told, she was probably just the opposite. Or had been anyway. But assassinations were nothing compared with facing Reece. She'd rather brave the Nicaraguan jungle any day of the week if the alternative was squaring off with her soon-to-be ex-husband.
So much for people skills.
Simone slipped out the back door, stopping to make certain that there were no prying eyes. Walking with practiced nonchalance, she fronted the highway and was across as soon as the traffic allowed.
Half a block more, and she was safely on Sheridan property. Rose Cottage, named after one of Reece's mother's favorite books, had endured fifty-odd years of sand and salt. Faded seagull-gray, its weathered planks were bowed and warped but still standing strong.
Reece and Martin's parents had bought the cottage for their retirement, but of course had never made it, leaving the boys with an inheritance that was short on cash but long on love. They'd occasionally come up here for the weekend, once when Reece's friends from college had been in town, and another time to celebrate Martin's high school graduation. But the place had never really called to them the way it had to Reece's parents.
Just at the moment, however, it was a godsend, and Simone was grateful that Reece had decided not to rent it out for the season.
She let herself on to the screened-in porch, and allowed a moment to survey the situation. Though the neighborhood was residential, the cottage sat back from the road at an angle, its back bordered by the sand dunes fronting the beach. Not exactly isolation, but good enough for what she needed. Approach was limited to the front of the house, as the only access from the back was a narrow boardwalk with a locked gate. The dunes themselves were full of goatheads, the stickers enough to slow down even the most determined of assailants.
Satisfied that nothing looked out of place, she opened the front door and headed for the master bedroom. "Master" was probably a bit enthusiastic, as the room wasn't particularly big, and with its beat-up maple bedstead, definitely not commanding.
Martin lay in the middle of the mattress, his eyes closed, the even breathing signaling that he was asleep.
Simone dumped her supplies on the nightstand and reached out to wake him. Her
*****
SIMONE STOOD in the shaded alleyway beside the clinic. Port Aransas was overflowing with people, spring break in full swing. All the better to blend in. And fortunately, the clinic was already closed for the day, the parking lot empty, the traffic on Alister fairly light.
She'd already cased the clinic and there were no signs of occupation. There'd probably be a cleaning crew later on, but for the moment she seemed to have the place to herself, which was exactly what she needed.
She'd have preferred taking Martin to the hospital in Aransas Pass instead of the cottage, but just at the moment, she couldn't risk the questions and attention his arrival at the medical center would generate. Fortunately, the wound seemed to have stabilized.
She needed to remove the bullet, but to do that she needed the proper supplies.
The clinic should have everything she required.
Checking once more for last-minute returnees, she skirted the left side of the building, moving around to the back. The lock took only a few seconds to pick, and with a last furtive look behind her, she was in.
It didn't take much longer to secure the items she needed. Suturing thread, disposable scalpel, tweezers, needle, antibiotics, pain pills and bandages. She'd have Martin as good as new in no time, and hopefully on his way back to Reece. She shuddered to think what her ex's reaction to all of this would be. But hopefully, she'd be long gone before there was hell to pay.
Not that she was a chicken exactly. In fact, truth be told, she was probably just the opposite. Or had been anyway. But assassinations were nothing compared with facing Reece. She'd rather brave the Nicaraguan jungle any day of the week if the alternative was squaring off with her soon-to-be ex-husband.
So much for people skills.
Simone slipped out the back door, stopping to make certain that there were no prying eyes. Walking with practiced nonchalance, she fronted the highway and was across as soon as the traffic allowed.
Half a block more, and she was safely on Sheridan property. Rose Cottage, named after one of Reece's mother's favorite books, had endured fifty-odd years of sand and salt. Faded seagull-gray, its weathered planks were bowed and warped but still standing strong.
Reece and Martin's parents had bought the cottage for their retirement, but of course had never made it, leaving the boys with an inheritance that was short on cash but long on love. They'd occasionally come up here for the weekend, once when Reece's friends from college had been in town, and another time to celebrate Martin's high school graduation. But the place had never really called to them the way it had to Reece's parents.
Just at the moment, however, it was a godsend, and Simone was grateful that Reece had decided not to rent it out for the season.
She let herself on to the screened-in porch, and allowed a moment to survey the situation. Though the neighborhood was residential, the cottage sat back from the road at an angle, its back bordered by the sand dunes fronting the beach. Not exactly isolation, but good enough for what she needed. Approach was limited to the front of the house, as the only access from the back was a narrow boardwalk with a locked gate. The dunes themselves were full of goatheads, the stickers enough to slow down even the most determined of assailants.
Satisfied that nothing looked out of place, she opened the front door and headed for the master bedroom. "Master" was probably a bit enthusiastic, as the room wasn't particularly big, and with its beat-up maple bedstead, definitely not commanding.
Martin lay in the middle of the mattress, his eyes closed, the even breathing signaling that he was asleep.
Simone dumped her supplies on the nightstand and reached out to wake him. Her
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