Free Pursuit by Karen Robards Page A

things, but he wasn’t one to condone a cold-blooded murder, especially when it happened practically under his nose. And he didn’t go in for violence against women under any circumstances.
    “Could you give us a minute here, please?” he asked, sweeping a meaningful look around the room. The implication was that he simply wanted privacy in which to break the bad news about Mrs. Cooper’s death—which in a way he did, although that wasn’t all of it, and he didn’t think what he had to say was going to come as a surprise to her.
    Jessica’s eyes widened, and for a moment he thought she meant to protest. Mark realized that she was probably alarmed at the prospect of being left alone with him, which, if she really thought he’d tried to put something in her IV, he could certainly understand.
    “You don’t have to worry; you’re safe with me,” he told her in his best reassuring tone, to head her off before she could protest. “I’m on your side. I’m here strictly to make sure you’re taken care of.”
    She looked at him hard, but she didn’t object.
    “Well . . .” The oldest nurse frowned at him. So did the blond one, looking across the bed at him as, with a loud zip of releasing Velcro, she unwrapped the blood-pressure cuff she had applied to Jessica’s arm a moment before. The security guards shuffled uneasily. Mark had the feeling that if he hadn’t been Secret Service, there was no way in hell he would have gotten her alone. As it was, though, it was clear that none of them quite had the guts to come right out and say no.
    “It’s all right.” Jessica clenched the matter.
    “We’ll be right outside the door,” the oldest nurse promised. With a glance at Jessica, the blond nurse stepped away from the bed. Then all of them, security guards included, left the room. There was a soft whoosh and then a click as the door closed behind them.
    Mark looked at Jessica.
    “Well?” Her voice was flat. Her eyes held his. She looked small and fragile lying there. She also looked kind of like she’d been hit by a Mack truck, which when he thought about it wasn’t too far from what had actually happened to her. Mind-boggling that this nondescript girl, rather than the First Lady of the United States, or fit, strong Will Prescott, or even the adult male driver, had survived. Either she was a lot tougher than she looked or lucky as hell, and he didn’t think she was very tough. What surprised him, though, was how calm and in control of herself she seemed. Pretty remarkable, he reckoned, under the circumstances. She had already suffered a lot both physically and emotionally, and she was probably in pain.
    But still she had the moxie to scowl at him.
    “The First Lady was killed in the crash,” he said. There was no way to sugarcoat it, so best just get it out there.
    Her eyes flickered, and she glanced down and away. Her lips shook, then firmed, as if she was refusing to let the emotion she was clearly feeling gain the upper hand. She took a breath, carefully shallower than before. Then, as he weighed what to say next, she was suddenly looking straight at him again. Her eyes blazed.
    “Where the hell were you?” There was accusation in her voice.
    “What?” She’d taken him by surprise. He almost blinked at her.
    “I know you—you’re the SAIC of the First Lady’s security detail. Why weren’t you there with her at the hotel? Or why wasn’t somebody? Why was she alone? If you’d done what you were supposed to do, none of this would have happened.”
    “She was at a hotel?”
    He latched on to the one piece of solid information and ignored the rest. He had to, because the guilt that her accusation stirred up was something he couldn’t deal with right now. The thing that killed him was, she was right. One hundred percent totally correct.
    “Isn’t it your job to know that?”
    Now she was starting to bug him. Whatever he’d been expecting, to have his balls busted by this girl who didn’t