White Diamonds (Capitol Chronicles Book 2) Page 2

  He'd been little help in his semiconscious state, and Sandra had used all her available strength to get him to one of the three bedrooms. When she'd finally laid him down and pulled the quilt over his prone frame, she remembered her mother's last instruction, to call Brian, the forest ranger at the Pocono station. She knew she should report the stab wound, but Wyatt Randolph was a United States senator. Shouldn't she give him a chance to explain before he found himself confronted by a roomful of police? Her logic didn't make sense and she knew it. He'd been stabbed. He carried a cache of diamonds clearly worth enough to start a revolution, but something made her want to talk to him before she reported him to the police.

  Sandra knelt on the sofa, her finger playing with the bright stones lying on the small table that held a lamp, several books, and a candy jar filled with leftover Christmas candy.

  She'd cleaned the blood away until they shone, yet they were flawed. She could see the flaws with her naked eye. It didn't mean they weren't worth a fortune. The diamonds were another reason she should report to the authorities. Gunshots and stab wounds were required by law to be reported. Her mother had told her that just before she hung up. She felt guilty that she hadn't followed Melissa's instructions. They had a good relationship and Sandra never lied to her. Yet today, when she'd asked whom the man was, Sandra told her his eye was swollen so badly and his face so bruised that he'd be hard to recognize even if she knew who he was. Technically the truth, she rationalized, but she'd recognized Wyatt Randolph the moment she'd pulled his slumped body up in the car.

  Sandra chewed on her lip remembering her decision not to call Brian until she could at least talk to the senator. Maybe she'd been wrong. She should have called the police. The snow had continued until it was impossible to reach the small house now. If the senator died it would be her fault.

  Again she looked at the stones, fifteen of them. They'd make a beautiful necklace, she thought with a wry smile. What was he doing with them, she wondered. Why did he have them banded about his waist and who had tried to kill him?

  ***

  The radio crackled static. Sandra jumped as she turned and stared at it. The cup of coffee shook in her hand and she set it on the table. Why was she so nervous? Wyatt—He was Wyatt now. She'd checked on him several times during the night. He did develop a fever and she'd spent part of the night sponging his face and chest, keeping him cool. After such intimate contact she no longer thought of him as Senator Randolph. He had only been in her house one day and he was already upsetting her normal routine. She hadn't thought anything about studying for her orals since she'd seen the blinking lights of his car in the distance and wondered who could be on the road in such bad weather.

  "K7950 calling K5895. Princess, are you there?" Sandra's spirits lifted at the absurd tag Officer Brian Court used when he called her on the shortwave radio. He called frequently when she was staying at the cabin under the pretext of checking to make sure everything was all right. Sandra knew he had a crush on her, but that was all it was. Going to the unit, she flipped the switch to TALK and spoke into the microphone. "K5895, the Ivory Tower: Good morning, Brian." She smiled into the instrument, ignoring the rules of ham operators. Brian had called the Rutledge cabin the Ivory Tower because it was so far up the mountain. When she was younger he'd dubbed her sister Annie the princess of the tower and referred to Sandra as the other princess.

  Sandra didn't mind. Brian acted like most men did when they saw her beautiful sister. He still called them both princess. "I'm fine," Sandra lied. She'd put twenty stitches into Wyatt Randolph and a nervousness she couldn't define settled on her since she'd found him in the road yesterday, but she kept this from Brian.

  "Just checking. We had a might of snow last night."

  "The weathermen were right on the money this time. Twenty-four inches," Sandra confirmed. Thank God, she finished silently. She'd gone out after getting Wyatt to bed spent an hour in their Jeep plowing a path back to his car. Then she'd put the Jeep away and walked to his car. It had taken her another hour to get the car up to the cabin. Without four-wheel drive it was virtually impossible to climb the mountain road, or what passed as a road. Her mother and father had wanted absolute privacy when they built the cabin. It sat near the top of the mountain with few avenues of access other than the air and a four-wheel drive vehicle.

  "Drifts must be up to your porch." Brian's voice jarred her back to the present.

  "And then some," she told him. Sandra had stepped onto the porch at first light. The blowing snow of last night completely covered the path leading to the spot where Wyatt's car had been. The five steps that led to the cabin’s wide porch were obliterated.

  "You sure you don't need me to fly up there and bring you down?"

  "I'm sure, Brian." She held the strain in her voice. She didn't want any visitors until Wyatt was conscious. "Besides," she remembered. "You and Starfighter can't occupy the same space."

  She bit her lower lip. She didn't think the senator would want to find a representative of the law, even if it was only a forest ranger, when he opened his eyes. Her conscious tugged at her for a moment. She knew her mother was right and she should report to Brian that Senator Randolph had been stabbed and was comfortably asleep in Annie's bed. Yet, something made her hold that information back. Why was he on that road? Of all the places in the world he could choose to go, why did he pick the road leading to her family cabin? It had to concern her father. Yet, Sandra didn't discount her sister, Annie.

  Annie had always been a wild one, and millions of dollars in diamonds could be part of a scenario that had her name on it. On the other hand, Wyatt Randolph was a senator and so was her father. She shivered at the thought that somehow the two of them had something in common. Either way, she had to find out the truth before she let Brian or the police know about him.

  "How are you fixed for food and water?" Brian's voice had a serious note in it when it pulled her back to the shortwave. She knew he was concerned about her. She also knew he was a fine ranger. Her mother said he often called to check on her when she was there writing one of the many medical articles she published each year. Her trips were generally taken during summer weather. Why Sandra had chosen to prepare her defense during the winter, even she questioned now. She'd told herself the timing was right. Her exam was scheduled for the end of April. The cabin was deserted. She'd have absolute quiet to concentrate, no hikers dropping by unexpectedly, and she wanted to prove she could withstand the memories of John and this place without falling to pieces.

  "Princess?" Brian called her back to the present.

  "No problem," she continued. "All services are still working." The electricity and water had been unaffected by the sudden cold and mountainous snowfall.

  "I don't like you being up there all alone."

  "Brian, I'm not alone." She had a U.S. senator in residence. Granted he was unconscious, but he was there. "You're at the end of the radio and I've got a Jeep with a snow plow if I really need to get down the mountain."

  "That Jeep won't be much good in this kind of weather. It would take you hours to plow that road, if you could do it."

  How well she knew that. Brian's voice told her he had doubts of her ability. Sandra's chin raised an inch. She had plowed that road, at least as far back as the senator's car. The Jeep had front-wheel drive, but had been hard to move. The car now sat safely in the car shed next to the Jeep. The night's snowfall had completely covered any trace of her handiwork.

  "I also have Starfighter," she told him.

  "Yeah," Brian laughed. "Thank God for that."

  Sandra suddenly looked up. She heard a thump upstairs and knew Wyatt must have awakened. Her heart thudded as if Brian could see through the handset.

  "Brian, honestly, I'm fine. If I need anything you'll be the first person I call."

  "You make sure I am," he paused.

  "Have there been any new developments on 'the ground' I should know about?" Again she used his designation for the distance
between the ranger station and her cabin. She hoped he'd tell her the latest news about the man she was harboring.

  "Other than the weather, Senator Wyatt is still commanding the front page."

  "Anything new on his whereabouts?"

  "Only speculation. One paper even has him in our neck of the woods. In order for that to happen he'd have to be a polar bear."

  Nervousness gripped Sandra that made her hands shake. She grabbed the microphone with both hands. Thank God they didn't have the computer hookup that transmitted real time images. "He does represent this state." Sandra tried to make her voice sound normal, but the sound came out unusually high. "Coming here doesn't seem unreasonable."

  "He's never been here before that I know of. Not even when your father comes up. If he's found in these parts I'd have to believe the stories that he’s at least one egg short of a full dozen."

  Sandra wasn't sure of that yet. Wyatt Randolph was still unconscious. She looked up again as if she could see through the beamed ceiling. At the moment she only knew that Senator Randolph was in the area and that he could have died trying to get there. She had yet to determine why he didn't seek medical help but instead had driven up a mountain in a snowstorm, a stab wound in his side, to reach her parents' cabin with a cache of diamonds tied around his waist.

  He had to be looking for her father, the senior senator from New Jersey and chairman of the powerful defense subcommittee. Were they working on something together? Had he asked him to meet him here?

  "I have to go, Sandra," Brian said. She heard the static of another call coming in over the open airwaves. "Remember to call me if you need anything."

  "One more thing, Brian." Sandra's heart beat fast. She didn't want Brian to become suspicious, but she needed to ask him a question. "There haven't been any . . . strangers in the area, have there?" She bit her lower lip, hoping Brian didn't hear the hesitation. "Princess, are you sure you're all right up there?"

  "I promise you I'm fine. It's just that with all the snow, I feel a little isolated." That was the truth. "I wondered if there were any climbers or polar bear buffs in the area, just in case someone knocks on my door."

  "We've been all over this area, and with the falling snow, only a fool with a death wish would be out in it. As far up the mountain as you are, they'd never reach you before they froze to death."

  How little he knew, Sandra thought. Wyatt Randolph must have been very determined to get as far as he got and without the aerial surveillance of the forest rangers finding him.

  "It's good to know," she said. "At least I can sleep well."

  "Princess, I can have a chopper there in no time."

  "Brian, don't think about me. I'm sure you have plenty to do rescuing tourists and weekend skiers."

  "Ain't that the truth? Last night we took two skiers to the hospital suffering from exposure and frostbite. They'll be fine."

  "Who were they?"

  "A couple of college kids," he said. "Don't worry, they weren't from Rutgers. I think they came from somewhere south of here, Morgan or Howard. So they weren't here trying to get you to change their grades."

  Sandra laughed with Brian, glad to hear there was nothing more to add to her increasing feeling of paranoia.

  "Well, Princess, I have to go now. Duty calls. K7950 signing off."

  "Thanks, Brian, and I will call you if I need anything. K5895, Out."

  He didn't know how true that was. The uneasiness that had settled over her since she found Wyatt bleeding in the snow had not left with the light of day. Someone wanted him dead, and if they'd tried to kill him once, she didn't think they'd stop until they'd completed the job. He was here for whatever reason. Whoever was looking for him was probably not far behind. What would she do when they caught up with him? Hopefully, Brian would be close enough to summon.

  Sandra heard the thump again as she switched the microphone off. She ran up the stairs and into the room where she'd left Wyatt. He was sprawled diagonally across the twin bed, his bare feet on the floor as if he'd tried to get up and fallen back against the pillows. For a moment she stared at his legs, powerful, athletically muscular. Her stomach clinched. Sandra moved into the room and checked him. He was asleep, his breathing even. Perspiration lay on his forehead, but he was cool to the touch. Raising his shirt, she saw the stitches were holding and no additional blood had seeped through the dressing. Lifting his legs, she swung them back onto the bed and covered him with the sheet and quilt.

  Next to the bed she'd placed a bowl of water and a cloth. She wrung out the cloth. He was so far across the mattress she had to balance herself on one knee and lean over him to dab the perspiration from his brow. He was a handsome man, she thought. Not as good-looking as the newspaper pictures showed, but in those his face wasn't swollen and bruised. His skin was dark and smooth. Strangely enough, she liked touching it. She continued sponging his face after it was no longer necessary. The swelling around his eye was smaller this morning, and it didn't appear as veined as it had the night before.

  She stared at him. Half of his face was unmarred. That half was gorgeous. She could only imagine what he would look like without the disfigurement. Her mouth suddenly went dry. She swallowed, trying to wet her throat. The stubble on his face showed he'd gone several days without a shave. It in no way detracted from the strength of his features. She could see why his constituency had voted him to office. Without knowing his platform, she thought he had an honest look. She wondered why they had never met at the many political functions she'd attended in support of her father.

  Wyatt had brown eyes; indeed she'd looked into them earlier. As if he could read her thoughts, his eyes opened and he stared directly into hers. Sandra, caught off guard and feeling as if she'd been discovered doing something wrong, was paralyzed. For a moment they stared at each other. Then Wyatt's eyes closed and he went back to sleep.

  Sandra let go of her breath and sat back on the coverlet. What had happened to her? The man only looked at her and he wasn't even fully awake, yet her heart was pounding and she felt as if she couldn't take enough air into her lungs. Quickly, she scrambled off the bed and stepped away from him. Wyatt didn't move, didn't even know she was in the room. Sandra felt gripped by some indefinable aura that bound her to him. Why, she wondered, but got no answer.

  She left the room, closing the door and taking a deep breath. It wasn't possible. She knew nothing about him outside of what the news media had reported over the last week. Until he woke up, she was going to have to wait to find out his reason for disappearing. Hopefully, when that happened she'd have better control of herself.

  ***

  Wyatt groaned and opened his eyes. He couldn't see anything, just a large, hazy blur. He blinked several times. Finally he could make out the bedpost at the foot of the small bed. In the corner a bureau materialized, then a dresser with a mirror. The door in the center of one wall stood half open. He could only see the rough surface of a wall outside of it.

  "Ohhh," he moaned. Every part of him hurt. He raised his hand to his aching head. Unintentionally he hit his eye. Agony shot into his head. His entire body clinched. As the pain subsided, he gingerly felt the swelling about his eye. His hand touched a gauze bandage near his brow.

  Memory surged into his consciousness. Had they caught him? Why wasn't he dead? He tried to sit up. Pain shot through his side, sapping him of energy, forcing him back against the pillows. Sweat poured off him and he opened his mouth to take in gulps of air. Where was he? Trying to calm himself, he breathed deeply, his chest heaving as he gritted his teeth and waited out the pain.

  Light flowed through the windows. Bright light. He concentrated on that instead of the paralyzing agony in his side. It must be late afternoon. He didn't recognize the room and he wasn't tied to the bed, so he must have been found by someone who hadn't called the police or the FBI. It could be Senator Rutledge's men who were holding him.

  Wincing, he pushed himself up, feeling his left side. They'd stabbed him, tried to kil
l him. And it was his fault. Why had he gone into that alley? When he spotted the man following him, why hadn't he gone for the car or the subway? The alley was darker than the street, and he thought he could hide. He'd been wrong. Wyatt had turned at the last minute, feeling something was wrong. The man was coming toward him, fast. They struggled, fought, traded blow for blow. He saw the knife too late to dodge it. Luckily, he'd rolled away and come up with the gun—Chip's gun. The guy had run, and Wyatt had taken a breath. He got to the car and started driving. How he got here he didn't know.

  He remembered the snow, blinding snow, and then he passed out. Someone must have found him, someone who'd dressed his stab wound. Who? It felt tight under the bandage. He wondered if whoever had found him was friendly. He hoped so, for he was in no condition to escape a capture. And he was still alive.

  Where was he? He listened for a sound, any indication that he wasn't alone. He heard nothing. Had whoever found him left him alone?

  He swung his feet to the carpeted floor and hung his head as dizziness accosted him. It cleared in a moment and he tried to stand. The effort washed him in perspiration. Clamping his teeth together, he shifted his weight to his good side and squeezed his eyes shut. The pain in his head vied for dominance over that in his side. Still, Wyatt forced himself up. A minor victory he told himself as he spread his feet and let go of the bedpost several agonizing moments later. He could stand. Pushing his shirt aside, he placed his hand over the dressing and tried to force the burning pain concentrated there away. The dressing was clean. He wondered who had tended him—and why?

  Listening again, he heard nothing. He limped quietly toward a closed door inside the room. Opening it only wide enough to see inside, he found a bathroom. Pushing it further, he found it empty and connected to another room. The second room looked much like the one he'd awakened in except it had a queen-size bed and more female frills to it. Closing both doors, he used the facility but didn't want to alert anyone to his presence by flushing the toilet. He checked his face in the mirror and frowned at the broken and discolored skin. He looked as if he'd been in a fight, and God knows he had.