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A WOMAN DRESSED in a navy blue business suit was waiting outside the Eagle Landing emergency room doors when the helicopter touched down in the blocked-off street. I recognized her as the woman Max had been talking to in the library courtyard.
“Ms. McKeena?” She stepped in front of me, blocking my way from following the EMTs pushing the still-unconscious Max through the glass doors. “I’m Special Agent Sorenson, and you need to come with me.” She reached out to steer me by my elbow away from the hospital doors.
“ID,” I said.
“What?” she asked, her brows furrowed in a quizzical look.
“I’d like to see your identification,” I answered.
Obviously irritated, the woman pulled back her jacket revealing the gold shield attached to her belt. I could see her sidearm in its holster. Her cell phone rang, and she didn’t take her eyes off me when she answered it with a curt “Sorenson.” After listening for less than a minute, she replied, “I have her in custody.”
Custody!? Lawbreakers get placed in custody. People who murder other people get locked up.
“Ms. McKeena, I have questions concerning what transpired on Dryhead Mountain.”
I bet you do, I thought to myself. What if Max dies and couldn’t corroborate that I’d killed Morgan Weatherby in self-defense? Max—it was weird to think of him by his given name.
“My car is over there.” The FBI agent motioned to the government-issue Crown Vic in a no-parking zone outside the ER doors.
My pulse quickened as she opened the back passenger door. “Watch your head getting in,” she said. The sight of the cage separating the backseat occupant from the freedom of the outside world caused my palms to sweat.
Special Agent Sorenson parked in the Eagle Landing Sheriff’s Department lot designated for authorized personnel only. An officer exiting through the back entrance held the door for us and tipped his hat. He addressed the agent by her first name. “Donna. Buzzing like a beehive in there.” She only nodded and motioned for me to precede her into the well-lit hallway.
She placed me in a small room and left without saying a word. I’d written dozens of scenes of interrogation rooms like this one—institutional green cinder block walls, metal table, folding chairs. Serena had been held in her share of rooms exactly like this. At least this validated that my fiction was credible. Donna—the name somehow didn’t fit an FBI agent—returned shortly with a bottle of water, a tape recorder, and a yellow legal-sized notepad. The interrogation pretty much followed the protocol I’d researched for Serena’s brushes with the law: questions asked from one side of the table and answered from the other, the tape recorder whirling.
Special Agent Sorenson noted the time when the interrogation concluded and snapped the recorder off. “I see no reason to detain you. But don’t leave Eagle Landing unless you clear it with me first. You will need to return to the front desk tomorrow and sign your statement. What is a contact number where you can be reached?”
“I ... I don’t know. Morgan smashed my cell phone. I’m not sure where I’ll be staying.”
“I believe the movie people are staying at the Holiday Inn.” She stood, walked to the door, and waited for me to pass through. She then led me down a hallway. “Remember, don’t leave town without checking with me first,” she said handing me her business card.
I was buzzed through to the lobby, and relief washed over me when I saw Sissally standing there. “Courtney,” she said, hugging me. “Oh, you gave us such a scare. Quintin called me and let me know what was going on. Let’s get out of here.” As we walked to the parking lot, she said, “Opal’s loaned me her car. And I can’t believe your Mr. Horse Wrangler is really FBI Special Agent Max Ryan.”
“Max. I need to get to the hospital.”
“Won’t do you any good. He’s been transferred to Two Rivers because he needed surgery.”
“How do you know?”
“Opal. She can find out anything. She insisted we stay with her. There’s nothing you can do for Max tonight. We’ll go to the hospital first thing in the morning.”
