All six missed by a wide margin. She’d picked the wrong image to shoot.
The footsteps hurried away, and a short time later a car started up and raced off, spewing gravel and dirt.
With a final gasp Michelle dropped to the ground.
CHAPTER
37
THE BLARING TRUCK horn finally attracted the attention of a passing
deputy who discovered the unconscious King and Michelle. They were taken to UVA Hospital in Charlottesville. King recovered first. His head wound was bloody, but his skull proved hard enough and he’d suffered no serious damage. Michelle’s recovery would take a little longer, and she was sedated while her injuries were worked on. When she woke, King was sitting next to her, his head bandaged.
“God, you look awful,” she said in a weak voice.
“That’s all I get after sitting in this damn chair for hours waiting for the princess to awaken? ‘God, you look awful’?”
“I’m sorry. It’s really wonderful to see your face. I wasn’t sure you were alive.”
He studied the marks on her swollen neck. “Whoever it was did a number on you. Did you see anybody?”
“No. It was a man, that’s all.” She added, “I shot him.”
“You did what?”
“Shot him, through the seat.”
“Where’d you hit him?”
“In the side, I think.”
“The police are waiting to take a statement. I’ve already given them mine. The FBI and Deputy Marshal Parks are here too. I filled them in on finding the gun and my theory about Loretta blackmailing someone.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell them much.”
“There must have been at least two of them: one to flush us out of the house and the other waiting in your truck. They were counting that I’d grab the gun. Saved them from looking for it. Someone must have been tailing us when we were at Loretta’s house. They could have seen us discover the gun, and decided to get it back.”
“There were three of them, then, because there were two in the car.” She paused and then said, “They got the gun, didn’t they?”
“Yes. Stupid when you think about it. We should have taken it right to the FBI, but we didn’t and that’s that.” He sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. “That was a close one, Michelle, way too close.”
“I fought as hard as I could.”
“I know you did. You’re the only reason I’m alive. I owe you.”
Before Michelle could answer, the door opened and a young man came in. “Agent Maxwell?” He held out credentials that identified him as Secret Service. “As soon as you’re discharged from the hospital, and have talked to the police, you’re to accompany me back to Washington.”
“Why?” asked King.
The man ignored him. “The doctors say you’re lucky to be alive.”
“I don’t think luck had much to do with it,” King pointed out.
“Why am I going back to Washington?” Michelle asked.
“As of right now, you’re being reassigned to a desk at the Washington field office.”
“Walter Bishop’s handiwork,” said King.