“Chickenshit,” Trapper muttered.

He’d always had to twist Hank’s arm before he would engage in any real fun like sneaking copies of Playboy, nipping from bottles of liquor when the grown-ups weren’t around, shoplifting a tin of chewing tobacco from the convenience store. Hank had confessed to that particular misdeed before their parents were even aware that the petty crime had been committed. He’d cried and said over and over how sorry he was.

Not Trapper. He’d thought the adventure was well worth puking his guts up later.

The double doors to the ICU opened, and Glenn came through. He was in his uniform, which was as crisp as ever, but his gait wasn’t his usual stride and his face was haggard. Seeing Trapper, he motioned for him to follow him into the waiting room. No one else was in there. They sat down in adjacent chairs.

“How is he?” Trapper asked.

Glenn set his cowboy hat over his knee. “Far as his chest, we can thank our lucky stars that the surgeon worked twenty-five years at a trauma center in Dallas. He was on call last night and knew what he was doing. Otherwise, The Major would already be dead.”

“What about his head?”

“Cranium’s got a depression this big.” He made a circle with his thumb and finger. “His pupils were reactive when he was brought in and still are. That’s good. Doctor says the main concern now is swelling of the brain. If it gets bad, they’ll have to bore a hole in his skull.”

Trapper dragged both hands down his face.

“The good news,” Glenn continued, “is that his vitals are strong.”

“Oh, that’s great news,” Trapper said. “He could be a vegetable, but he’ll live a long life.”

“He’s got brain function. They just don’t know how much yet.”

A glum silence fell between them. Trapper broke it by saying, “I caught Hank on his way out.”

“He said they had a capacity crowd at the prayer breakfast. Everybody turned out for The Major.”

“What was your rift with him about?”

Taken off guard by the question, Glenn looked startled, then annoyed. “Damn Hank.”

“He never could keep a secret. Always a tattletale.”

Glenn sighed heavily. “John, now’s not the time—”

“You don’t call me John unless we’re talking about something serious, and whatever this is was serious enough to cause a rift between you and The Major that hadn’t been patched.”

“Which is why it’s tough to talk about. Later, when we know—”

“Not later. Now.”

Glenn swore under his breath. “One of my CAP detectives has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Looks bad. He’s taking early retirement.”

“Shit luck and sad story. What’s it got to do with what we’re talking about?”

“I’ve got to replace him. That division needs somebody younger and smarter than him, than me. You would be my first choice. I bounced the idea off The Major and …” He paused, took a breath, blew it out.

Trapper waited him out, although he could have filled in the blank any number of ways and captured the gist of what Glenn was reluctant to tell him.

“The Major gave me an ultimatum. I could have you living here and working for me.”

“Or?” Trapper asked quietly.

“Or I could continue being his friend. Given that choice …” He raised his beefy shoulder. “There wasn’t a choice. But I was still mad at him over it.”

Glenn looked so shamefaced and sad that Trapper took mercy and let him off the hook. “Don’t beat yourself up, Glenn. I would’ve said no.” Yet he thought wistfully, Crimes Against Persons. Right up my alley. But wrong time, and definitely wrong place.

“I figured,” Glenn said. “But I was going to try. You’re being wasted. Private investigator? Come on. Besides, I was hoping that getting you here would be the first step toward a reconciliation between the two of you.”

“Not gonna happen, Glenn.”

“Not overnight, but given time, maybe.” Glenn regarded him for a moment. “When he went from being just Frank Trapper to the hero, things changed for you, too. He took to celebrity and ran with it. I felt sorry for Debra having to either follow in his wake or get left behind altogether. But I felt even sorrier for you. I can tell you that now.”

“No boo-hoos for me, thank you.”

“That’s my point. You rode it out. Finished growing up without any serious missteps and turned out okay. Your life was on track, and things seemed to be fine between you and The Major. Till you left the ATF. Y’all had more than a falling out. It was a severance.”

“As you said, it tore him up. He couldn’t forgive my failure.”

“What did you fail at? What were you working on?”

“That’s classified, Glenn. I can’t talk about it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, I won’t talk about it.”

Glenn stared at him hard, not with a friend’s or surrogate dad’s eyes, but with those of a lawman seeking truth behind a lie. “Your quarrel with The Major was over you leaving the bureau. That’s it?”

Trapper tried to keep his expression unreadable. “That’s it.”

Glenn still looked like he didn’t believe him, but eventually he stood and put his hat on. “I’m gonna check in with the office. You staying?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna hang around until they let me see him.”

Glenn placed a firm hand on Trapper’s shoulder. “The hell of it is, you love him.”

Trapper didn’t say anything. Glenn nodded understanding, removed his hand, and left him.

When he was out of earshot, Trapper murmured, “That is the hell of it.”

Kerra had hoped the dawn would bring some relief from the terrible night.

But the day began with the discovery that her shoulder bag had been misplaced and no one seemed to know what had happened to it.

Using the hospital phone on her nightstand, she called Gracie and explained the situation. An hour later, Gracie Lambert walked into her hospital room, carrying a shopping bag in each hand.

She was a familiar and welcome sight with her nimbus of salt-and-pepper hair and eyeglasses with bright orange frames. Her demeanor could be either maternal or martial, and she could switch between the two in a heartbeat, a skill that made her an excellent producer. This morning she was in motherly mode.

“God, it’s good to see you,” she said. “We’ve been so worried. The others wanted to come with me, but I didn’t think you needed a mob scene.”

“Not this morning,” Kerra said. “But I appreciate their concern. Did you ask them about my bag?”

“Yes, and it was unanimous. After the interview was finished, we packed up all the gear and loaded it into the van. You kept your bag with you.”

Kerra had known that to be the case, but she’d clung to the faint hope that she wasn’t remembering correctly. Now, with the crew members’ verification that she’d had the bag with her, she was both disturbed and desolate.

Gracie asked, “Are you sure the hospital staff hasn’t stashed it somewhere?”

“Everything I had on me was collected in the ER and put into a plastic bag. The bag accompanied me to this room and was placed in the closet. I buzzed a nurse first thing this morning. My lips were dry, and I asked her to fetch the lip salve out of my makeup kit. No makeup kit, no shoulder bag. Everything else was there, even my ruined clothes and shoes.”

“The police must have it.”

“Two detectives from the sheriff’s office were here earlier. They questioned me for an hour, until the doctor stopped by on his rounds and ran them out. They’re coming back after lunch. In the meantime, they promised to check with the first responders, but they didn’t hold out hope that my bag would turn up. They have a log of the evidence collected from The Major’s house, and the only thing belonging to me is my coat, which was on a living room chair.”

“No Louis Vuitton.”

Kerra shook her head.

“It’s not like that thing could be easily overlooked, either,” Gracie said. “It’s huge. How much cash were you carrying?”