Divine Evil

well to argue, and only took her arm. “Then we'll go by the house first so Angie can stop tearing out her beautiful hair, and I'll drive you.”
    Pacing the hospital corridor for the better part of an hour had Clare's resentment rising all over again. Lisa MacDonald's room was off-limits except to immediate family and hospital staff. Sheriff's orders. So she would wait, Clare decided. If hethought she would go quietly to twiddle her thumbs at home, he obviously didn't know whom he was dealing with.
    And maybe that was the problem. They really didn't know each other.
    “I brought you some tea.” Jean-Paul gave her a plastic cup. “To calm your nerves.”
    “Thanks, but it's going to take a hell of a lot more than tea.”
    “They didn't have vodka in the concession machine.”
    She gave a half laugh and sipped to please him. “Why won't he let me go in and see her? What does he think he's doing, Jean-Paul?”
    “His job,
chèrie.”
    A long breath hissed out between her teeth. “Don't go logical on me now.”
    She spotted Cam the moment he stepped off the elevator. There was a woman beside him carrying a briefcase. Clare pushed the cup back into Jean-Paul's hand and marched toward Cam. “What the hell's the idea, Rafferty? I have a right to see her.”
    Cam had just spent twenty minutes waiting for the attending physician to give him the go-ahead to take Lisa's statement. “Lisa MacDonald has rights,” he said shortly. “If she wants to see you after I've talked to her, that's fine.” He kept walking as he spoke, then, signaling to a nurse, went into Lisa's room and shut the door.
    The tall, pale-haired man sitting beside Lisa's bed rose immediately. Roy MacDonald leaned over to murmur something to his sister, then crossed to Cam. He was about twenty-five, Cam judged, his serious face composed of finely drawn features. There were lines of strain around his eyes and mouth, and the hand he offered to Cam was cold but steady.
    “You're Sheriff Rafferty.”
    “Yes. I've just spoken with Dr. Su, Mr. MacDonald. He's given me the nod to take a statement from your sister. This is Mrs. Lomax, the stenographer.”
    “I'll stay.”
    “I think that would be best.” Cam gave a nod for the stenographer to set up. “This will probably be hard for her. And for you.”
    “Whatever it takes to find out who did this to her.” Roy MacDonald's hands clenched and unclenched. “The doctor said she wasn't raped.”
    “No, there was no indication of sexual assault.”
    “One small blessing,” Roy murmured. “Her leg.” He had to swallow and made certain he kept his voice low. “There's some artery damage-and the knee. She's a dancer.” He glanced back at his sister while helplessness and rage battled. “She
was
a dancer.”
    “I can tell you that they got her into surgery very quickly and that the surgical staff here is as respected as any in the state.”
    “I'm holding on to that.” He gave himself a moment, afraid, as he had been afraid since the sheriff's call that morning, that he would break down and do Lisa more harm than good. “She doesn't know that it's-that she probably won't dance again. Once she starts thinking…”
    “I'll try to make it easy on her.”
    Roy went back to his sister, took her hand. When she spoke, her voice was a shaky croak. “Is it Mom and Dad?”
    “No, not yet. They'll be here soon, Lisa. It's the sheriff. He wants to ask you some questions.”
    “I don't know.” Her fingers curled tight around his. “Don't leave me.”
    “I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to talk if youdon't want to.” He pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat. “You don't have to do anything.”
    “It doesn't matter.” She felt the tears burn her throat, but they wouldn't come. “It doesn't matter,” she repeated in the same raw whisper.
    “Miss MacDonald.” Cam stood on the other side of the bed and waited for her to turn her head and focus her good eye on him. “I'm Sheriff Rafferty, from Emmitsboro. If you're feeling up to it, I'd like to ask you some questions. The stenographer will take everything down. We can go as slowly as you like and stop whenever you want.”
    There was pain, a grinding pain in her leg that played a merciless tug-of-war with the drugs they'd given her. She was afraid it would go on. She was afraid it would stop. Roy was wrong; she already knew she would never dance Dulcinea. “All right.”
    Cam glanced at Mrs. Lomax, who nodded, her hands poised over