“Not enough to cry over.”

“Anything of real value?”

“The bag is more valuable than anything in it.”

“At least you have this.” Gracie passed Kerra her laptop. “You did leave it in the van while we were doing the interview. I gather you’ve got passwords stored for credit cards and such.”

Kerra nodded absently. Canceling the cards would be a tedious project, but far more worrisome was that if the perpetrators had her bag, they had access to her: personal things that she used every day, her calendar, phone, key ring, driver’s license and all the information on it. In essence they’d have an open gateway into her life.

“Here’s your new phone.” Gracie handed her one of the shopping bags from a local supermarket. “Not as high tech as what you’re used to, but it’ll get you through the next few days. The number showed up in the LED, so I have it. Give it an hour or more to fully charge. I also picked up some toiletries.”

“Thank you.” Kerra placed the sacks aside, too upset over the missing shoulder bag to be distracted by either the new phone or personal hygiene.

“Have you talked to your aunt?”

“Twice.” Kerra motioned toward the hospital telephone on the nightstand. “She offered to come down, but my uncle is recovering from a knee replacement. He needs her more than I do. I couldn’t ask her to abandon him just to sit here and pat my hand. I assured her that I was surrounded by caring people and that I would be fine.”

Gracie gave her a critical once-over and sat down on the corner of the bed. “Okay, enough with the brave face. How are you really? Pain meds not adequate? Or is it something in addition to your injuries that has you upset?”

Trapper. He upset her. The way he studied her without moving or speaking was upsetting. What was he looking for? It was upsetting to her that he’d come back without the sheriff’s knowledge, demanding to know if she’d seen the assailants. Her chest grew tight with foreboding each time she remembered his parting words.

But she didn’t want to share any of that with Gracie, who still didn’t know that she’d been in contact—close contact—with The Major’s son. The producer hadn’t fully forgiven her for keeping it a secret until hours before the broadcast that she was the girl in the iconic photo. Of course Gracie had been elated over the new dimension it would give the interview. If she knew about Kerra’s interaction with Trapper, she’d jump on it.

Kerra shuddered to think what his reaction would be to a media blitz with him as its topic.

In response to Gracie’s question, she confessed to feeling overwhelmed. “I’m rarely daunted by anything, but this is my second life-threatening experience.”

“That would give one pause.”

“Not just that. I get ill when I think of what could have happened to you and the crew.” She reached for the other woman’s hand and squeezed. “If you had returned for me five minutes sooner, one minute sooner, and walked in on them, you could have all been killed.”

“I won’t kid you, we talked about that among ourselves. Last night I slept in Troy’s room on the extra bed. Silly, but I didn’t want to be by myself.”

Remembering her panic attack and nightmare, Kerra said softly, “Not silly at all.”

Gracie said, “We’ve given our statements and have been cleared to leave.”

“So I was told.”

The detectives had informed her that the five had been questioned separately. Their accounts were in such accord that they’d freed them to return to Dallas, but had stipulated that they could be subpoenaed later, depending on the progression of the investigation and resultant arrests and trials.

“What time are you leaving?”

Gracie repositioned her eyeglasses and took a deep, bolstering breath. “Our news director made me swear I’d ask you one more time.”

Without hesitation, Kerra said, “No. I won’t even consider giving an interview now. It would be insensitive, exploitative, and in the poorest possible taste.”

“When has the media been sensitive? And the industry thrives on exploitation and poor taste.”

“Well, I don’t. I esteem The Major. He’s fighting for his life. I’m not about to cash in on that.”

In a leading tone, Gracie said, “You know he has a son.”

Kerra gave a noncommittal nod. “The Major put him off limits.”

“Well, The Major is currently comatose. This son is his only family, and in light of Sunday’s interview, you have an inroad to him.”

“Which I wouldn’t dream of abusing.”

“I told the news director you’d stick to your guns, but you know him. There’s a Nielsen rating where his heart is supposed to be. Besides, this time he’s only the mouthpiece. The request is coming from the network. It would be an extraordinary follow-up, Kerra.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours,” the producer said. “But out-of-the-stratosphere ratings aside, it would be the honorable thing to do.”

Kerra gave her a look. “This I’ve got to hear.”

“Don’t you owe it to the public to share what The Major said in those last few minutes with you? If he doesn’t pull through, and it’s looking like he won’t, you’ll have been the last person on earth who talked to him.”

“It was a personal conversation, Gracie. He wasn’t in his public persona, and neither was I. Nothing we said would enlighten or edify the ‘public.’”

Gracie hesitated, then said, “Promise you won’t throw a bedpan at me for saying this.”

“But?”

“Are you sure you want to pass on this career leg-up? It’s unprecedented. A journalist’s fantasy scenario. Some might think you’d be crazy not to take advantage of it.”

“Some? What do you think?”

“You’ve been traumatized. You’re still reeling from it. Today you’re battered and bruised and grateful merely to be alive. But in a week, you’ll be recovered, back in the swing of things, business as usual. This could launch you straight to the network, but if you don’t seize the opportunity, it’s unlikely you’ll get another.”

“That sounds almost like a warning.”

“Not a warning, honey. A reality. I’m just telling it like it is. You can’t be squeamish or nice and become a star in this industry.”

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Kerra laid her head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

Gracie patted her hand before releasing it. “The crew and I have checked back into the motel. The station sent another reporter to cover updates on The Major’s condition and the pomp and circumstance of the funeral if he dies. But we’re standing by, waiting on a call from you, ready to roll whenever you are. Think it over.”

Kerra did little else for the rest of the day except for the time spent being questioned by the sheriff’s office detectives.

In late afternoon she was brought a dinner tray, but the food was unappetizing, and she wasn’t hungry anyway.

She watched the evening network news. Being the subject of the story rather than the reporter gave her a far different perspective. She felt a surge of compassion for all the individuals she had placed in the spotlight while they were in the vortex of a life crisis.

The Dallas–Fort Worth stations covered the story even more extensively, some recapping the Pegasus Hotel bombing. A spokesperson for the sheriff’s office assured that the attempted assassins would be identified, captured, and brought to justice. Several reports were broadcast live from outside the hospital, where a candlelight vigil was being held for The Major.

The evening wore on until it neared what she considered to be bedtime.

She’d been given a sponge bath that morning in her hospital bed, but she went into the bathroom to give herself another using the toiletries Gracie had brought her. She cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair.

The harsh bathroom light was unforgiving. She had countless scratches, abrasions, and bruises all over, including her face. A large bruise extended down from the corner of her mouth to beneath her chin, as though she’d taken an uppercut to the jaw. Another spread upward from her eyebrow and into her hairline. Both were tender to the touch, and she could count on days of discoloration. But the damage was minimal considering what it could’ve been.