“No apology necessary.”

His eyes misted. “Vanity is my downfall. John knows. Fame is seductive and addictive,” he said, struggling. “I went all in. Too often at John’s expense.”

“Look, I’m okay. All right?” Trapper said. Blood was frothing in the corner of The Major’s lips. Trapper blotted it with his own shirtsleeve. “The ambulance is here. Stop talking. Save your breath.”

The Major feebly raised a hand to touch Trapper’s face. “You never gave up.”

“That’s my downfall. I’m pigheaded.”

“In a good way, John. A good way.”

Trapper’s throat had become too tight to speak. The paramedics had come inside and were trying to push him out of their way, but The Major maintained a surprisingly strong grip on his hand. “John, please don’t share Debra’s diary. Not for my sake, but hers. Bury it with me.”

Trapper wiped his nose on his cuff and smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that, Dad. Mom didn’t keep a diary.”

Major Franklin Trapper was pronounced dead on arrival at the county hospital. For the second time in a week, the facility became the eye of a media storm.

Kerra was called upon to do three live stand-ups, the last of which was for the network evening news.

In his solemn baritone, the anchorman said, “A nation has lost an American icon. But you knew The Major personally. What are your thoughts right now, Kerra?”

“Although our time together was brief, I will feel the loss forever. If not for Major Trapper, my life would have ended twenty-five years ago.” Tears threatened, but she swallowed hard and managed to hold it together.

“You were with him just before he died.”

“I followed the ambulance from his house. He died en route to the hospital.”

“We understand that The Major’s passing is linked to the tragic murder-suicide that occurred earlier today in the home of prominent Dallas businessman Thomas Wilcox and the arrest of an area clergyman. Can you elaborate on that?”

“Only to say that the FBI has begun conducting a thorough investigation into Mr. Wilcox and Reverend Addison.”

“Sources tell us that federal investigators are following a trail that goes all the way back to the bombing of the Pegasus Hotel. From your unique perspective of that historic event—”

“I can’t comment on the government’s investigation. Regarding the Pegasus bombing, my unique perspective is that of a five-year-old child, whose dying mother passed her off to Major Trapper. He saved my life. That’s really all I can or am willing to say at this time.”

“His son, John Trapper, a former ATF agent, took part in the apprehension of Reverend Addison, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Trapper was injured. Do you know his current condition?”

“He suffered a head wound. He’s been admitted to the hospital, but the injury isn’t serious. He’s listed in good condition.”

“Has he made a public statement about the passing of his famous father?”

“No.”

“Can we expect one soon?”

“No. Mr. Trapper doesn’t give interviews.”

On that disappointing note, the anchorman wrapped it up with her. She waded her way through a sea of reporters hurling questions at her before reaching the sawhorses barricading the entrance into the hospital’s main lobby, where she was surprised to see Gracie.

“Guess what? Entertainment Tonight has called. The network has temporarily suspended the clause in your contract that prohibits you from—”

“This isn’t entertainment, Gracie,” she said and made to go around her.

“The View wants you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be busy tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll put them off. Maybe one day next week?”

“Until further notice, don’t commit me to anything.”

“Kerra, be smart here. Capitalize on this.” She wagged her index finger at her. “I know you’re holding back a lot of juicy stuff. If you never reported another story, you could make a career off this one.”

The words were so painfully close to the ones Trapper had said to The Major, she recoiled. “That’s the last thing I would want to do. Now, you must excuse me. Deputy Jenks has asked to talk to me.”

He was waiting in the hospital lobby, in uniform, continuing the pretense that he was a high-ranking deputy sheriff and not a federal agent. He drew her aside, out of anyone else’s earshot. He gestured toward her biceps. “I hope I didn’t squeeze your arm too tight.”

“When we were back there, why didn’t you tell me you were an FBI agent?”

“Sorry, but you had to be convincingly frightened. I wanted Hank’s confession to the Wilcox girl’s murder before I arrested him.”

“Trapper was told this morning that the FBI had a man working from the inside.”

“Two of us, actually,” Jenks said. “For the past couple of years.”

“Is your partner also in the sheriff’s office?”

Jenks smiled politely but didn’t answer.

Abashed, she said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, even though anything we say is off the record. You have my word.”

“I believe you.”

“Can I ask what put Glenn Addison on the FBI’s radar to start with?”

“More people listened to Trapper than he was aware of,” Jenks said. “Based on what he’d brought to light, we started sniffing out Wilcox, and things began to stink, especially when surveillance picked up the close contact he maintained with a sheriff, who happened to be The Major’s good friend.

“Because of Trapper’s kinship with The Major,” he continued, “the higher-ups weren’t sure he could remain objective if he were told about it. They sent us up here, but kept Trapper out of the loop.”

“They shouldn’t have.”

“I tend to agree, but the decision was made by people above my pay grade. I was investigating the sheriff. Floored me when Hank approached me with a ‘recruitment’ pitch. He had some grandiose ideas.”

“About?”

“Getting Wilcox’s list and blackmailing people, monied people, into supporting his ministry and building him into a TV megastar. Motivational superman. The person with all the answers.”

“God’s mouthpiece.”

“Essentially. This tabernacle was only the first step. He studied how Wilcox operated, saw how effectively he manipulated by instilling paranoia, and mimicked it.”

“What happened today?”

“He called and told me he was going to drive The Major home from the hospital, needed me to go with him, and dispose of the body later. I could tell he was becoming more and more unhinged, that things were coming to a head fast, so I notified the cavalry and told them to stand by, then met him here in the parking lot. When I climbed into the van, I didn’t expect you, just like Sunday night.”

“Which was full of surprises.”

“Tell me. Initially Hank told me to go alone. I was going to warn The Major of what was going on, advise him to leave town for a few days, give me and the bureau time to figure out if we had enough on Hank to make an arrest for Tiffany Wilcox’s murder and make it stick.

“But Petey was sprung on me at the last minute. Hank thought he should go along as backup. Without blowing my cover, I didn’t have time to warn The Major, except to make a lot of noise as we approached the house. I hit him in the head just to get him down, thinking I’d apologize later, and in the meantime, deal with Petey.”

“Petey was trigger-happy.”

“Till my dying day, I’ll blame myself for not realizing what he was going to do.”

By the look on his face, Kerra knew that to be true. “Petey was the one who asked how do you like being dead.”

“Yes. Then the light went out in the bathroom. I had to choose between saving the person inside it or tending to The Major, and, honestly, I thought he was already dead.”

“Thanks for not shooting me.”