The Paediatrician's Personal Protector. Mallory Kane

then applied a small bandage to her cheek. The bandage was also pink, with ladybugs on it.

      Reilly was pretty sure Christy had no idea what was on the bandage. The wink one of the EMTs gave him on the way out confirmed it. Their way of getting her back for lecturing them about the futility of putting a cast on a scaphoid fracture.

      Once the EMTs were gone, the officers resumed the questioning.

      “You were saying that someone knocked you to the floor,” Buford Watts prompted her.

      She adjusted the ice pack. “Yes. I’d just unlocked and opened the door when I was hit from behind. The man landed on top of me. I tried to roll over, or buck or kick, but he was too heavy.”

      Reilly noticed a faint shiver tense her muscles. He doubted the officers saw it. They seemed mesmerized by her striking appearance, or maybe her calm recitation of what had happened.

      Watts asked the question Reilly had asked her before. “You know it was a man? Did you get a good look at him?”

      “No.” A sharp syllable. “I was on my stomach and he was on top of me. But it was a man. No question.” She met each officer’s gaze, but didn’t look at Reilly. Then she took a deep breath. “I know because he was straddling me.”

      Reilly’s breath stuck in his throat. “Did he—?” he croaked, earning a stiff glance from the officer in charge. This wasn’t Reilly’s case. Not technically. For their purposes, he was merely a witness—the first person the victim had called.

      Christy Moser looked directly at him for the first time since they’d come into the house. As before, when he’d looked into her eyes at the coffee kiosk, he thought he saw something underneath their cool darkness.

      She gave a slight negative shake of her head. “I wasn’t raped,” she said quickly. “But it was obvious that he was male.”

      The younger officer’s face turned pink. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Did he—did he take anything?”

      She shook her head. “Nothing. Apparently his only purpose in attacking me was to give me a message.”

      “A message?” the officer echoed.

      Christy opened her mouth but before she could speak, Ella Bardin was back with a steaming mug of fragrant tea. “Here you go, dear. I’m sorry it took so long, but I wanted to wait until the EMTs were gone.”

      The two officers eyed the hot drink with covetousness in their gazes, but if Ella Bardin noticed, she gave no sign of it. Christy thanked her and held the cup in her left hand.

      “You said the attacker left you a message?”

      “That’s right. He pushed my face against the hardwood floor and said, ‘Go back where you came from or you’re as dead as your sister.’“

      Reilly watched the two officers. Both of them sat up straight in their seats.

      “Your sister?” Watts said.

      At the same time the younger officer echoed, “Get out of town?”

      Christy Moser held up the hand with the cast. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured, except for the right index one, which was raggedly broken. “Let me explain,” she said, much more calmly than the officers’ outbursts. She took a quick breath and continued.

      “My sister was murdered five years ago, on Bienville Street in the French Quarter. Her death was ruled a mugging, but my father was certain that she was murdered by a married man with whom she was having an affair. The night she died was her birthday and she’d gone down to the Quarter to celebrate.”

      The word celebrate took on an ironic tone. Reilly wondered just how much Christy knew about her sister and the man she’d been seeing.

      “I’ve been in Boston for the past six years, doing a residency and then a fellowship in pediatrics at Children’s Hospital. I had—” She paused and a fleeting shadow crossed her face. “I wasn’t aware of everything that was going on. However, I believe that my attack this evening proves that my father was right. My sister’s death wasn’t just a mugging. And apparently whoever killed her feels threatened by my presence here.”

      Reilly noticed that the two officers seemed bewildered. He sympathized with them. He’d barely kept up with her rapid-fire explanation and conclusion, and he had the advantage of knowing something about the case from Ryker.

      The lead officer looked at Reilly then back at Christy. “I think we need to get an official statement from you—downtown. And I’m going to call CSI to look for trace from the man who allegedly assaulted you.”

      “Allegedly?” Her voice was frosty.

      “Legal terminology,” Reilly commented in an effort to soften the officer’s words. He was afraid if Christy stiffened any more, she’d break.

      Turning to Watts, he said, “Can the statement wait until tomorrow? Dr. Moser is exhausted.”

      Watts sent him a glaring look, but nodded. “Sure. We can take the official statement tomorrow. But Ms.—Dr. Moser, you might want to give some thought to what you want in the official record. If you’re prepared to make a written sworn statement to everything you’ve just told us, then you are accusing the man who assaulted you and threatened your life of killing your sister. If we’re able to find any trace evidence and match it to someone, your statement accuses that person of murder.”

      Christy waited a few seconds, watching the officer closely, but he didn’t say anything else. She nodded. “That’s exactly right, Officer. I am definitely accusing the man who attacked me of murdering my sister.”

       Chapter Three

      After the police finished questioning Christy, they cordoned off and locked Cottage Three, holding it as a crime scene until the CSI team could process it the next day.

      Ella Bardin insisted that Christy sleep in the front bedroom of the main house of the Oak Grove Inn, the Lakeview Room. It didn’t look out over any lake Reilly had ever seen, but there were photos of famous lakes all over the room, including Lake Pontchartrain. After Ella made sure the room was in perfect condition, she excused herself, saying she had an early morning. Tomorrow was French toast day and she had to get up at five o’clock.

      Reilly deposited the few items the officers had allowed Christy to grab from her cottage onto the antique dresser and turned to say good-night to her.

      She was standing in the middle of the room, watching him carefully. She definitely looked the worse for wear. She’d twisted her glossy black hair into some kind of knot, but it was coming undone. Her torn skirt would have been indecent if not for the black lace slip. Her stockings were in shreds, and she’d long since discarded the single shoe and her jacket.

      Her expression reflected her experience. It was at once angry, bewildered, frustrated and scared. Reilly felt an odd urge to cross the room and pull her into his arms. But Dr. Christmas Moser wouldn’t appreciate him peeking beneath her tough exterior. In fact, he knew what she’d say if he tried to offer comfort.

       That does not accomplish anything, Officer. Surely you realize that.

      “I heard your father had a heart attack,” he said. “He’s in the cardiac unit?”

      She nodded.

      “I’m sorry. You don’t need any more stress right now.”

      “What’s on your mind, Officer Delancey?”

      The question surprised him. He’d already noticed her keen observation of the officers as they checked out her and her story. His grandmother’s saying, “doesn’t miss a trick,” certainly applied to her.

      “I’m not sure what you mean,” he parried.

      “I doubt that.”