Star Witness - By Mallory Kane Page 0,57

in front of Harte. “Don’t you think if I could move my car we’d be in Biloxi—or Jackson—right now?”

“Why can’t you?” he asked.

“A branch fell right across the driveway.”

Harte took a drink of water. “How big is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dani snapped. “You won’t be moving it.” She dipped a towel in the tepid water, then laid it like a compress over his wound. The little bit of heat felt wonderful and awful at the same time. He groaned.

Dani spoke as she pressed the compress tightly against his shoulder. “So, how big is the branch?” she asked Paul. “Could you and I move it?”

Paul’s eyes widened. “Certainly not. It’s huge—more of a tree than a branch.”

At that instant, Harte saw movement in the dim candlelight of the dining room. “Who’s there?” he demanded. Asking the question seemed to use up all his air.

Dani shot up from her chair and pulled the gun out of her purse. He heard the safety click.

“What are you doing?” Paul cried. “Put that gun away. Myron, you might as well come out. Harte, you’ve met Senator Stamps,” he said. “We were having a business discussion over dinner when the storm hit.”

Myron Stamps stepped out of the shadows and into the flickering circle of candlelight.

“Stamps?” Harte almost laughed at the irony. “Where’s your car?”

Senator Stamps shrugged. “Behind Paul’s in his driveway. You wouldn’t get very far, even if you had a car,” he said. “There are trees and billboards and who knows what other debris all over the streets. It’s awful. Our city isn’t ready for more destruction and tragedy.”

Dani was wrapping gauze around a makeshift compress she’d placed against the wound in Harte’s shoulder. She paused and turned to look at the senator.

“Really?” she said archly as she ripped the gauze off the roll. “You’re practicing sound bites for a new campaign already?”

“Young woman,” Paul said. “I don’t know who you are, but you are out of line—”

Dani broke in. “You don’t know who I am?”

Harte grunted as she tied the loose ends of the gauze.

She stood. “Well, let me introduce myself. I’m Danielle Canto. I know he knows me,” she added, indicating Stamps.

Paul turned his gaze full on her for the first time. “Oh,” he said. “You’re Freeman Canto’s granddaughter?” He took a pair of glasses from the pocket of his lounging jacket and peered through them without putting them on. “Oh yes, I recognize you now.” He turned to Harte. “I’d heard you were handling Freeman Canto’s murder, but, Harte, what has this person gotten you into?”

“Hey!” Dani took two steps to plant her feet directly in front of him. She stared up at him, her chin thrust out. “How dare you! I’m the person who heard my grandfather’s murderers threaten him using your name—” She pointed a finger at him, then at Stamps. “And yours.”

“Dani!” Harte cried, forcing himself to his feet and grabbing her arm as his cousin’s face went deathly pale and Stamps made a growling sound deep in his throat. He knew why she was so upset, and he couldn’t blame her, but he had no idea what Paul or Stamps would do, and he was too weak to defend her if her accusations made them violent.

Dani whirled.

Paul cried, “Oh—no, no, no. I had nothing to do with all that. It was all between Yeoman and Myr—”

“Shut up!” Stamps yelled, lunging at Paul.

Paul screeched and hopped aside as Stamps, with too much forward motion to check himself, barreled into Harte, then stumbled over him and plowed into the side of the stainless-steel refrigerator.

Harte fell on his left shoulder. He felt gauze and tape tear. Blood, hot and wet, immediately soaked the bandage. Cold sweat popped out on his forehead and trickled down into his eyes. He blindly struggled up into a crouch, but nausea enveloped him and he wasn’t sure he could stay upright. As the red haze of pain faded from his eyes, a black halo started closing in around the edges of his vision.

Just then a deafening crash thundered through the house. Paul yelped as the front door shattered.

Men spilled through the opening, kicking splinters and planks of wood aside. The flickering light from the candles and the fire reflected redly off the metal of their guns.

A deep voice shouted, “You! Go around!”

“Dani, watch out!” Harte yelled. He grabbed the edge of the kitchen table and tried to lift it. Dani immediately saw what he was doing and ran to help him. The two of them upended