A Kiss of Revenge (Entangled Ignite) (19 page)

Andrew nodded, as if she’d confirmed his suspicions. He’d already made the relevant connections—break-ins, raid, fires, electricity. The natural progression meant he was about to ask her if she’d broken the law. If she let him, he’d come inexorably to the proper conclusions, no matter what she answered, and that would be that.

She stood abruptly. “I need to get to the hospital. They expected me early this morning.”

Andrew studied her and for a moment she thought he was reaching for his cuffs. But he pulled keys from his pocket instead, and said he’d get the rest of her things out of his car.

She loaded everything into the rental’s trunk and got in. “I’m sorry, Andrew, about everything.” It was the most honest thing she’d said all day.

He shook his head, a rueful smile on his mouth. “I think we’ve been here before, Reese.” He backed away and tossed off a half salute as she drove off.

She lamented the loss of her cell phone more than any of her other possessions. She hadn’t wanted to take the time to set up a prepaid phone, but now the long drive to the hospital felt wasted.

As much as she’d wanted Griff last night, this morning she knew she had to keep him away. Big K might think he’d sent his message and back off to see how she took it, but she couldn’t take a chance on Griff being collateral damage if Big K wasn’t done with her.

The first thing she did, even before going to Brian’s room, was find a pay phone. Griff didn’t answer his cell, which was good. She left a breezy message telling him not to come back, that everything was fine here. She was taking a chance that he hadn’t somehow heard about the fires and would take her request at face value.

She made her way up to the floor where Brian had been yesterday, but learned he’d been put in a private room earlier that morning.

“We tried to call you,” the nurse sniped, looking down her nose at Reese. “You really should be sure to provide us with accurate phone numbers. What if there had been an emergency?”

“I’m sorry.” Reese held back her angry response. It took a count of five. “My house burned to the ground last night. I don’t have a new phone yet.”

She left the woman gaping and stammering, and felt a little better.

A little turned to a lot better when she found Brian’s room. He was sitting up—actually sitting up!—in bed, opening his mouth for food spooned into it by a pink-smocked aide. Dr. Langstrom stood next to the bed, making notes and beaming at Brian.

Reese stood in the doorway, her annoyance instantly evaporating. Speechless, she watched him through eyes blurred with tears. Brian didn’t move anything but his mouth. His eyes stared as if he was blind, the eyelids floating at half-mast, and food dribbled out of his mouth with every bite the aide slid in. But he was sitting up. He was eating. Reese couldn’t believe it. She’d never dreamed the results could be this good, this fast. Emotions tumbled all over themselves. Happiness for Brian, despair that she could be tied to him indefinitely, hope that he could recover enough not to need her, so she could start her life again…

A shudder along her skin warned her, and she took a deep breath to stabilize her emotions, to force her body closed to electricity. After she was safe, she stepped into the room.

“Ah, Brian, here we go! Your wife is here.” Dr. Langstrom patted Brian’s hand. He didn’t react, just kept opening and closing his mouth. Reese realized he did it rhythmically, not in response to the spoon actually nearing his mouth.

“The stimulator has triggered a conditioned response,” the doctor murmured when Reese reached her side. “He recognizes food and knows what he’s supposed to be doing, he just can’t coordinate it yet. But look at him!” She beamed again, and Reese nodded. That was all she could manage. The aching lump in her throat just kept growing, holding her vocal chords prisoner.

With hand motions and a squeaky attempt to talk, she convinced the aide to let her finish feeding Brian his pudding-like meal. Dr. Langstrom rattled on about nourishment and stimulation and therapy and the facility she wanted to move Brian to in a few days, once they confirmed there were no problems from the surgery. Then she listed all the potential complications, such as blood clots, stroke, anesthesia-related illness, and on and on until Reese wanted to push her off the chair she was perched on.

Finally, Langstrom left and Reese was alone with Brian. Once he finished eating, he settled against the pillows, still staring blankly, still unmoving. She got closer and touched his hand, disappointed when he didn’t react, not even so much as a blink.

She hadn’t expected to feel so conflicted. She kept imagining their life the way it had been, the possibility truly in front of her for the first time. His lack of awareness of her cut into that, burning. But those images were for the trappings of a life she didn’t want. When she reminded herself that Brian was her husband, her thoughts still turned yearningly to Griffin.

“We’re on the home stretch now, Brian,” she said, watching him carefully for any kind of response to her voice or to his name. “I’m closer than ever, and soon I’ll punish him for what he did to you.”

His eyelashes flickered. Then nothing.

“I’ve been working hard toward this for a long time. When it’s over…” She trailed off, not sure what would come next. Things were so different now than when she’d embarked on this plan. She wasn’t on her own anymore. Brian might be more than just a silent, unmoving presence in her life. The resolution, the closure she’d been seeking, would no longer cut off the Brian part of her life as neatly as she’d wished.

“We’ll find a new home,” she tested out loud. “Start over.” It would probably be counterproductive to his recovery if she mentioned that she meant separate homes.

“Nice sentiments.”

The voice was so sardonic, for an instant she thought Big K’s goons had found her. She leaped to her feet and, without thinking, sucked in electricity from wherever she could feel it. It vibrated in her arms and hands, and she recognized Griffin standing just inside the room. But it wasn’t the Griffin she knew. He stared at her—not at Brian, but at her—and his mouth twisted with bitterness, his eyes glittering with an emotion she couldn’t identify. Her heart twisted.

Something in the room sizzled, and she quickly circled the bed and pushed past him into the hall. She had to get away before she damaged Brian’s stimulator or the other equipment. She led Griff down the hall to the stairwell and slowly discharged the electricity she’d gathered.

“Nice control,” Griff observed, unsmiling.

“Thanks to you.” She sat on the upward flight of stairs and patted the step next to her, but he shook his head. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Didn’t you get my message?” Foolish question. He’d have been almost here when she recorded it.

“I told you I was coming back. I have some information for you.”

“What kind of information?”

“About Armen Missirian.” He held out a brown envelope.

She took it automatically, but didn’t open it. She wanted to explain what he’d overheard, and misconstrued, but it might be better to let him believe it. Easier to push him away and keep him safe.

“Thank you.” She patted the step again, and again he refused. “Griff. Talk to me.”

Something flared in his eyes, a rush of heat and longing and pain and happiness and six other emotions so complex and deep they were impossible to label. She reached out a hand to touch him, but he shook his head. “Don’t.”

She tried to swallow and failed. Pain in her heart grew to an unbearable level. She had to let him go, but doing it this way might just kill her.

She couldn’t let him go yet. She rationalized that he’d been part of this from the beginning and deserved to know where it was leading. “Please, sit down. I want to update you, and you’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

“So move higher.” But he pushed out a breath and sat.

It seemed she had been exhausted forever. Reliving yesterday weighed on her, and she let her head lower to rest on her knees. She kept her face turned toward Griff as she brought him up to date, and saw the tension in him change. Instead of holding himself in, he was holding himself back. His face darkened and his fists clenched, and she knew if he’d been there last night, her arsonist wouldn’t have gotten away.

“What are you going to do?” he ground out.

“Depends on what’s in here, I guess.” She sat up and opened the seal of the envelope. A sudden increase in noise on the other side of the stairwell door made her pause. She watched several heads flash by the small, square window, and heard the pounding of shoes and shouts down the hall. Fear skittered up her spine and she thrust the envelope at Griffin, lunging to her feet and down the steps in one swift motion. She lurched through the door and raced down the hall, her breath disappearing when she saw the crowd around Brian’s door.

Dr. Langstrom caught her before she got inside. “Ms. Templeton, wait.” She struggled against her, but the doctor held her back. Reese stared frantically over her shoulder. Brian lay slumped against the pillows, his arm dangling. A needle stuck out of the IV tube attached to his arm. She had thought his gaze vacant before, but compared to now, it had been full of life. Now, his wide eyes stared at the ceiling with complete sightlessness. She didn’t need Langstrom to tell her what was going on in there.

Brian was dead. And he’d been murdered.

Chapter Twelve

Dr. Langstrom held on to Reese as if she expected her to collapse in a wailing heap, but Reese had been through worse deaths than this. At least this one wasn’t totally unexpected. The manner, yes, but not the fact.

Something in her chest released, like a door under pressure giving way. Relief and regret flowed out, mingling with her habitual anger and guilt. It swirled deep inside her, but didn’t approach the surface. Under it all seethed a darker fury that pounded into her bloodstream, filling her with an irrational calm.

Now the bastard had truly sealed his fate. Until this moment she’d clung desperately to the possibility of the normal life she wanted so badly, had held out hope of an alternate outcome where justice and happiness could coexist.

But this had narrowed her choice to one. No more waffling or wringing her hands. She was going to find Big K.

And she was going to kill him.

A woman in the corner of the room sobbed the way Reese should have been. “I was just in here!” she kept saying over and over. “He blinked and moved his head. I noted it and was going to look for Mrs. Treget to tell her the good news, but I couldn’t find her.” She gasped a few breaths, her fingers clutching the sleeve of whomever she was talking to. “I came back in here and a man bumped into me on his way out. I saw Mr. Treget, and his
eyes
…”

The woman went incoherent, and Reese turned her attention back to Brian. “I need to go in,” she said quietly to Langstrom. The doctor opened her mouth to argue then, looking sad, nodded and let her go.

Reese ignored the chaos in the room and made her way to Brian’s bed, taking his hand in the familiar way. Oddly, it didn’t feel different. She’d expect it to be limper or colder, but she guessed there hadn’t been time for that yet.

His gown had been ripped open and there were still conduction pads on his chest where they must have tried to restart his heart. His mouth hung slack, but she kissed the corner anyway and whispered good-bye.

It was all she had time for.

“Mrs. Treget, please come with me.” A uniformed police officer took her elbow, not ungently, and ushered her down the hall to an empty room. She saw Griff heading in the opposite direction with another officer, and three more stood at various locations in the hall or entered Brian’s room.

“You guys responded fast,” she commented warily, sitting on the stool he indicated.

“We aren’t that far away, and it’s a slow day.” He hitched at his heavily weighted belt, making it jingle and rattle, and she wondered why he didn’t tighten it around his narrow hips. It looked as if it would fall off any second. He slipped a small pad from his shirt pocket and licked a stubby pencil, then held it poised over the pad. “Now, can you please tell me, in your own words, what transpired here today?”

She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to focus on her immediate circumstances and not let her hate-fueled determination backfire. If she acted oddly that could raise their suspicions. “Sure, um, I arrived and found—”

“At what time did you arrive, ma’am?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t look. Late morning. Almost noon, maybe.”

He scribbled on the pad. “Continue.”

“I went to the floor he was on yesterday and learned he’d been moved—”

“He was moved?”

She sighed. This was going to take forever. “Yes. As I said, I learned he’d been moved to a private room because he was doing so well.” She described her visit, the hope of his amazing change, small as it was, and leaving the room to talk to Griff, then coming back to find Brian dead.

“Who is this man you were with?” He kept his voice neutral, but his suspicions were obvious. The spouse was always the first suspect.

She debated for a second about how much to say, then decided it was not in her best interests to lie. Not this time. “Griffin Chase is a private investigator.”

The officer’s eyebrows went up. He didn’t get a chance to voice his next question before another man entered, this one in a suit, though he carried his jacket over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Czwarki. That will do.”

“Uh, yes, sir, I was just getting some preliminary—”

“I understand. I can take it from here.”

Czwarki nodded, tucked his notebook away, and left the room, hitching his sagging belt again. The new guy grabbed a chair, swung it around, and straddled it, draping his jacket over the end of the bed next to her as he did so.

“I apologize. Officer Czwarki is preparing to take his test for detective, and he’s a bit overeager. I’m Detective Bangler.”

She sighed. “I’m going to have to repeat it all again, aren’t I?”

“I’m afraid so.” But his eyes held compassion, and he didn’t interrupt as she retold her activities this morning since arriving at the hospital. When she got to Griffin, she volunteered his profession, then stopped.

“That’s where you came in,” she added.

“And why did you hire Mr. Chase?”

He wasn’t taking notes, which relieved her. He either had a tremendous memory, or he didn’t suspect her.

She debated for a few seconds, but dammit, she was so tired of hiding everything. “I hired him because I believe our plane crash over a year ago was not an accident, and I wanted to find my husband’s killer.”

Bangler only cocked one eyebrow. “You mean, attempted killer.”

“No, because the same man succeeded today. Or someone he hired did.”

“Do you know who it is?”

She shook her head, and he nodded.

“I’ll require you to turn over any information you’ve gathered in the course of your informal investigation. In the meantime, I’m sorry for your loss. You’re free to go.”

She hesitated. That was weird. “Am I a suspect?”

He shrugged. “Officially, you’re not off the list. Unofficially, no, not directly. The nurse was definite that a man was in the room right before she discovered your husband, and described him as taller than you, darker than you, and wearing black. You could have hired him, and if you did, we’ll find out. But it seems unlikely, given the surgery he just underwent at your expense.”

He knew an awful lot for someone who’d just arrived on the case. “What happens next?” she asked.

“We’ll investigate the murder.” He said it with a hint of patronization and an air of dismissal.

“And when you find the man?”

“He’ll be prosecuted.” He ushered her out of the room ahead of him. She stood watching as he strode self-importantly down the hall to the officers at the nurse’s station. Okay, so maybe they’d get a fingerprint, or a sketch artist would help them connect the actual killer to some criminal in their database. And that would be that. He’d be tried, or plead out, and the investigation would be over. Despite the detective’s demand for her information, she doubted they’d work very hard to track down whomever had hired the killer—the real murderer.

So it was still up to her. Yesterday, she’d been ready to drop everything. Then they’d come after her. Worse, they’d now finished what they started a year ago. Not only would they not stop until she was dead—there would be no justice for any of it.

She couldn’t live with that. She couldn’t even try.

First things first. She went to find Dr. Langstrom, who was in a small office with a stack of files.

“Reese.” She stood, looking both sympathetic and disappointed. It was the first time she’d used Reese’s first name. “I’m so sorry.”

Reese thanked her automatically. “I know they’ll do an autopsy and everything, but when they release the body, can the care facility take care of the arrangements? I left instructions with them, it’s all planned.”

She nodded and patted her shoulder. “Certainly, dear. And when you’re ready, I’ll need you to sign a new release for use of the data we collected post-op. Since circumstances have changed.”

Reese supposed she couldn’t blame the woman for considering her own interests, but if she’d been a typical widow, she’d be furious right about now. Luckily for Langstrom, she didn’t have enough anger to go around.

Griff waited for her outside Brian’s room, which was now empty. “The coroner took him already.” He put his arm around her shoulders and started walking down the hall. “Are you okay?”

“Okay enough. Did they question you, too?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Kind of. I happen to know Bangler from a job a few years back. We talked.”

That explained how the detective had known so much.

“What did he tell you? I mean…” Questions crowded her brain, but the strongest image was the needle sticking out of the IV. “Why didn’t they remove the needle immediately? If she saw the man coming out of the room, she might have been able to stop the poison or whatever from killing Brian.”

“Maybe. She didn’t notice it right away, she said. She thought Brian had a cardiac arrest or an embolism or something. By the time they spotted the needle, they’d already called the death. Figured it was better to leave it at that point.”

She choked back a sarcastic comment. Logically, she knew it was the right decision. But the survivors were rarely logical about a loved one’s death.

“Where do you want to go?” Griff asked her.

She wanted to go to a hotel and look at the information in the envelope he held, then find Big K and kill him. But she couldn’t tell Griff that. He’d insist on coming with her, and she didn’t want him involved in this part of her plan. Finding information was no crime. Using it the way she wanted to would be, and it was her crime alone.

“I need some time. I’m just going to find a hotel and be alone for a while. Think about Brian. Okay?” She allowed a tear to come to her eye, though it was mostly due to the bright sun. The seething fury had turned into cold resolution. Probably she’d explode after the deed was done, all the pent-up feelings crashing out and making her a basket case, but right now, she was a machine.

She had to be.

“I’ll take you to a hotel.”

“No, I have the rental car. I’ll be fine. I’ll tell you where I am.” She let him walk her to her car, and he didn’t bother to argue with her. She could feel the weight of his emotion, sense all he wanted to say and couldn’t. She looked up at him. The flare in his eyes was back, this time unguarded and unextinguished. Something in her answered it, swelled to fill her, threatening to push out the hatred and coldness. She slammed herself closed, the same way she did with electricity, and turned away.

It hurt as much to leave Griff as it did that he let her.

She didn’t go to a hotel. A few miles down the road, after driving far enough to be pretty sure he wasn’t following, she pulled into a crowded parking lot, parked in the middle where she wouldn’t be easily spotted, and pulled out the papers he had given her.

Armen had been arrested for half a dozen white-collar crimes ranging from embezzlement to insider trading, as well as a few dirtier ones like drug trafficking and grand theft auto, which she noted was as the guy in charge rather than the actual thief. That fit with the slimy elegance he wore, as if trying to distance himself from the scum of his profession.

She skimmed the rest of the information. He’d grown up in the projects,
yada yada yada
, gone to community college but had no money for further education,
blah blah blah
, turned back to the crime that had filled his neighborhood and his family life,
yak yak yak
. Nothing there helped her make a connection to Big K. The police records, other than the rap sheet, were dull reading. But they backed up what she’d found on his BlackBerry. His most recent probation records gave the same address that Alpha invoice had, on Nassauga Island.

Her path ahead was clear. She’d go there tomorrow. She’d stay until she found Big K. And then she’d kill him.

After he was dead, she’d figure out what to do next. Probably stay on the island. Because there was one major obstacle to her plan. The last bit of information she’d read before being smoked out of her house?

The only way on or off Nassauga was to fly.

…

Reese kept that thought out of her head and focused on each immediate step as she did it. Find an ATM and withdraw all the cash she could. Gas up the car—the last time she’d use her debit card. Drive to the tiny port village that held the airport for the island flights, and find an efficiency room to rent—with cash so no one would know she was there.

But once she closed the motel room door behind her, she couldn’t keep the knowledge at bay anymore. The very thought of getting into a plane—especially a small one—put her into a minor panic attack.

At first, she lay on the bed, arms and legs splayed, panting and trying to remember deep breathing exercises. But lying still only allowed her brain to call up flashes of the accident, flashes worse than her dreams. Her nightmares always ended in brilliant white light, lightning hitting the plane. But in the real crash, that hadn’t been the end. She hadn’t lost consciousness, only the ability to move her body. She’d hung paralyzed in her seat belt, helpless, unable even to turn her head or close her eyes. Brian hadn’t been affected by the lightning bolt. He frantically worked the instruments, muttering to himself, yelling at her to pull some lever or push some button. She couldn’t do it, and she couldn’t tell him why. She could only hang, mute, immobile.

“We’re losing altitude. I need to try to control the crash. Reese, please, that lever there.” He finally looked at her and realized something was wrong. “Reese?” He unbuckled his belt and reached over, feeling her pulse, then sagging in relief. “You’ll be okay, sweetheart, I’m bringing it down.” He’d half risen from his seat and struggled to move some lever on her side of the plane, then cursed. It was no more responsive than the one on his side.

He didn’t rebuckle when he sat back down. He’d fought with the plane all the way in, and when they hit the ground, he’d gone through the windshield.

A knock on the motel room door jolted Reese back to the present, where she found herself standing in the middle of the room. She’d gotten up off the bed to pace. Her left hand clutched the BlackBerry, while the right held Armen’s papers, crumpled into a twisted mess.

The knock came again. She dropped the phone and papers on the desk and checked the peephole.
Griffin
. She closed her eyes in despair and considered not opening the door. But he’d have seen the peephole go dark. He wouldn’t leave as long as he knew she was in here.