Читать книгу The Girl Who Wouldn't Stay Dead - Cassie Miles - Страница 12

Chapter Three

She was gone.

The hospital machines that monitored her condition were dead silent. Connor stared at her vacant bed. Rumpled sheets were the only sign that Emily had been there. Panic grabbed him by the throat. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The thud of his heartbeat echoed in his ears. His fingers, white-knuckle, gripped the edge of the door.

He’d promised to never leave her. She needed his protection, had asked for his help and he had failed her. She was gone, lost.

“Son of a bitch,” Wellborn muttered.

“Hush, now.” Relentlessly cheerful, Darlene bounced up beside the two men and said, “This is a good thing—a blessing. Emily’s family has come for her.”

“The Riggs family,” Connor said darkly.

“Such lovely people! Did you know our Dr. Thorson is dating Patricia Riggs? He signed Emily out.”

“Where did they take her?” Connor was aware of at least three different residences, not including the one she had inherited from Jamison. “Which house?”

“I can look up the address for you.” She bustled down the hall toward the main desk, talking as she went. “They hired a private nurse to take care of her at home. So thoughtful! I know Emily’s in a coma, but I think she’s aware of all these people who are concerned.”

“The deputy that was watching her, where is he?”

“It was the craziest thing,” Darlene said. “Deputy Sandoval tried to stop them.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“He called his boss, and the sheriff had already talked to Patricia. She told him it was okay, and the sheriff ordered Sandoval to stand down.”

Connor had only been out of the room for a few moments. “How did they get this done so fast?”

“When Patricia speaks, we shake a leg.”

“Ambulance,” Connor said. “Are they taking Emily in an ambulance?”

“Well, of course.”

He’d been with Emily when the paramedics had brought her in; he knew where the ambulances parked and loaded. If the Riggs family got her moved and settled in their home, it would be harder to pry her from their clutches. He had to act now.

He turned to Wellborn. “I’ve got to stop them.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Come with me and see.”

“You bet I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss this circus for the world.”

Racing against an invisible clock, Connor flew down the corridor. Ignoring the slow-moving elevators, he dived into the stairwell, rushed down four floors and exited on the first. Wellborn followed close behind. Having him along would be useful. An ambulance driver might ignore Connor but wouldn’t refuse a direct order from a fed.

At six thirty in the morning, the hallways were relatively calm. Though this was a small hospital, the floor plan was a tangled maze of clinics, waiting areas, pharmacies, shops and offices. During the four hours Emily was in surgery, Connor had explored, pacing from one end of the hospital to the other. He now knew where he was going as he dodged through an obstacle course of doctors and nurses and carts and gurneys. In the emergency area, he burst through the double doors. Outside, he spotted two ambulances.

Dr. Thorson stood at the rear of one ambulance. As soon as he saw Connor, he slammed the door and signaled the driver.

No way would Connor allow that vehicle to pull away. He vaulted across the parking lot, crashed into the driver’s-side door and yanked it open.

The guy behind the steering wheel gaped. “What’s going on?”

“Turn off the engine and get out.”

“Those aren’t my orders.”

Connor had a lot of respect for paramedics and the mountain-rescue team that had climbed down the steep cliff and carried Emily to safety. Their procedures had been impressive, efficient and heroic. Not to mention that these guys were in great physical condition.

“Sorry,” Connor said, “but you’ve got to turn off the engine.”

“Listen here, buddy, I advise you to step back.”

Respect be damned, Connor needed cooperation. He turned to Wellborn. “I need your gun.”

“Not a chance.” The fed displayed his badge and credentials. “Agent Wellborn, FBI. Please step out of the vehicle.”

Further conversation became moot when Deputy Sandoval drove into the lot, his siren blaring and flashers whirling. He parked his SUV with the Pitkin County Sheriff logo in front of the ambulance. Nobody was going anywhere.

Connor stormed toward the rear of the ambulance with only one thought in mind. Rescue Emily. He didn’t know how he’d move her from the ambulance or where he’d take her, but he sure as hell wouldn’t allow her to be carried away by the Riggs family.

Dr. Thorson stepped in front of him. “Slow down, Connor.”

Some people just don’t know when they’re beat. “Get out of my way.”

“Everything has been taken care of. I’ve got this.”

“Beg to differ.”

“I assure you that—”

“Stop!” Since the doctor didn’t seem to understand direct language, Connor decided to use his well-practiced techniques as an attorney whose job required him to deal with contentious personalities. He straightened his shoulders and leveled his voice to a calm monotone. “We can handle this situation in one of two ways. First, there’s the legal way, where I point to the documents that state—very clearly—that I’m in charge of all decisions regarding Emily’s medical care. If you don’t honor the signed and notarized advance directive, rest assured that I will sue the hospital and you personally.”

Thorson’s tanned forehead twisted in a scowl.

“The second way,” Connor said as he dropped the lawyerly persona, “is for me to kick your muscle-bound Norwegian ass.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Wellborn stepped between them. “Gentlemen, let’s take this conversation inside.”

“I’m not leaving Emily,” Connor said as he reached for the latch on the rear door. “This facility isn’t secure, and there’s reason to believe she’s in danger.”

When he yanked open the door, he saw long-limbed Patricia Riggs scrunched into the ambulance. He hated that she was near Emily, close enough to disconnect an IV line or turn off one of the machines. Thank God the paramedic was there, keeping watch.

Patricia pushed a wing of dark brown hair off her face to reveal tears welling in her eyes and streaking down her chiseled cheekbones. “Oh, my God, Connor, I can’t believe this terrible accident happened to our dear, sweet Emily.”

He wasn’t buying the tears. Patricia was a hard-edged businesswoman, a lady shark who knew as much about the investment game as her cousin, Jamison. The only type of tragedy that would cause her to weep was when the Dow dropped four hundred points. Still, he played along, needing to get her out of the ambulance and away from Emily. He reached into the vehicle, grabbed her manicured hand and pulled her toward the open door. “You’re upset, Patricia. Let’s get you a nice latte.”

“Are you patronizing me?”

“Let’s just say that I’m as sincere as your tears.”

“You don’t get it.” She dug in her heels. “I need to be with Emily when we take her home for the last time.”

The last time? Though Emily’s condition was listed as critical, none of the doctors who had seen her thought she was terminal...except for Thorson, Patricia’s boyfriend.

“No more games,” he growled. “Get out of the ambulance.”

“But I—”

“Emily is going to recover.”

“But Eric said—”

“Dr. Thorson isn’t the best person to listen to. I warned him, and I’ll play the same tune for you. When you interfere with Emily’s care, you’re breaking the law.”

“Don’t be a jackass.” Her upper lip curled in a sneer as she came toward him. Her tears had dried, and her dark eyes were as cold as black ice. “We want the best for Emily, even if she did divorce my cousin and tear off a big chunk of the family fortune.”

Connor knew precisely how much Emily had received in settlement. Considering that she’d been entitled to more in the prenup, the amount she’d actually collected shouldn’t have been enough to ruffle Patricia’s feathers. “You’re talking about the house Jamison left her.”

“It’s an estate,” she snapped. “Why the hell would he leave it to her? In the past few years, they hardly ever came to Aspen. After the separation, not at all. My brother, Phillip, had to move in and take care of the property. If anyone should inherit it, it’s Phillip.”

“I remember when Jamison and Emily first got married,” Connor said. “They stayed at the Aspen house whenever they had a spare moment. They even had a name for the place.”

“Jamie’s Getaway,” she muttered. “Appropriate for a bank robber.”

Or for a man who appreciated a place where he felt safe. Connor understood why he’d left the house to her. Jamison had been acknowledging the happier times in their marriage. His sentimental gesture wasn’t enough to make up for his cheating, but it reminded Connor of why he had liked Jamison Riggs. “Here’s the deal, Patricia. I make the medical decisions for Emily. If you or anyone in your family interferes, you will regret it. Jamison was once my friend, but that won’t stop me from going after his family.”

“You’ll sue?”

“Damn straight.”

Patricia stepped out of the ambulance and stalked over to her boyfriend. With her smooth dark hair and his blond curls, they made a handsome pair. Though Connor wanted to hear Wellborn question them, he turned his back and entered the rear of the ambulance. He had to see Emily, to make sure she was all right.

The paramedic was one of the men who had participated in the rescue last night. Connor was relieved to see him. “It’s Adam, right? How come you’re still on duty?”

“I caught a couple of z’s, then came back to pick up an extra shift for a friend.” He lifted a thermal coffee mug to his lips and took a sip. “Your girlfriend is looking good, considering how we found her.”

He’d hooked Emily to IVs and portable machines similar to those in her hospital room, including a cannula that delivered oxygen to her nostrils. Throughout the long night, Connor had observed the digital readouts and knew what the numbers were supposed to show. He had no cause for alarm. “Are her vitals within normal range?”

“You bet. Transferring her into the ambulance went real smooth.”

Still, Connor worried. “The woman who was in here, Patricia, did she get in the way?”

“You bet she did. Man, I was tripping over Riggses. There was Patricia and her bro and an older lady—maybe her mom.”

“Aunt Glenda,” Connor said.

“And a couple of other guys.”

“Minions.” The Riggs brood was a high-maintenance family, requiring many people to manage their affairs. “Did any of them touch Emily?”

“Not on my watch,” Adam said. “What’s got you so jumpy?”

“Just a feeling.”

He was scared—an undeniable tension prickled along his nerve endings and tied a hard knot in his gut. He didn’t like having emotions interfere with his actions. Not only had he grown up tough but Connor was a lawyer who had learned how to manage his behavior. That veneer of self-control was wearing thin. In addition to feeling fear, he was angry. If he’d followed his natural instincts, he would have grabbed Wellborn’s gun and blasted each and every one of the Riggses who got in his way.

No doubt, one of them was responsible for running Emily off the road. If that wasn’t enough, they’d snatched her from her hospital room as soon as his back was turned. He needed to get her away from here.

He tucked a blanket up to her chin and studied her face. Her cheeks glowed with a soft pink, more color than when she’d been indoors. Her full lips parted, and she almost looked like she was smiling. He couldn’t wait to see her smile for real and to hear her laughter. “It’s chilly out here. How can you tell if she gets cold?”

“I can take her temperature or I can do it the old-fashioned way, like your mama did. Feel her forehead. Touch her fingers and toes.”

Connor’s heart had been beating fast and his adrenaline pumping hard. His own temperature was probably elevated, but he did as suggested. Her forehead was smooth and cool. The white bandages protecting her head wound and the EEG sensors contrasted her dark blond hair and her complexion. Oddly, he was reminded of her snowy-white bridal veil. On her wedding day, eight years ago, she’d been so fresh and pretty and young, only twenty-two. He and Jamison had been twenty-five, just getting started with their high-power careers. Jamison had joined his investment brokerage firm as a junior vice president and had already been able to afford to buy a small apartment in Battery Park. Connor had been in Brooklyn, jumping from one law firm to another as he built his client list and his reputation.

While Jamison was furnishing his place, he’d gone to an art gallery. That had been where he met Emily. By sheer luck, he’d found her first.

On their wedding day, Connor had forced himself to celebrate. He was the best man, after all. He had to make a toast and tell the newlyweds that they were going to be happy and their love would last forever—not necessarily a lie but not what he really wanted. He’d felt like a jerk for his interest in his best friend’s bride, but he couldn’t help it. He should have been the man with Emily. When it came time for him to kiss the new bride, he’d chickened out and gave her a peck on the forehead. He’d been terrified that if he kissed her on the lips, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Sitting beside her in the back of the ambulance, he took her hand, pretending to check if she was cold but hoping he’d feel her squeeze his fingers. He desperately wanted her eyes to open. There had been a few moments in her room where her lashes fluttered. REM sleep was what Darlene had called it. Emily wasn’t moving now. Her face was still and serene, which he told himself was for the best. She wasn’t supposed to wake up. Her brain needed time to heal.

He cleared his throat. “Is it dangerous to move her?”

“Not if I’m in charge.”

Agent Wellborn poked his head into the rear of the ambulance, flashed his credentials to Adam and spoke to Connor. “I’m going to get started talking to these people before they call in their lawyers. Have you made any decisions about Emily’s care?”

“I want to get her away from here. A couple of specialists in Denver have agreed to take her case. The problem is transportation.” He looked toward Adam. “Can you arrange a Flight For Life helicopter?”

“I’ll set it up with my dispatcher,” he said. “Shouldn’t be a problem, but it might take some time, an hour or more.”

Connor gave a quick nod. After this incident with Thorson, he had cause to worry about the personnel assigned to take care of Emily. “I trust you, Adam. Can you come with us on the chopper?”

“Sure thing.” He grinned. “I can always find something to do in Denver.”

“Let’s get moving,” Wellborn said. “Connor, I want you to come with me when I talk to these people. You know them. You might notice something that doesn’t register with me.”

“I’d be delighted to do anything that might disturb the Riggs family.” He glanced back at Adam. “While I’m with Special Agent Wellborn, you need to keep everyone away from Emily.”

“You got it.”

“One more thing,” Connor said. “Patricia suggested that Emily wasn’t going to wake up. Is there something I haven’t been told?”

“I don’t know all the details,” Adam said, “but the screen on the EEG monitor shows normal brain activity for an induced coma. Seriously, dude, as long as we keep an eye on the monitors, she’ll be okay. She’s a fighter.”

Connor agreed, “She looks like a delicate flower, but she’s tough.”

It seemed impossible that someone would want to murder this gentle but courageous woman. Somehow, he had to keep that fact at the front of his mind. She was in danger. It was his job to keep her safe.

* * *

EMILY COULDN’T TELL where she was, but she sensed a change in surroundings. Through her eyelids, she was aware of the light fading and then becoming bright and fading again. The calliope music still played—boop-boop-beedle-deedle-doop-doop. But the tone was different. And she heard a man’s voice.

“She looks like a delicate flower,” he’d said.

It was Connor...or had she imagined the smooth baritone? She tried with all her might to listen harder and wished she had one of those old-fashioned ear trumpets with a bell shape at the end to vacuum up sound. Speak again, Connor. Say something else.

There was something important she needed to tell him. At the reading of the will, there were details she wanted Connor to know.

When she’d arrived at Patricia’s super-chic, nine-bedroom mountain chalet for the reading of the will, an avalanche of hostility roiled over her. Patricia hated her. Aunt Glenda had always looked down her nose at Emily. Phillip and his buddies, some of whom were good friends of Jamison, eyeballed her with varying degrees of suspicion and contempt. If Connor had been there, the atmosphere would have been different. He would have called them out and shamed them.

Though she was capable of standing up for herself, Emily didn’t really want to fight with these people. Seeking refuge, she’d locked herself into the bathroom—an opulent, marble-floored facility with three sinks, gold-tiled walls, a walk-in glass shower big enough for four adults, a toilet and a bidet. She’d actually considered spending the rest of the night in there.

Staring in the mirror, she’d given herself a pep talk. You have every right to be here. You were called to be here, for Pete’s sake. You can tell these people that they’re mean and interfering. After tonight, you never have to see them again. She’d lifted her chin, knowing that she looked strong and healthy. She’d been doing renovations at the gallery and was probably in the best physical condition of her life. During the past few months in Denver, her chin-length, dark blond hair had brightened. Natural highlights mingled with darker strands. There were women who paid a fortune for this look.

She’d applied coral lipstick and given herself a smile before she opened the bathroom door. Voices and laughter had echoed from the front foyer and bounced off the ornate crystal chandelier. The sound had been disproportionately loud. She’d recoiled and covered her ears. Not ready to rejoin the others, she’d slipped down the corridor to a library with a huge desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves of leather-bound books.

The cream-colored wall opposite the curtained windows had displayed framed photos of various shapes and sizes. Many were pictures of Patricia with celebrities or heads of state or family members. None had showed Patricia’s ex-husband, a man who she and Jamison had referred to as “dead to her.” Do I fall into that category? She’d searched the wall for a sign of her relationship with Patricia. There had been several photos of Jamison, but Emily saw none—not even a group photo—with her own smiling face. Patricia had erased her from the family. So typical!

The door had opened, and a woman had stepped into the library.

Embarrassed to be caught looking at photos, Emily had taken a step back. “Are they ready to start?” she’d asked.

“Not quite yet,” the woman had said. “I thought I saw you come in here. I wanted a chance to meet you before the reading.”

Emily’s gaze had focused on the Oriental carpet. She hadn’t been really interested in mingling or meeting people. With trepidation, she’d looked up. The woman’s legs were a mile long, and she was dressed in the height of Aspen chic. Her hair was long, straight and a deep auburn. Her face had had a hard expression that Emily would never forget.

“We’ve met,” Emily had said.

“I don’t think so.” Not even a hint of a smile. This woman had been as cold as a frozen rainbow trout.

The first time Emily had seen her, she’d been preoccupied—tangled in the sheets and having sex with Jamison. “You’re Kate Sylvester.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Emily hadn’t refused, even though she doubted she’d be much help. She hadn’t talked to Jamison in months, and she’d heard that Kate was living with him. Why had she wanted to ask so many weird questions about Jamison’s finances?

In her unconscious state, she heard the distant sound of alarm bells. At Patricia’s chalet, she’d been more preoccupied with keeping her equilibrium after the Riggs family’s open contempt had thrown her off her game. She hadn’t given Kate a second thought.

But now? After the attempt on her life?

Everything about the will reading took on a much darker tinge.

When she woke up, she had to remember to tell Connor about this connection that spanned the country from Aspen to Jamison’s New York investment firm.