Reggie would never forget how the two women had looked right before it had happened. Not until the day he died. Reggie had known Jordan Carrington his entire life, too. The man had been something of a mentor, had even written a recommendation for Reggie to get into the private school he’d attended as a teen.
The papers and reporters had gone on and on about an old affair between his father and Nikkie Jean’s mother. Speculating that Nikkie Jean wasn’t Jordan Carrington’s daughter, and as such, wasn’t entitled to the Carrington fortune. Said that Nikkie Jean had run away thirteen years ago to be with her biological father.
Reggie supposed that was possible. Although the girl didn’t look like Reggie or his father, except the hair. Reggie’s hair was just a shade darker. She was so small, too. Reggie was six-three, his father was just as tall.
Jordan Carrington was maybe five ten or eleven.
Of course, Jordan’s wife—Reggie couldn’t recall her name—had been tiny, too. Reggie wore reading glasses when needed. That was it. The only things he and Nikkie Jean had physically in common. Reggie had been mortified by the Garlic. As had his mother, and no doubt Dr. Carrington. Still were.
Other gossips had been speculating that Nikkie Jean had been involved with Reggie’s father in some sick repeat of history.
That had been quickly dispelled when Nikkie Jean was quoted on the news as saying the only man she had been involved with in four years was the one who’d stolen her heart, saved her life, and fathered her baby. And Wallace Henedy was the last man in the universe she would ever be involved with. How could anyone look at Caine Alvaro and compare him unfavorably to Wallace Henedy? Nikkie Jean had been floored by that, she’d said.
When she had been accosted on her way into the grocery store by a particularly pushy reporter, Nikkie Jean had told them to, “Get the hell out of my sex life, you sick perverts!” And then she’d asked the reporter who’d been harassing her if he liked striped or polka-dotted condoms best. The reporter had been shocked speechless. She’d gone on to tell the reporter the statistics for failed condoms, and that he should do an article on the proper usage techniques, to both prevent pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases. Said she’d be happy to do a public service announcement on women’s health statistics, as well. That had been followed by information about the rapidly growing percentage of seniors who were contracting sexually transmitted diseases now.
The reporter had walked away quickly after that.
Nikkie Jean had had her hair in two pigtails and had been wearing pastel ponies on her scrubs. She’d looked like a twelve-year-old playing dress-up.
That had stuck with Reggie.
Nikkie Jean’s fiancé happened to be related to the governor of Texas. That had no doubt squelched a lot of the rumors involving Nikkie Jean, specifically.
There was no way she’d slept with Reggie’s father. Not that woman. It was in the way Nikkie Jean had looked at Dr. Caine Alvaro, even on the videos, as he’d stood huge and protective right by her side, a toddler sleeping in his arms.
Nikkie Jean loved Dr. Alvaro. Deeply, passionately.
Reggie had never been loved by a woman like that. He’d thought he had, but…Amanda hadn’t truly loved him. She’d made that perfectly clear.
Not like his own father had. All throughout Reggie’s childhood, he’d been certain his father adored his mother. That their marriage was strong.
He’d been an idiot.
Just what his father had thrown away would never make sense to Reggie. Never.
And Reggie never wanted to be like him again.
He finished his paperwork, thanked the nurses genuinely, and then got himself to the elevator.
It slid open. And there she was.
Reggie stopped short as they stared at each other. A pretty woman with large, dark eyes, short, dark hair that stuck up in wild curls, a sweet mouth that was just made for kissing. For smiling. For laughing.
Izadora MacNamara stood, gawking at him. She was dressed in tie-dyed footed pajamas and a robe with cartoon aliens printed on it. Standing between Nikkie Jean Netorre and pretty nurse Annie.
Reggie froze. He had no idea what to say.
I’m sorry! just didn’t seem adequate.
I’m sorry my father did this to you?
He just stood there and stared.
51
Annie stepped in front of the other two women before she even thought about it. This could be a real cluster of drama—drama none of them needed tonight. “Mr. Henedy, going home today?”
She heard a tiny gasp from Nikkie Jean and a louder curse from Izzie. The two of them had been warned Wallace Henedy’s son was on the same floor as Izzie, but Annie had been hoping to avoid the man. No doubt Nikkie Jean and Izzie had felt the same way.
“Y-yes. Annie, I...want to say thank you for taking care of me in the ER.” He almost stumbled over the words.
The poor man looked so awkward, so unsure of himself, a rush of compassion for him hit her. No doubt he had no clue what had happened with his father, either. She’d been in his position before, not understanding why. “No thanks necessary. I hope you have a speedy recovery, Reggie.”
She had no idea what she was supposed to say here. As unsettled as he made her friends, he didn’t deserve this, either.
Nikkie Jean took the first step. “I’m sorry about your accident.”
“Dan—Dr. Netorre.” Reggie swallowed, then looked straight at Nikkie Jean. Annie took the chance to study him. He was tall and well-built, with deep, dark eyes. His hair was a lighter brown, like Annie’s own. He was far better looking and more well-built than his father. More importantly, he didn’t have the oily, unsettling way of looking at a woman that his father did. “I’m sorry for what my father did to you; and to you, Ms. MacNamara. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I am sorry he did it. If I—if my family—can help in any way, please let me know.”
“Find out why he did it,” Izzie said bluntly. Annie looked at her quickly. Izzie was going into defensive mode. “I’d rather have answers than anything else.”
Something she usually only did when she was afraid.
Annie reached down and squeezed her friend’s hand. It would be ok. Reggie Henedy wasn’t going to just snap and attack them all right now.
He could probably barely move without hurting. She’d seen the contusions on his admittedly well-defined chest herself.
“I’m...trying. And I truly am...sorry. I don’t understand what happened at all.”
He was staring at Izzie, a look of almost fascination in his eyes. That did concern Annie.
That was starting to freak her out.
It was a bit too much like how his father used to look at Nikkie Jean when she wasn’t looking.
Annie hadn’t been blind to how Wallace Henedy had felt about Nikkie Jean. He’d been attracted to her. Nikkie Jean had confirmed it after Wallace had asked her to coffee one night.
Right before Nikkie Jean had had a one-night stand with Caine. Everything had seemed to devolve from that, Annie thought. “Well, Mr. Henedy, we wish you the best in your recovery, but we need to get Izzie back to her room. She’s been walking long enough.”
“Yeah, really enjoying my not-so-free stay here at Club Finley Creek Gen.” Izzie’s sarcasm was hard to miss. Annie followed the other woman’s gaze—to the watch Reggie Henedy wore. The watch that no doubt cost more than Izzie or Annie made in an entire year. Hospital bills were going to put Izzie back a long way on her plans to graduate. Not to mention how she’d have to take the semester off while she recovered.
It wasn’t fair what had happened to her. Not one bit.
Everything had worked out well for Nikkie Jean with Caine after Wallace Henedy’s attack. Nikkie Jean had doubled her therapy sessions since it had happened. She was jumpier and more afraid. Izzie, too.
And Izzie hadn’t had the chance for therapy or even to really process what had happened to her. She was afraid now. Trauma impacted a person for life. Anni
e would stop by and talk to one of the people in psych about how she could help Izzie start to process what had happened. It couldn’t hurt.
Izzie’s entire worldview had changed with three squeezes of a trigger. Nothing would ever be the same for her.
All because of Wallace Henedy.
The impact one person could make on so many lives slammed into her with a vengeance.
“Izzie? You ready?”
52
He wanted to make things better. Reggie knew that was completely foolish of him, but with the three women in front of him, he wished he could.
If he had a magic wand or a damned easy button, he’d one and make everything just go back to the way it was supposed to be. Reggie was used to building things with his hands. Make the strong, sure, stable. Safe.
Everything he’d ever built with his hands was as sturdy as he could make it. He took pride in that. In making things. Buildings or a chair, it was as strong as he could make it.
Strength. Endurance. He’d taken pride in his work for years. In creating something that mattered.
But to these women, he was just the destroyer, no doubt.
He excused himself from the trio. The elevator waited for him, and he practically dove inside. He had to get away from them. Before he said something to make it worse.
Their eyes were burning through him, and they didn’t even mean to do that.
Reggie scared them, Dr. Netorre and Izzie MacNamara.
That sickened him.
He’d never done anything to frighten a woman in his entire life.
The elevator closed, and he slammed his hand against the lobby level button. Reggie’s eyes stayed on hers as the metal doors slid closed.
He hadn’t expected Izzie—she looked more like an Izzie than an Izadora—to look so frail. So almost broken.
She hadn’t had any makeup on, her pajamas had to be a joke, and her hair had been completely untamed. Natural.
But it had shone like dark silk in the fluorescent light.
He was starting to sound like an idiot, even in his own head.
It had been the pajamas that had done it. Made him wonder about the woman she was, rather than what she had possibly done to trigger his father. The pajamas hinted at so much…character. So much life.
For the first time, he’d seen her as a person. Not just his father’s victim—or trigger.
He’d seen the videos.
The woman had said something to his father. From what reports his private detective had been able to get, she’d asked his father how she could help him.
That had been it. Just a few words that everyone at a receptionist desk had probably said a million times a year. How can I help you?
Nothing worth putting two bullets in her in that instant.
The absolute horror and pain on her face when it had happened still haunted him. He never should have watched the security videos. Reggie would never forget her face.
His father had shot her, made her sit for a while before he’d thrown her toward another man out in the hall.
He’d shot her again in the hall.
Three times. Three bullets.
Reggie tried not to flinch when the elevator hit the third floor—and dinged three times. In his head, the dings sounded like gunshots, even though he knew that was completely stupid. The sounds were nothing alike. It was just his brain playing tricks on him.
How was she coping? Was she getting counseling? Was she afraid of what would happen next? Reggie tried to fight the questions dogging him but gave up long before the elevator hit the lobby.
His private detective had found information about her financial situation. Reggie wasn’t sure how the man had managed it, but he had.
The situation wasn’t good, and this was only going to make things worse for her. Unless someone did something to fix it.
He couldn’t go back and erase what his father had done, no matter how much he wanted to do just that.
But he could use what he did have to make things a little better.
Reggie’s hand slipped into his pocket. There it was.
A thirty-eight-thousand-dollar, three-carrot engagement ring he’d intended to return to the jeweler. Or sell it somewhere else.
He stepped up to the charge nurse’s desk, right next to the ER entrance. The box burned a hole in his palm.
“Can I help you, Mr. Henedy?” a woman whose nametag read Cherise asked.
Reggie pulled in a breath as what he was about to do sank in. Thirty-eight thousand dollars was a lot of money. Money his business could use.
But that woman could use it more.
“I want to leave something for someone upstairs.” He dropped his voice a bit. He didn’t want it broadcast all over the hospital. “And it’s very valuable. Is there some way I can speak with Dr. Holden-Deane for a few moments?”
“I’ll have him paged. If you’d like to have a seat?”
Reggie nodded.
Resolve filled him.
Thirty-eight thousand dollars would go a long way toward paying Izadora MacNamara’s hospital bill, as well as any lost wages she was facing.
It was the least he could do.
But it still didn’t feel like it was enough.
53
Dennis Lee smiled, even as Jenny worked herself into a panic. His message to Wallace had been carried out quite nicely. Jenny’s son hadn’t been hurt too seriously—that hadn’t been Dennis Lee’s intention, of course—but Wallace would be sure to learn about what had happened.
And he’d know to keep his mouth shut.
That was what Dennis Lee needed.
His dominoes had to fall into the perfect places. He’d always loved playing that game, lining the little wooden blocks up one at a time, end on end. He’d take it to the next level—he’d always arranged his blocks in chronological order—long before he’d knocked them down.
Sometimes, the setting up was just as impactful as the knocking down.
He hadn’t started out with the intention of being a criminal. No. It hadn’t started out that way at all. He’d been fourteen and responsible for himself. Food hadn’t exactly fallen in his lap.
He’d made more money by stealing that food and selling it than he had working for his money.
Supply.
Money was in supply and demand.
Dennis Lee’s supply chain organization had just grown over the last fifty-plus years. One domino at a time.
But this little game of dominoes would never be knocked down.
Dennis Lee had learned his lessons a long time ago.
Reggie Henedy was a little low-numbered wooden block. He’d been knocked down to protect the rest. That was the way it should be.
Dennis Lee pulled Jenny into his arms. “It’ll be ok, darlin’. Your boy is a strong one. No need to worry.”
“Why didn’t he call me to come get him? I am his mother!”
“Honey, he’s a thirty-two-year-old man. Let him be one. Cut the strings. You can’t smother him forever.” Smother, his ass. She liked to try to control her son. So that he didn’t end up like his loser of a daddy. He had to give it to Reggie, the boy didn’t let her have her way often. Just enough to make her feel important. The boy was standing on his own two feet damned well. Jenny should just leave well enough alone.
He would never tell her that, though.
Dennis Lee wasn’t a fool. Far from it.
54
Annie was filling in on the critical care ward—something she often did when she needed overtime money—when the TSP came into Kelsie Royce’s room. The woman hadn’t woken fully since she’d been moved from surgery to recovery. This was her second surgery.
Allen had discovered that an infinitesimal shard from the bullet had been missed in the initial surgery and had had to remove it, as well as a portion of tissue behind it. It was a more complicated surgery than the first. But the patient was expected to recover.
Now everyone was just waiting for her to wake.
/> Annie was in the room with her when she did.
Compassion filled her for what the woman had gone through. Annie had a friend from W4HAV that had been shot twice in the past year. The second time had been by her own father, three days after the tornado had struck. Annie hadn’t been able to be there for Bailey, but Izzie and Nikkie Jean both had.
Kelsie Royce was new to town, someone had said. Had only been on the job a few weeks, and was a transplant from the TSP Academy in Wichita Falls. She had no friends in the area.
Wanda had said she didn’t have any family at all.
Annie was determined Kelsie wasn’t going to wake alone. None of the TSP officers she worked with had been allowed to sit with her. Annie wasn’t entirely certain why.
“What happened?” A voice came from the bed.
“Hello, Officer Royce. I’m Annie, a nurse here at the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”
“Yes.” Blue eyes looked into hers. Kelsie tried to look around but couldn’t. Annie knew exactly how she felt. They’d had her on similar pain medications after her own injury.
“Don’t try to move too much. I have everything covered. You’re going to be just fine.”
“I need to talk to my brother.” Her words were low and broken. Annie struggled to understand. “Import...Danny McKell—”
“Daniel McKellen?”
“Yes…only…to him. No one else. Or Elliot.” Officer Royce’s eyes met hers. “Need to talk to someone. Important.”
“I’ll have someone call the TSP. Let them know you’re awake.”
“No!” The woman’s hand half-rose, even with the IV. Tears were in her eyes. Fear. Lots of fear. And Annie sensed it had nothing to do with the injuries she’d sustained. “Can’t trust…Only Daniel. Elliot. Secret. Promise.”
Walk Through the Fire (Finley Creek Book 10) Page 16
