by Dee Davis
“If they are, I’ve got absolutely no idea. Did you talk to Avery?”
“Yes. And Hannah. She said to tell you that they’re all thinking of you and your father.”
She nodded, the ghost of a smile crossing her face.
“They’d have called themselves,” he assured her, “but you’re not allowed to use a cell up here. Anyway, as far as the attack, they’re on it, trying for damage control and to dig up something associated with winter in India that actually makes sense.”
“If anyone can get to the bottom of it, I’d put money on Hannah and Harrison. Especially if you throw Jason into the mix. They all know their way around a computer.”
“Which reminds me, I have your father’s computer. I thought maybe we’d get more use from it than the police.”
“Where is it?”
“At the hotel. I figured you’d need a place to crash. So I booked rooms at the Marriot. It’s not far from here.”
“You think of everything.” Her smile was faint, but still full of gratitude. “What about Della?” she asked, choking on her stepmother’s name.
“They brought her here. They’re going to do an autopsy. Standard operation in this kind of situation.”
“Oh, God,” she gasped, misery reflected in her eyes. “I haven’t called Mark.”
“No worries. I gave the police the information. I figured it’d be more than you could handle. They’re going to track him down and fill him in—in person. I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he can.”
“God, I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.” She ran a hand through her hair, her face lined with anxiety. “I know I should be more clearheaded. I’ve been trained to handle this kind of thing, after all.”
“Tyler,” he said, reaching over to cover her hand with his, “there’s nothing that can prepare you for this. You love your father. And despite your protestations to the contrary, I suspect you cared about your stepmother, too. No one is ready to deal with losing people they love. Not even us. So right now, you just need to concentrate on your father, on his pulling through this. You said he was a fighter.”
“He is. It’s just that, well, he’s old. I don’t think I really saw it before. And, to be honest, I just don’t know if his body is up to the battle. You know?”
“Well, then you’ll just have to have faith.”
“Did they find fingerprints?” she asked, shifting the topic. “Anything that can give us a leg up on who might have done this?”
“Nothing so far. The place was clean, surgical, almost. Like the garage and the roadside in Colorado. The only odd thing was forcing the door. But that could be explained by any number of things. Your stepmother was obviously caught by surprise. My guess is that she didn’t even have time to call out.”
“And then whoever it was went upstairs and shot my father. He must have recognized the danger. He was reaching for his gun.” She stumbled over the words, sucking in an audible breath. “I guess he didn’t have enough time.”
“But it does show that he was clearheaded enough to know what to do. Which goes a long way toward supporting his ramblings as something with real meaning.”
“Except that we have no idea what it is.” She sighed as a man in scrubs came through the door.
“Ms. Hanson?” he asked, wearing the stoic expression of people who deal with death every day.
“That’s me,” she said, her fingers tightening around Owen’s.
“I’m Dr. White,” the man said, but Tyler cut him off, clearly uninterested in the social niceties.
“My father?”
“He came through the surgery just fine. He’s in recovery now.”
“Can I see him?”
“Not until he’s moved to ICU,” the doctor said. “One of the nurses will come and get you when he’s situated.”
“ICU?” Her grip on Owen’s hand increased. “I thought you said he was fine.”
“I said he came through the surgery. As for recovery, we’ll have to wait and see. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial. If you have any further questions, the ICU nurses can help.” It was clear the man was ready to move on to the next person in crisis.
Tyler seemed to have the same thought, letting the man go without further questions. “So what do we do now?” she asked, her eyes suspiciously bright.
He squeezed her hand, wishing there were something he could say to take away the pain—make everything all right. But there was nothing. So he settled for the obvious. “We wait.”
CHAPTER 10
They were standing outside the ICU, Tyler pacing as she waited for the all-clear to see her father. It seemed she’d been in the hospital forever. And despite the fact that she wanted to be with her father, there was another part of her that wanted to be out there working to find the people responsible for killing Della and putting his life in danger.
She knew intellectually that there was every possibility that the attack on her father was unrelated to the theft of the detonators, but every particle of her being was screaming that there was a connection. And she trusted her instincts.
“How much longer?” she asked a passing nurse, trying not to sound as frustrated as she felt. The staff had been more than generous with her, answering questions and offering reassurance. There was nothing they could do to make her father come around any faster.
He’d been moved from recovery almost an hour ago, but was still unconscious. The doctor had assured her that it was not at all unusual, considering the severity of her father’s injury, for him to still be out. The bullet had torn a ventricle, and the general had required open-heart surgery to repair the damage.
“He’s still not awake,” the nurse said, her smile kind. “But the doctor says you can go in if you’d like. Just for a few minutes.”
Relief flooded through Tyler as she looked across the hall to where Owen was standing. For a man she hadn’t known a week ago, he was being amazingly supportive. And she was grateful for it. In truth, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done if she’d been here on her own.
He nodded with a gentle smile, and taking a deep breath for fortification, Tyler pushed through the ICU doors. There were six units arrayed in a semicircle, with the nurses’ station in the center. The cubicles were all equipped with sliding glass walls, offering at least a modicum of privacy. The nurse at the desk pointed to the far cubicle, and Tyler made her way past the beeping monitors of the other patients to look through the glass door at her father.
“He hasn’t been awake at all, right?” she turned back to ask the nurse.
“No.” The woman shook her head.
“So he doesn’t know about my stepmother?”
The woman shook her head. “And the doctor has asked that we not tell him. At least not until he’s a little stronger.”
They obviously had no idea of the strength of will of the man lying in the hospital bed, but Tyler didn’t see any sense in arguing the fact. They’d find out soon enough. She nodded and turned back to the cubicle, pushing aside the sliding door.
Her father lay on the bed, eyes closed, his large frame seemingly dwarfed by all the machines working to keep him alive. His hair, now snowy white, curled wildly against the pillow. He’d always been proud of the fact that he’d not lost his hair, but it had only been with retirement, and a little coaxing by Della, that he’d let it grow longer than his customary buzz cut.
One of the machines clicked rhythmically as she pulled the single chair close to the bed, her hand closing around her father’s. “Dad?” The words came out on a strangled whisper as she fought against the rising lump in her throat. “It’s Tyler. You’re in ICU. You’ve had surgery, but the doctor says you’re going to be fine.”
She waited, hoping against hope that he’d open his eyes and tell her everything was going to be all right. He’d always been a strict disciplinarian, but he was also the first to offer praise when it was called for. And he’d saved her from her childhood torments on more than one occasion.
Her very own knight in shining armor.
Things had changed when she’d gotten older and more capable of taking care of herself. She’d longed to be like her father, desperate to prove she wasn’t weak like her mother. But the stronger she’d become, the greater the distance between them. By following in his footsteps, she’d effectively pushed him away.
And while she wouldn’t have changed the decisions she made, she wasn’t above wishing that the cost hadn’t been losing her relationship with her father.
“Who’s there?” Her father’s voice was weak, but there was still command in it.
“It’s me, Daddy,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Welcome back.”
“Where’d I go?” he asked, clearly confused, his eyes searching wildly for something familiar.
“You’re in the hospital,” she repeated. “You were shot. But you’re going to be fine.”
“And my unit?” he barked. “How many casualties?”
“It wasn’t a battle, Dad.” She closed her eyes, praying to find the right words. “It happened at home.”
“Oh.” He blinked, seeming to let her words settle in. “Tyler?” he said.
“Yes. It’s me,” she repeated. The nurse had said that he’d be confused. The sedatives combined with his dementia would act together to impair his ability to reason.
“Good. Need to talk,” he rasped, one of the monitors protesting the action.
“Dad, you need to rest. We can talk later.”
“No,” he said, his voice gaining strength. “Now. Might not be a later.” His eyes cleared for an instant and she was certain that he really saw her. “You have to forgive me.”
“For what?” She’d expected more cryptic talk. Not an apology.
“My duty. No choice.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, leaning over so that she could hear him better.
“Didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” he mumbled. “Should have known better.” His eyes closed, and for a moment she thought he’d fallen back asleep. But then he opened his eyes, his fingers gripping her wrist. He struggled for words, the confusion back again. Clarity fading.
“Winter,” he murmured, repeating the word he’d said in his study. “Debt. Indian. I shouldn’t have…” The last words faded out to less than a whisper.
“Dad, can you hear me?” she asked, her mind scrambling to find sense in his words. “Dad?”
“It’s the medication,” a nurse said, as she bustled into the room, adjusting the beeping monitor. “He’s not going to make a lot of sense. And I understand he’s early-stage Alzheimer’s. That’s only going to complicate matters. Best we let him sleep now. Maybe he’ll be clearer tomorrow.”
Tyler nodded, still fighting her emotions, and leaned down to kiss her father’s forehead. His skin was clammy and pale. The nurse cleared her throat, and Tyler forced herself to walk away. The woman was right—her father needed his rest, but she hated to leave.
She’d made it past the nurses’ station when the monitors erupted in furious cacophony. She turned around, frozen, as two nurses pushed their way into her father’s room, a third calling a code over the intercom, and a fourth going for a crash cart in the corner.
“What’s happening?” she asked, as she rushed forward, frantic to reach her father.
“His heart’s stopped,” one of the nurses answered, pushing past her and then sliding the door shut, effectively sealing her out.
Tyler stood rooted to the spot, watching with horror as they tried to bring her father back, but she knew just from looking at him that he’d stopped fighting. Hands shaking, she tried to open the door herself, certain that if she could get inside she could somehow will him to live. But the door wouldn’t move. And she watched one of the nurses look up at the clock—mouthing the words “time of death.”
“No.” Someone shouted, and Tyler looked to see who it was, only to realize the voice was her own. She pounded on the glass, unable to manage the door, and then hands pulled her away, hands she recognized.
“He’s gone,” Owen’s words forced themselves through her beleaguered brain.
“But he was just talking to me,” she whispered, her chest constricting so tightly she wasn’t certain she could breathe.
“You have to let him go.” Owen’s arms slid around her. “There’s nothing else you can do.”
“There wasn’t time to tell him I loved him,” she said, turning to bury her face in his chest—needing to draw on his strength.
“He knew. I promise you, he knew.”
She nodded against his chest, the monitors finally silent, the nurses going back to their normal activities. In the ICU, death was an everyday occurrence.
For her, it was anything but ordinary.
Her father was dead.
Tyler steeled herself, pushing away from Owen, embarrassed at her lapse. There was one thing she could still do for her father—she could avenge his death. But she couldn’t do it if she fell apart. She had to be strong.
“We’ve got to find the people who did this,” she said, fists clenched, as she stood staring at her father’s lifeless body.
“We will,” Owen promised, his hands closing around her shoulders. “And I swear we’ll make them pay.”
Owen hung up the phone, turning back to Tyler, who was sitting in a waiting room chair. “That was Avery. He said for you to take whatever time you need.”
“I’m not sure what to do.” She shook her head, her gaze still locked on the doors leading to the ICU. “I know I should stay here and make arrangements. They’ve both got to be buried. But I also need to figure out why all this is happening. And to stop the bastards that did this.”
“I know,” Owen soothed. “But you’ve hardly had time for it all to sink in. You need time to grieve, Tyler.”
“I need to do something,” she said, pushing away from him, pacing restlessly in the corridor. “Don’t you understand? It’s the only thing that’s going to keep me sane.”
“Well, there’s nothing more you can do tonight. So at least let me take you back to the hotel. We can regroup and figure out our next move.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” she said, reaching up to loosen her ponytail and then tighten it again.
“We’re working together on this, remember? There’s no place else I want to be.”
The elevator doors slid open and a young man with dark windswept hair stepped into the corridor.
“Mark,” Tyler said, the name sounding like the answer to a prayer. And for just a moment Owen felt the pull of jealousy. Ridiculous notion. He pushed it aside, waiting while the half-siblings embraced. “Did they tell you?” she murmured, pulling back to look her brother in the face.
“Yeah,” he said, sucking in a breath. “But I can’t believe it. I kept telling myself all the way over here that it had to be some kind of mistake.” He reached for her hand, his eyes full of tears. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I’m so sorry. I tried to get there, but I was too late.”
“You couldn’t have known this was going to happen. And if you’d been there, I’d have lost you, too.”
“I should have been there. I should have stopped it.”
“Tyler, don’t be crazy. There’s nothing you could have done.”
Owen waited, wondering how much she’d tell her brother, but she only shook her head.
“I was on my way. He knew I was coming. If I’d just gotten to the house sooner.”
“Stop it,” Mark said, leaning back, his gaze locked with hers. “This isn’t your fault. You’d have done anything for them. And they knew it.”
She studied his face for a moment, then sighed, pulling free, seeming to accept his words, at least for the moment. Owen knew better than to believe her guilt, however unfounded, could so easily be assuaged.
“This is my friend, Owen Wakefield. We’ve been working together. And he was with me when we found them.”
Mark offered his hand, an
d Owen shook it. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” The words were totally insufficient. He’d heard the same a thousand times. And never once had they brought comfort.
“I’m just glad my sister wasn’t alone,” Mark said, his eyes filled with gratitude. “She always tries cover it up, but she’s not as strong as she’d have everyone believe. No matter what she says. Family is everything. And now we’re all we’ve got.” He choked out the last words and Tyler reached for his hands again.
“Have you seen your mom?”
“Yeah. I went there first. I didn’t know about Dad. I thought I had time. And now… now…” he trailed off, his own grief reflected in his eyes.
“He wasn’t lucid. I’m not even sure he knew who I was,” Tyler said, her voice low and soothing. “It all happened so fast.”
“Oh, God, Tyler, I can’t imagine life without him in it. I mean, we hardly ever saw eye to eye and sometimes he could be a real son of a bitch, but I loved him.”
“I know.” She reached up to wipe away her brother’s tears. “I loved him, too. And he knew that. He did. And he was so proud of you, Mark. He was always talking about how well you were doing in school and how you were going to change the world.”
“Is he still in there?” He nodded toward the ICU.
“Yeah, I asked them to wait. I knew you’d want to see him.”
“I can’t believe any of this. I keep expecting to wake up and find out this is all a nightmare. How can they both be gone? I just talked to Mom this morning.”
“Did she sound worried about anything?” Tyler asked.
“You mean something that would explain what happened? No. She was fine. Worried about Dad as usual. He’d been having a particularly bad spell, I think. I promised I’d come home for the weekend. It all seemed so normal at the time. If only I’d known…”
“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” she said, struggling to reassure her brother. The two of them protecting each other, coming together in their grief. It touched Owen’s heart in a way he’d not thought possible.
Mark nodded, squaring his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart on you. It’s just so hard to contemplate losing them both.”
