by Francis Ray
“Murder mysteries aren’t for everyone,” Dalton said easily. “I’m honored it was considered.”
“Well, we have to be going,” Mrs. Carter said, her gaze narrowed. “We’re all praying for Andrew. Please say hello to his mother for us.”
Justine was sure the comment also meant she was going to tell Beverly she had seen her dining out with a man while Andrew lay in a coma. “I’ll tell her tonight when I see her at the hospital.”
Dalton took his seat as the women walked away. He didn’t speak until they were a good distance away. “Brianna said you go there in the morning and evening, plus working, and now you’re becoming more involved with Andrew’s firm. Don’t you think you should take it a bit easy?”
“I can’t.” Her cell phone rang. She glanced sharply at her purse. She had the strangest urge to let it ring or to shut it off. People in the restaurant were shooting annoyed looks her way.
“Justine, are you all right?”
“Yes.” She picked up the phone, knowing it wouldn’t go to voice mail until after the tenth ring. “Hello.”
“Justine, it’s Andrew!” his mother cried. “His heart stopped again!”
Her own heart lurched. She began to tremble. “I’m on my way.” She came unsteadily to her feet, swayed. Dalton quickly stood and took her arm to steady her.
“What is it?”
For a moment she couldn’t get the words out. “He . . . he had another cardiac arrest.”
Dalton’s long fingers flexed on her bare arm. “I’ll take you.” Releasing her only long enough to throw enough money on the table to cover their food and a big tip, Dalton ushered her outside to his Jeep.
Her mind was in chaos the entire trip. How much more could his body take and continue to fight back? How much more could she and his mother take?
Justine was grateful Dalton didn’t say anything on the way to the hospital or when they rode the elevator to the ICCU floor. Her thoughts were too scattered to carry on a conversation.
As soon as they entered the waiting area, Beverly spotted them. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion and speculation.
For a moment Justine thought how it must look, then decided she didn’t care. She wasn’t the one who had committed adultery. “How is he?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ve met,” Beverly said to Dalton, her voice without the least bit of the warmth it usually carried.
“Dalton Ramsey,” Dalton greeted. “Justine and I went to school together.”
“The author.”
“Yes, ma’am. We got here as fast as we could. I didn’t think it wise to let Justine drive.”
“That was thoughtful of you.” Beverly looked at the silent Justine. “You two were together?” There was no mistaking the accusation in her voice.
“We were having an early dinner,” Justine told her, becoming more annoyed with Andrew’s mother by the minute.
“Andrew needed you here.”
Justine’s lips tightened. The door behind them opened and Dr. Lane came out. “We got his heart going again.”
“Thank God,” Beverly breathed.
Justine swayed. Once again, it was Dalton who steadied her.
“Mrs. Crandall, I’d like to speak with you,” Dr. Lane said, his thin face as austere as always.
“I’m going, too,” Beverly said, stepping up beside Justine.
“I’ll wait here,” Dalton said.
With one last perturbed glance at Beverly, Dr. Lane reentered the ICCU. Both women had to drag their gazes away from the door to Andrew’s room when Dr. Lane began to speak. “He’s unstable. We ran another EEG after we got his heart going again and the brain activity is decreasing. His pupils are unresponsive to light, there is no response to pain, and the respirator is breathing for him.”
Justine knew he’d just ticked off the criteria to determine if a patient was brain dead. The heart had its own pacemaker. It could continue to beat even though the brain was dead as long as there was oxygen flowing to it. If they disconnected the respirator—
“Have you thought of signing those papers, Mrs. Crandall?”
“I can’t. Not now.” Not when she’d been having sexual thoughts about another man.
The neurosurgeon’s mouth flattened into a narrow line. “All right. I have other patients to see. Good-bye.”
“That man doesn’t know anything. My baby is going to be all right.” Beverly hugged Justine. “I’m going to scold Andrew for scaring us.”
Justine followed Beverly back outside. Dalton, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed away and came to them. “His vital signs are unsteady,” she told him.
“Can I get you anything?” Dalton asked, his voice and face filled with sympathy.
“No. Thank you.” What she wanted neither he nor anyone else could give her. Peace.
“Dr. Lane left before I could ask him if we can still visit Andrew. I wouldn’t want to tax him,” Beverly said. “I’m going back inside and ask him.”
“Sorry about your celebratory meal,” Justine said as Beverly went through the door.
“Don’t feel guilty that you were at dinner with me,” Dalton said softly.
Oddly she wasn’t. “I won’t.”
Beverly came back out smiling. “We can go in now. He’ll be so glad to see you.”
Justine didn’t want to go in, but she didn’t have a choice.
“I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back,” Dalton told her.
Beverly sent him a look meant to intimidate. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”
“You probably forgot. I drove her here,” he said pleasantly.
“Thank you.” Justine should send him away and call Brianna or take a taxi, but she didn’t want to. For the first time in months, she was going to think of what she wanted. “I’d appreciate that.”
“I can take Justine ho—”
“Andrew is waiting, Beverly,” Justine said, cutting off her mother-in-law. Mentioning her son was the surest way to get her moving.
She brightened immediately. “Of course. Let’s go in.” Beverly took Justine by the elbow, ensuring that she went as well. Justine glanced over her shoulder at Dalton and took what comfort she could from his steady, patient gaze.
Brianna didn’t second-guess herself or often change her mind. With Patrick she had done both.
There was no denying that he was a handsome rascal with a dimpled smile that made her mouth water and her body hum. Justine had been right. She might not be putting up such a hard fight if she hadn’t been so wrong about Jackson, and the fact that she had sworn off men.
Blaming it on her heavy work schedule was an excuse. She never made excuses and prided herself on facing any problem head-on. She was busy, but not that busy. So why couldn’t she make up her mind about Patrick and make it stick?
She didn’t like to think perhaps it was because she feared she couldn’t handle him. She snorted at that idiotic notion. Hands in the pockets of her windbreaker, deep in thought, she continued her late afternoon stroll on the walking path around the marina.
“Care for some company?”
Brianna didn’t have to glance up to know that Patrick had fallen into step beside her. Even if she hadn’t recognized the deep voice that reminded her of aged bourbon, the sudden acceleration of her heart and the slow heat that rolled through her body would have alerted her. “Would it make any difference if I said no?”
“Probably not. How was your day?”
She threw a glance at him just as they passed the restaurant. He was looking at her with those fathomless eyes of his, dark and mysterious, black and full of promise. In any other guy she probably would have thought he was just making conversation. She was slowly learning that Patrick wasn’t the type. “Hectic.”
“When I want to relax, I take the boat out. How about it?”
The suggestion was appealing and that settled the answer for her. Until she figured our why she reacted so differently to Patrick than to ot
her men she was steering clear of him. “No, thank you.”
“I give a great massage.”
“I’ll just bet.” The trouble was, she could already imagine his long, sexy fingers on her bare flesh, stroking, teasing, pleasing her. She hunched deeper into the lightweight jacket. The wind off the water was chilly today. “Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me?”
He chuckled. “I’ve gone from stalking to harassing you. I wonder if a good lawyer would think I had a case for slander?”
She stopped abruptly. “Get lost, Patrick.”
His smile did something crazy to her stomach. “I like the way you say my name.”
She spun on her heels and started back the way she had come. “It will be the last time.”
He easily caught up with her. “I’ll leave you alone for tonight, if you’ll answer one question.”
She stopped abruptly. “A restraining order will do the same thing and last longer.”
“Why are you trying so hard not to like me?”
He was too close to the crux of her problem and much too attractive. Turning away, she propped her arms on the wrought-iron rail that circled the marina and looked out into the choppy waters of the harbor. “You give yourself too much credit.”
He stopped just behind her. “I wish I had my hand on the guy you’re punishing me for.”
There was such an underlying menace in his voice that Brianna spun around. She realized her mistake instantly. He was too close.
She could feel the disturbing heat of his body, smell the spicy aftershave he wore. She was trapped between him and the railing. So she did what came naturally. “You have five seconds to get lost.”
He didn’t move one glorious muscle. If anything, he seemed to edge closer. “Don’t judge me by what he did.”
“Three seconds.”
“Answer my question.”
She’d met few men who were as stubborn as she was, and even fewer who stood their ground when she challenged them. Patrick was a law unto himself. Dangerous at any time, but more so to her now. “If you won’t leave, I will. Perhaps I’ll see a security or police patrol car on the way.”
Stepping around him, she started to the condo, very much aware that Patrick was watching her. She was surprised how much she wanted to look back. She wondered what his next move would be.
The shrill ring of the cell phone in her pocket interrupted her thoughts. She paused and hooked on her ear piece. “Hello.”
“Brianna, this is Dalton. Andrew is fine now, but he arrested earlier. I’m at the hospital with Justine.”
Before Dalton finished, she was running. “I’m on my way.”
“Thank you. Justine and his mother haven’t been out since they went in thirty minutes ago.”
Brianna reached for the door, but a big hand reached it first. Patrick.
“Is your father all right?”
The concern and worry were evident in his deep voice. “Justine’s husband had another cardiac arrest.”
He muttered an expletive and took her arm with one hand while pulling out his car keys with the other. “If you don’t need to go back up, I can drive you.”
Her car keys and purse were upstairs. She didn’t want to wait that long. “Thank you.” Together they raced to the elevator to get to the underground parking garage.
Fifteen
Dalton didn’t like feeling helpless, but he’d learned the hard way that you couldn’t control every aspect of your life and that when those times came all you could do was pray and hold on. Seeing Brianna hurrying toward him with the man from the book signing, Dalton met them halfway.
“How is she?”
Dalton had known Brianna’s first thought would be of Justine. Just as his had been. “I’m not sure. She still hasn’t come out.”
Brianna wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze glued to the doors leading into ICCU. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“You’re here,” Dalton said.
“He’s right,” the man with her agreed.
Brianna didn’t say a word, just wrapped her arms tighter around herself. The wide-shouldered man standing by her side curved one long arm around her shoulders and extended his hand. “Patrick Dunlap.”
“Dalton Ramsey, but I guess you already knew that.”
“Do you know what happened?” Brianna asked.
Dalton shook his head and explained that they were having dinner when Justine received the phone call. “They got his heart going, but the doctor still seemed concerned. He talked with Justine and his mother in private.”
“He wants—” Brianna began, then clamped her lips shut.
Dalton’s gaze narrowed. “What? What does he want?”
Brianna glanced away. “Nothing. I wonder if I can just peek in? Sometimes they let more than two people in at a time.” Her arms came to her sides. “I cant stand this waiting. They can put me out, but at least Justine would know I’m here.”
Dalton’s hard stare followed Brianna into ICCU. She was hiding something.
“Whatever she was about to say, you won’t get it out of her,” Patrick said, staring after her as well. “If she hadn’t been so concerned about Justine you wouldn’t have gotten that much.”
Dalton’s attention snapped back to Patrick. His assessment of Brianna was dead on. “I thought you two just met.”
Patrick slid his long-fingered hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We did, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that Brianna is a woman of integrity and she could give lessons in stubbornness to a Missouri mule.”
“She’s giving you a hard time, huh?” Dalton asked. The corner of his mouth tilted upward.
“That’s putting it mildly. She was doing a good job of brushing me off when she received your phone call.” Patrick’s hands came out of his pockets. “I hope you don’t mind my being here. I didn’t want her driving herself.”
“No. Thank you. She and Brianna are closer than sisters.” Dalton faced the double doors. “Whatever it takes for Justine to get through this, I’m all for it.”
Justine glanced up as the door to Andrew’s room eased open. Brianna, her brows drawn in worry, hesitated at the door. The lump in Justine’s throat thickened. Brianna crossed to her and hugged her. “I’m here.”
“Andrew needs peace and quiet,” Beverly said, irritation in her voice.
Both women straightened and turned. Justine saw the angry glint in Brianna’s eyes and shook her head.
Dalton had to have called her. Her hair was in a pony-tail, her face free of makeup. Brianna wasn’t fussy, but she’d never venture far from her house without looking her best. “Thank you for coming, but you can go home.”
“Is he all right?” Brianna whispered.
“His vitals signs are stable . . . for now, at least,” Justine told her.
“Justine,” Beverly called impatiently.
“Please go home, and tell Dalton to please do the same.” Justine steered Brianna back to the door. “Thanks for coming.”
Brianna hesitated. “Do you want me to call your mother?”
“No, she’d just worry. Good night.”
“Good night.” Brianna closed the door, then stopped by the nurse’s station to thank them for letting her visit. She stepped into the waiting area, and immediately Patrick and Dalton rushed to her.
“She’s tired, but determined. Andrew is stable, but I got the impression that that might change.” She ran a shaky hand over her hair. “Dalton, she said for you to go home.”
“I’m staying.” Dalton folded his arms over his chest.
“I thought that might be your answer.” Brianna touched his steady shoulder. “She needs us more than you could ever imagine.”
Dalton’s eyes narrowed, but she had moved on to Patrick. “We can go.”
“You’re sure? I don’t mind staying if Justine needs you.”
She couldn’t imagine Jackson being willing to wait. In fact, he’d always come when visiting ho
urs were almost over when her father was in the hospital. “If I thought it would help for me to stay, you couldn’t drag me away with a team of horses.”
Patrick briefly curved his hand around her neck. “You’re some woman, but then I always knew that.”
Shaken by the brief contact, a contact that she found much too pleasing, she hastily turned to Dalton. “I’m glad you’re back. Good night.”
“Me too. Night.”
“I’ll see that she gets home safely, Dalton.” Patrick cupped Brianna’s elbow.
“Thanks.” Dalton sat down on the lumpy couch, his thoughts troubled. He’d been right. There was more to the haunted look Justine wore than just Andrew’s accident. But what? It was going to be a long night, but he wasn’t leaving unless it was with Justine.
“Home or do you need to drop by your parents’ house?”
Brianna stopped staring out the window and finally looked at Patrick, something she had refused to do since she had gotten into his truck. He continued to amaze her. How had he known that she wanted to see her parents, especially her father.
Despite the heavy traffic, he threw her a quick glance. “It was easy to see how close you are to your parents that day in the elevator. Seeing Justine’s husband had to remind you how blessed you were to still have your father. Wanting to see him to reassure yourself he is all right is perfectly understandable.”
“How would you know that?”
If she hadn’t been watching him, she might not have seen his jaw clench. “I know.”
Brianna recalled his early retirement and wondered again about the circumstances. The hospital had shaken him up as well, yet he was willing to help her. He was a good man. She’d just met him at the wrong time.
She gave him her parents’ address. “Do you know where that is?”
“Yes. Brooke’s business partner, Claire, and her husband divide their time between his grandmother’s home on East Bay and a home on Sullivan Island.”
“You’re very close to your niece,” she said.
