Tracey snickered. "Wesley doesn't have the balls to do what's needed." An evil smile lit her face. "But I do."
"The police will catch you," Rebecca said. If they ever get here!
Tracey held up the syringe. "You don't think I know what kind of drug to use? There are dozens that won't show up in an autopsy, unless one knew what to look for. No, dear Rebecca, you'll fall asleep until your lungs stop pumping oxygen to your brain and body. The police will think you suffered complications with your lung surgery." She moved to the IV pole and injected the drug into the line.
"Please, Tracey."
The woman capped the hypodermic needle and pocketed it. Then she bent down and kissed Rebecca's forehead. "It won't hurt a bit. I promise."
"Tracey, please. Think about what you're doing."
"I've been thinking about this for months. You haven't been easy to spy on." Tracey laughed. "You almost caught me, do you know that?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Colton's last hockey game. You all went out to watch, and I convinced Wesley I had cold so I could do a little reconnaissance. When he called me after the game to tell me you were going to Cadomin, I knew exactly what I needed to do. But first I had to figure out your exact route. Thankfully, you left a map on a table for me."
Rebecca thought back to that night. The open garage door! "You broke into in my house?"
Tracey leaned close. "I've been in your house many times. I've even been in your bed. With Wesley."
Rebecca flicked a look at the door. "That doesn't surprise me. Wesley has a bad habit of making rotten decisions."
Tracey observed her, her forehead furrowing in confusion. After a moment, she shook her head and said, "The little cocktail I prepared for you should be kicking in any second. Why don't you just close your eyes and sleep?"
"Because I'm not tired, you stupid bitch."
Tracey grabbed Rebecca's arm and stared at the area where the IV needle should have been attached. "What the hell?" She yanked the IV bag from beneath the covers.
It was Rebecca's turn to smile. "Sorry to disappoint. Guess you've wasted those drugs for nothing."
"Then it's a good thing I brought a backup." Tracey held up a scalpel.
Chapter Forty -Three
Hinton, AB – Sunday, June 16, 2013 – 11:13 PM
Marcus searched the ER waiting area for Zur, but the detective was gone. So was Wesley Kingston. He ran into the cafeteria and found Kingston sitting at a table, alone.
"Where's your fiancée?"
"I have no idea. I thought she was in here, getting us dinner. I tried calling her, but she's not picking up. Maybe she went to get something from the car." Kingston frowned. "Why?"
Marcus didn't answer. Instead, he raced toward the elevators, while digging his cell phone out of his shirt pocket. In the elevator he stabbed the third-floor button and dialed Zur's number.
"What's up, Marcus?"
"I think I know who's trying to kill Rebecca, and it's not a man. It's a woman. Tracey. Wesley Kingston's fiancée."
"What makes you think that?"
"I found a photo in Rebecca's house." When Zur started to interrupt him, he said, "I had permission to be there. Don't ask. I'll tell you later. Anyways, I found a photo of a party at Kingston's father's law firm. Says on the back that they'd released the news about Rebecca being pregnant with Ella."
"What's that got to do with this Tracey woman?"
"She's standing in the crowd and doesn't look very happy about the news."
"What's she look like?"
"She's tall, maybe five foot ten. Thin. Long red hair, brown eyes. How's Rebecca doing?"
"I'm watching the feed. Mrs. Kingston is fine. But we're having a few problems with the sound. It's cutting in and out. I think she dislodged it by moving around too much."
"Is she alone?"
"No. The nurse is with her."
"The same nurse you vetted?"
There was a pause on the other end.
"Shit," came Zur's reply. "I think it's the fiancée. She's been talking to Mrs. Kingston, leaning over her." He mumbled something Marcus couldn't hear.
"What's wrong?" Marcus demanded.
"Security found our nurse stashed in a janitor's closet two minutes ago. She's unconscious, but alive. We weren't expecting a woman, Marcus, and she's wearing a uniform. We missed it."
Marcus slammed a fist into the wall of the elevator. "I'll be there right away."
"No, don't. I have enough men up here to handle this."
There was more mumbling on the other end, then Zur said, "We've got her! Tracey Whitaker just injected something into the IV. Don't worry. It's not actually attached to Mrs. Kingston. We're going in." The line went dead.
Marcus bounced on the balls of his feet. "Why did I get the slowest elevator ever made?"
There was a brash ding and the doors opened. Marcus ran down the hallway, cursing under his breath for not taking the central elevator, which would have exited much closer to Rebecca's room.
As he rounded the corner, he saw six plainclothes officers with their guns drawn. Zur, in his doctor gear, stood outside Rebecca's door, his weapon aimed inside.
Marcus's heart did a flip-flop. "What's going on?"
"Hostage situation," the officer closest to him replied.
Marcus couldn't breathe. Rebecca…
He watched in horror as Zur backed away and Rebecca appeared in the doorway. Behind her stood Tracey, though the woman's appearance had changed. Her hair was twisted into a bun, and she wore a nurse's uniform and the black-rimmed glasses she'd confiscated from the real nurse.
Tracey held a scalpel to Rebecca's neck.
"Ms. Whitaker, drop the knife," Zur said.
The woman gripped Rebecca tighter. "Get back!"
"Ms. Whitaker, I'm Detective John Zur. You're making a terrible mistake here."
"She's the one who made the mistake!" Tracey screamed, the knife nicking Rebecca's neck and leaving a thin trail of blood.
"Tell us what you want," Zur said. "What do you need?"
"I need for her to die, like she was supposed to."
Rebecca's panicked eyes found Marcus's, and he tried to mentally send her strength. Hold on. Don't do anything. Let John handle it.
"Rebecca Kingston has two young children," Zur said. "You wanted them dead too?"
"No!" Tracey shouted as tears flowed down her cheeks. "They weren't supposed to be there. Wesley said they were staying with their aunt."
"So Mr. Kingston didn't know they were with their mom?"
Tracey's eyes flashed with panic. "No. She was the one who was supposed to die. That's the way he wanted it, planned it. He paid that guy to run her off the road. He said I had to finish it, that we'd get the money for sure then. There was no other way I could pay back the goddamn loan."
Marcus swallowed hard. He and Zur had been wrong about Wesley Kingston. The man had planned Rebecca's murder. The bastard!
"Ms. Whitaker—Tracey," Zur said in a calm tone. "If you put down the knife, you can walk away."
"Yeah, right." The knife trembled and dipped slightly lower.
"I give you my word. You can walk out those doors. We won't follow you."
"And all I have to do is let this bitch go?"
"Yes."
What happened next was a blur of motion and sound. Tracey jerked her hand upward, and a shot rang out. Someone screamed. Tracey and Rebecca toppled backward, hit the wall and landed on the floor. The scalpel clattered across the tiles, landing in a pool of blood.
"Rebecca!" Marcus screamed.
An officer held him back. "Zur has her, Mr. Taylor. She's all right."
"But I saw blood," he replied with a moan.
"The Whitaker woman. Detective Zur shot her. She's dead."
"I have to see Rebecca. John!"
Zur glanced around, saw Marcus and rushed over. "I can't let you any further, Marcus. It's a crime scene. But what I will do is bring her to you as soon as we've t
aken her statement. Go wait in the exam room with Simms and Geraldo."
"Kingston is in the cafeteria," Marcus said.
Zur nodded. "We got him. He's already in custody. We'll talk later, okay?"
As Zur walked away, Marcus struggled to get a glimpse of Rebecca. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her moving around, uninjured. She was okay. Well, as okay as she could be after Tracey held a knife to her throat.
He watched as Zur led Rebecca back to her room. With nothing left to do, Marcus wandered down the hall, replaying the night's events in his head.
Tracey Whitaker and Wesley Kingston had conspired to murder Rebecca.
He shook his head. How could he have been so wrong about Kingston?
The money.
Not the money the kids would inherit, but the money used to pay off Delaney. That's what had thrown Marcus. He'd been so sure that Kingston had no access to such a large amount of money. Twenty-five thousand dollars? But it had been Tracey who'd come up with payment. One coldhearted bitch.
And now one coldhearted dead bitch.
Kingston…
The guy was downstairs eating dinner, for Christ's sake. The mastermind had been right under everyone's noses.
Marcus took a detour and headed to the stairwell. Taking the steps two at a time, he was on the main floor in less than two minutes. A few patients wandered the floor, along with three interns and an ER doctor.
He strode down the hallway, hell-bent on pounding Kingston's face to a pulp. When he reached the cafeteria, he found Wesley Kingston standing near a table, his hands cuffed behind his back while an officer read him his rights.
"I had nothing to do with this," Kingston shrieked.
The officer led Kingston toward Marcus. They locked eyes as they passed.
"It wasn't me," Kingston insisted. "I swear, I didn't try to kill her!"
"Bullshit!" Marcus said, his fists clenched at his sides. "Tracey already admitted you planned it all. You're going down for attempted murder. Of your wife and your two kids, you son of a bitch."
"You're wrong," Kingston sobbed. "I'd never hurt them. I have no reason to want them dead."
"I can think of about eight hundred thousand reasons."
Kingston shook his head. "What you're suggesting is ludicrous. I'm not capable of murder."
"Money can make people do desperate things," Marcus said between gritted teeth. "Things they thought they were never capable of."
"I didn't do this," Kingston hissed. "Tracey—"
"Is dead," Marcus snapped. "That's what your plan got you. A dead fiancée and a prison sentence."
Kingston was led away amid shrieks of protest and denials.
Marcus ran a shaky hand through his hair and released a pent-up groan. He'd wasted enough time on Kingston. The man would get what was coming to him.
He walked back to the elevator and stepped inside.
Time to tell Rebecca the nightmare is finally over.
Chapter Forty-Four
Hinton, AB – Sunday, June 16, 2013 – 11:37 PM
Rebecca's hands quivered as Dr. Monroe inspected the stitches in her side.
"Everything looks good here," the doctor said before leaving the room.
Rebecca watched the clock on the wall and wondered how her life had gone so wrong. At what point had she taken this detour into hell? And what had she done to deserve such atrocities?
"I still can't believe it," she said to Detective Zur, who was seated by the bed. "Tracey Whitaker?" She shook her head slowly.
"She was a desperate woman. She wanted you out of your husband's life, so she could have a future with him. And the money."
"And Wesley agreed to it all." She stifled a sob. "I can't believe I was so mistaken about him. I was married to him, for crying out loud. How could I have misjudged his character so badly? How could I have allowed my children to be anywhere near him?"
The detective shrugged. "You didn't know."
She clenched her teeth, then said, "Well, I should've known."
"Try not to be so hard on yourself, Mrs. Kingston. Some people are schemers and liars. They find ways to bend the truth, twist it to their realities. Your husband and Ms. Whitaker, they're both master manipulators. They wanted you to see what they presented."
"But I was so gullible."
"Unfortunately, we didn't get anything from Rufus Delaney. He's still not talking. And the little we got from Ms. Whitaker isn't really enough to say your husband absolutely knew you had your son and daughter. It's possible Ms. Whitaker gave the order to Rufus. She may have known where your children were."
She shuddered. "They almost died."
"They're alive and safe. And so are you. We couldn't have brought Delaney and Ms. Whitaker down without your assistance. So…thank you."
"I'm glad it's over."
Detective Zur nodded. "The danger's over. I'll warn you though—the next few months are not going to be easy. We're going to process your husband. He'll be charged with attempted murder. If we link him to Delaney, he could be charged with hiring a contract killer. We're still looking for hard evidence against your husband."
"You mean he could get off?"
"I'm going to do everything in my power so that doesn't happen."
"Thank you."
The detective smiled. "You can thank me by getting better and taking your family home."
"That's what I plan to do."
Detective Zur stood. "I have to get back to the station. I expect you'll see Marcus later?"
"I think so. You two go way back, isn't that right?"
He nodded. "A few years."
"What was he like before his wife and son died?"
"He was a good guy. Trustworthy. Funny. And a great cook. Of course, that was before he made some wrong choices."
"The drugs, you mean."
Detective Zur raised a brow. "Marcus told you about that?"
She nodded. "We had a lot of time to talk. On the phone when I was in the river. He kept me calm." She stared up at him. "You seem surprised."
"I am. Astounded, actually."
"Why?"
"The Marcus Taylor I know has been rather…closed off. He talked to me a bit after the accident. Then he closed right down. Ever since Jane and Ryan died, he's become more introverted, not so funny."
"He's made me laugh a few times."
The detective watched her, his face brightening. "You like him?"
She blushed. "I, uh…"
"Forget I asked. It's none of my business."
"I'm still married."
Detective Zur walked to the door. "You already initiated divorce proceedings, Mrs. Kingston. If you like Marcus, let him know. He's the kind of guy who'll wait."
"Do you think people can change after years of bad choices?"
"In my line of work," he said, "I see it happen quite often. But some people have to hit rock bottom before they resurface and realize what's important in life. The hardest part for those people is figuring out exactly where their 'rock bottom' is." He released a heavy sigh. "You don't have to concern yourself with Marcus. He hit his six years ago."
"When Jane and Ryan died."
He nodded. "Things have been shaky since then, but he's coming around. I can see a difference in him already. And I have a feeling you'll be better for him than any drug."
"I'm not sure that's a compliment."
Detective Zur grinned. "Believe me, it is."
Rebecca glanced at the clock for the millionth time. It was almost midnight and still no Marcus.
Maybe he's not coming.
She wondered if he'd gone back to the hotel to sleep.
He doesn't sleep. He has somniphobia.
She flicked on the television and wandered through the channels. Nothing interested her, and her eyes drifted to the door.
She thought about Wesley. Was he in a jail cell, cursing because his plans had been blown? Was he raging because she and the kids were still alive?
She gave herself
a mental kick for believing his lies.
Greed. One of the seven deadly sins.
She prayed Wesley was as cold and miserable as she had been when trapped in the car.
Then she thought about Ella and Colton. She wanted to curl up and cry for them, for what they were about to endure. In a matter of hours they would discover their father had tried to kill them—and their mother. How do children live with that?
How will I live with that?
The air in the room shifted as though a breeze had wafted in from an open window. But the window was closed.
She had the distinct sensation that someone was leaning over her. And then she heard a soft female voice say, "You'll live with this, Rebecca, one day at a time."
Her eyes drifted shut and a sensation of bliss washed over her.
One day at a time.
Chapter Forty-Five
Hinton, AB – Monday, June 17, 2013 – 12:44 AM
Marcus tiptoed into Rebecca's room, a bouquet of assorted blue flowers in his hand. The only ones left in the hospital flower shop, they'd had a blue balloon attached, announcing the birth of a baby boy. He'd removed the balloon and left it tied to a doorknob.
"Hi," she said from the bed.
"Hi." He surveyed the room, then spotted a vase with a wilted single red rose on the windowsill. "Want me to throw this out?"
"Please," she said with obvious relief.
"These were all they had left downstairs," he said, motioning to the bouquet.
"Blue flowers are my favorite."
They match your eyes, he wanted to say. "I, uh, wanted you to have something colorful and bright to look at."
"These walls are really sterile looking, aren't they?"
He laughed. "Hospital white."
"Remind me not to order that paint color—ever."
There was an uncomfortable second of stillness.
"When are you—?"
"Do you think—?" she said at the same time.
They grinned at each other.
"You first," he said.
"I was wondering if you think you'll come visit me sometime. In Edmonton."
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