We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek Book 11)

by Calle J. Brookes

  He’d woken up with memories of what had happened two weeks ago playing in his head.

  He’d dreamed of Jess’s big brown eyes again, too. Sometimes, she snuck into his dreams and reminded him of how he’d failed. Failed her, failed to see her for what she really was.

  Failed Jillian and Lacy and Rafe’s younger sister Ariella.

  Sometimes, he wasn’t certain if it was Jess’s eyes he was seeing any longer. Ariella had big dark eyes like that.

  So did Izzie.

  It was usually Izzie he dreamed about now. How she’d looked, so close to gone. It was going to take him a long while to erase that image from his memory.

  Sometimes, Jess morphed into Izzie right before his eyes. Especially in the two weeks since the shooting.

  Jess had betrayed him, been nothing more than a fraud and a crook—a thief who hadn’t cared who she hurt, and a drug peddler out for only a profit. Yet he still dreamed of Jess’s dark hair and dark eyes. She’d worn her hair almost to her waist. Straight and beautiful.

  Allen had loved to run his fingers through that hair.

  She had been using him. For what he could do for her at FCGH.

  That still stung.

  He’d sworn off women after that. Especially women who worked at Finley Creek General. It had only been recently that he’d started to even notice the people he worked with again.

  Because of Nikkie Jean. He still remembered the exact moment it had happened. He’d come up behind her and casually said something. She’d jumped a million feet and turned.

  There had been terror and memories in Nikkie Jean’s big eyes. It had jerked him out of his shell and back into the real world again.

  Made him realize that others out there had deeper wounds than his.

  He was still being careful with her. But this was ridiculous.

  Nikkie Jean needed to be on an antiemetic. For some reason, she’d stubbornly refused to even consider it.

  She’d gotten ill again after their last surgery. He was almost certain the woman had lost a little more weight in the last few weeks. Weight she hadn’t been able to afford to lose even before she’d gotten pregnant. He’d told her to clock out and go home.

  Her car was still in the parking lot. He’d seen it when he’d crossed the parking lot to his medical practice across the street from the hospital.

  His shift ended in two hours. She had another six to go. He knew what she was planning. Allen wasn’t going to have any part of it.

  Nikkie Jean was hiding from him.

  If Nikkie Jean Netorre was hiding, it would be in Izzie’s room.

  Nikkie Jean was going home—or he was calling her fiancé to come get her.

  Allen was about to play hardball.

  28

  Izzie was awake and being entertained by one Nikkie Jean. Nikkie Jean had flopped into the chair next to the bed of the private room Izzie had been moved to earlier and had proclaimed that pregnancy hormones were killers.

  Her friend had looked absolutely green. “I’m hiding.”

  “From?”

  “The tyrant otherwise known as Allen.”

  “Oh?” That man…he confused her. She knew that. Even knew that she would have weird feelings for the man who had saved her life for a while. She wasn’t a complete stranger to psychology, after all.

  Izzie kept thinking about him.

  She’d had a lot of time lately to lay there and think.

  “He’s got some weird, misplaced big brother thing going on today. He actually threatened to call Caine on me.”

  He’d stopped in and visited with her for five or ten minutes each day. Izzie hadn’t known what to say to him other than thank you. It had felt beyond awkward.

  As if she’d conjured him up by thinking about him, he knocked on the door jam.

  He barely waited for them to invite him in.

  Izzie’s breath caught. He was a man on a mission.

  Nikkie Jean.

  “Ok, two choices. Load yourself in your car and take yourself home. Or…I’m calling Caine to come get you.” He held up a hand when Nikkie Jean protested. “No buts. I’m your boss. You have to do what I say.”

  “Technically, I’m your boss now,” Nikkie Jean practically grumbled. “Bet you didn’t know that, did you, Lieutenant?”

  Izzie looked at her, as Allen took the other chair in the room. “What?”

  “Daddy dearest bought the place yesterday. In my name. Surprise, surprise. Guess he’s making up for all the birthday presents he didn’t buy me when I was a kid.”

  Well, that was something nobody could have expected. By the expression on her face, Nikkie Jean wasn’t the least bit happy about it.

  She half understood where her friend was coming from—if her own father suddenly showed up, Izzie wouldn’t want anything to do with him, either. Too little, too late, in her opinion. She doubted her father would ever buy a hospital, either. So how was she to know what she would do in Nikkie Jean’s place?

  Izzie was looking better today. Allen shot her a quick look, biting back a smile when he saw the wild pajamas, tie-dyed with big green alien heads printed all over the fleece, footed one-piece.

  They were Nikkie Jean’s doing. She’d taken it on herself to take excellent care of her buddy. He somehow didn’t see Nurse Izzie picking out something so outlandish for herself.

  Izzie looked back at him. “Dr.…Allen. How are you today?”

  “I’m…good. Looking for the escapee. And…I’m glad I found her here. I wanted to let you know that the district attorney will most likely be sending someone to interview you soon.” Both women flinched. Allen understood.

  “What more can we say?” Izzie asked tightly. “Everything is on video.”

  “Except what he said that day,” Nikkie Jean said in a weak voice.

  “The first court hearing has been scheduled.”

  Both women flinched.

  “I’m not going!” Nikkie Jean said.

  As Allen looked at her, she bolted toward the small bathroom next to the far wall. He knew she was getting sick, and guilt filled him. He should have told her when she was feeling better. He stood.

  “No, let her alone. She’ll not want you seeing,” Izzie said softly. One small hand wrapped around his wrist.

  “I’m going to take her home. Drive her there myself.”

  “She won’t get in the car with you. You being…a man.”

  “No. Probably not.” Allen suspected he knew why, but he had never asked Nikkie Jean. He never would.

  Allen would respect her boundaries.

  “Jillian gets off in an hour. Nik can hide out in here until then.”

  “I’ll find her. See if she can take her home. She probably shouldn’t drive herself home, as ill as she’s been today.”

  “You’re a good friend to her. Thank you.”

  “I’m the lucky one. She…she’s the first woman I’ve cared about since…well…she’s a good friend to me, too. I’ll…go. Find Jillian.”

  “Thanks…Allen. For what you did. Do. I mean that. Especially for her. I don’t think she’s let a male doctor close to her until you—and Caine, of course.”

  “I did what anyone would have done, Izzie. I’m no hero. I will never claim to be.”

  That was the last thing he was. If he had been any kind of hero, he would have realized Wallace was falling off a cliff and would have found a way to stop him before he had hurt them both.

  29

  Jake MacNamara was going to become a problem. Jennifer knew it with one look at the dark-haired man who sat in the middle aisle of the courtroom.

  Damned bastard. He hadn’t stopped asking questions. She knew that he was the one behind it, even if it was those buddies of his who were doing the actual work.

  He held a grudge against her family. Because of that little slut niece of his.

  There was no one on this planet that Jennifer hated more than that girl. She’d ruined everything. For all of them.

  If Walla
ce had been able to keep his dick in his pants, none of this would have happened. If that girl had had any sense of decency, she would have kept away from a married man well old enough to be her father.

  No. That girl had tried to take what wasn’t hers. She’d gotten what she deserved.

  Wallace should have killed her.

  Wallace hadn’t realized what Jennifer had done for him. Jennifer had protected those she loved, and always would.

  He’d been a decent husband and provider. He had been a great father to Reggie and to her nephew. All things she’d always vowed she’d wanted from the time she had been old enough to see those things. To feel the lack as a child.

  He had been a cad when it came to fidelity.

  After the first time, and the agonizing betrayal, she’d thought about confronting him. But she hadn’t. Jennifer had had hope that it had been a one-time thing.

  The second bitch he’d been with had been far more devastating.

  It hadn’t gotten any easier to forget that her husband hadn’t found her enough. She’d failed in that one area of her marriage. The marriage bed.

  She’d shown him, though. Even if he hadn’t realized. She had had more than a dozen lovers in the last dozen years or so. In the last five, she’d had four lovers, three of them at the same time. That had taken some juggling.

  But she had been determined.

  If Wallace wasn’t satisfied with her, she wasn’t satisfied with him.

  It was truth.

  There were far better lovers out there than Wallace Reginald Henedy II.

  Even if it had been his arms around her she’d wanted so much at first.

  She’d felt so disgusting after the first time she’d broken her marriage vows.

  It had gotten easier with time.

  The lawyers droned on. Wallace’s was the best Jennifer’s money could afford. They’d amassed a great deal of money over the years. She hated to see it wasted like this.

  It should go to Reggie. To his children, someday. She was determined—her son would marry, would give her grandchildren to love. God wasn’t going to take that away from her son. He wasn’t.

  A hiss of air slipped through her teeth when the prosecutor read a statement from the Carringtons’ daughter. That little bitch was no better than her own slut of a mother. Wallace had had an affair with Darla Carrington, too, when her daughter was still in diapers. Darla had taken great pleasure in telling Jennifer all about it after they’d argued over something trivial all those years ago.

  He really had gotten around.

  The judge asked Detective MacNamara to stand. The judge, one so easily bought if one had the funds and the connections, asked for an update on the victim’s condition.

  Victim, her ass. That girl wasn’t a victim—she had to know something. Something Wallace hadn’t wanted getting out.

  It had to have something to do with whatever was in those journals.

  Jennifer couldn’t help but think it stemmed from fifteen years ago. Maybe Wallace had told her about Miranda all those years ago.

  Poor little nurses had always been his favorite type.

  Jordan Carrington’s personal assistant had been a real slut. No doubt, he’d spilled his guts to that little whore nurse about what he’d done fifteen years ago, and Izzie MacNamara had turned on him. Seen that the information was worth something.

  Blackmailed.

  Wallace had had to shoot her, to keep her from revealing the truth. It was his rotten luck, his total incompetence, that had had him failing at the task.

  He should have told her. Jennifer would have seen it taken care of more efficiently.

  “She’s recovering. She’ll be released soon. It…we almost lost her. If she hadn’t been with two surgeons when it happened, she’d be dead,” MacNamara said, shooting a hate-filled glare at Wallace.

  That flea-bag cop probably wanted to shove his fist down Wallace’s throat for this. He certainly looked strong and capable enough to do that. Fit.

  Izzie MacNamara should be dead. Had Wallace been less incompetent, she would have been.

  If they were all gone, she’d be able to make certain Reggie’s world was as right as she could make it now.

  Reggie was going to lose his father to the prison system. Everyone knew that. That’s why they were there today. Her fingers wrapped around her son’s. He was so strong and stoic next to her.

  Reggie definitely didn’t understand anything his father had done.

  The defense attorney stood. Started to speak. Jennifer forced herself to focus, to make certain she was getting her money’s worth now.

  Extenuating circumstances, they were saying. Because of his wife.

  They were blaming Wallace’s mental state at the time of the shooting on his wife. On Ray for dying.

  That was bullshit.

  Jennifer hadn’t made him pick up the gun and almost kill his lover. She hadn’t done that.

  It was all Wallace’s doing. Would that man ever be responsible for his own actions? Jennifer sat there, trying to be as stoic as her son as the court preceding continued around her.

  This was it. The last time she would ever fix anything for Wallace again.

  But then again, it wasn’t for Wallace she was doing this, was it?

  30

  Jake hated wearing suits. He resisted the urge to fuss with his tie as he took a moment to study the occupants of the courtroom. Because of the sensationalism associated with a wealthy family like the Henedys and Jordan Carrington’s daughter, plus one victim being the governor’s brother-in-law, the judge had ordered a mostly private courtroom.

  Jake was good with that. More details tended to emerge that way.

  He wanted every detail of what Wallace Henedy had done. More importantly, he wanted the why.

  Izzie deserved to finally know the why.

  Jake stared at Henedy. The sonofabitch was tall, on the thinner side. In decent shape for a man his age. In good enough shape that he’d done some damage to Nikkie Jean that day. What kind of bastard attacked a five-foot, one-hundred-pound, pregnant woman who had always been terrified of her own shadow?

  After shooting her best friend in front of her three times. It was a wonder Nikkie Jean hadn’t shattered in the wind.

  There were special places in hell for men like that. Jake’s fist bunched.

  He fought the urge to storm over there and yank the smarmy bastard out of his chair and knock the living shit out of him.

  Henedy had almost taken Izzie out of this world. Away from Jake and the others who loved her. He’d intended to do that to Nikkie Jean.

  Now, Henedy sat there in his chair like he owned the world. There was no distress on the man’s face. That pissed Jake off even more.

  Jake watched everyone involved.

  Izzie couldn’t be there. It was going to be weeks before she was back on her feet again. But Jake was there to be her voice.

  They would damned well listen.

  Nikkie Jean and her fiancé were near the back of the room. As far from Henedy as Nikkie Jean could be.

  Allen Jacobson sat next to them, a somber look on his face. It was sheer shitty luck that he had been there that day. For him.

  For Izzie, it had been a gift. Jacobson had been strong enough to carry her to help that day, despite his own injury. Jake had seen the tapes. Jacobson had seen what was happening—and he hadn’t run for help. Or waited for the TSP to arrive to fix things.

  Jacobson had stayed.

  That choice had saved Izzie that day. She wouldn’t have gotten to help in time if he hadn’t.

  Jake would always owe the man that. He’d erect a shrine in Jacobson’s honor for that alone. That didn’t mean he trusted or liked that arrogant prick. Men like Jacobson thought wealth bought them absolution of all their sins. Men like that sinned a lot.

  He had seen that before, too.

  Jake should at least thank the man for what he’d done for Izzie. He owed the man a great debt. He was a MacNamara; they alw
ays paid their debts.

  He came from an old-school family. Family was everything, and when someone hurt that family, there would be hell to pay. His brothers, especially, espoused the idea of eye for eye, tooth for tooth.

  Jake considered himself the most civilized of his brothers.

  But he understood.

  When he’d called Italy and told his oldest brother what had happened to their niece it had taken him forty-five minutes to convince his brothers not to hop the first plane to the United States. They weren’t active in Izzie’s life in the last decade, but he couldn’t have raised her without their advice, or financial help at times.

  It was what MacNamaras did for family.

  Izzie and the rest of their nieces—he didn’t have a nephew among twelve nieces—were the center of their family now. Jake liked it that way.

  There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect Izzie. Hell, he’d moved countries to take care of her when she’d been a kid.

  Today was the preliminary hearing. The judge asked for an update on the victim’s condition.

  To see if she’d died or not. That would have changed the charges. He’d been on this merry-go-round before.

  Never had it been so personal before, though.

  Jake bit back a snarl at the word victim.

  He stood when addressed. “Izzie. My niece, Izadora MacNamara. That’s her name, Your Honor. We call her Izzie. She’s a trauma nurse at FCGH. She saves lives. The last thing she deserves is to be fighting for her life in the very hospital that she loves so much.”

  Jake turned and stared at Wallace Henedy. At the man’s wife and son behind him.

  They needed to see Izzie for who she was. Not just a victim.

  31

  She was going home. Three weeks to the day after Wallace Henedy had almost killed her, Izzie gathered her bag of belongings on the now made bed.

  It was time. Regardless of what Nikkie Jean had wanted—she’d wanted a six-week stay for Izzie—it was time. For one thing, she suspected how much this was going to cost.