Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
But it didn’t. And now he’s in there, breathing, alive, while they’re—
I tighten my grip on the wheel. The thought doesn’t finish itself. It never does. It just lingers, an open wound that refuses to close.
People say time dulls the pain, that grief softens its edges, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. It doesn’t fade. It doesn’t lessen. It festers. And today, I’m walking into that hospital with the weight of it pressing down on me.
What do you say to the man who took everything from you? What words exist for that kind of loss? For that kind of rage?
I don’t know.
But I’m about to find out.
I pull into the hospital parking lot, leave the car, and head inside. The steel doors of the elevator loom before me. An elderly woman stands next to me. She gives me a smile.
I smile back, even though I’m not feeling it.
“I’m going to see my husband,” she says. “He had a heart transplant.”
“I hope he’s doing well,” I offer.
“He is.” She frowns. “It’s tough, though.”
“I’m sure.” The elevator doors open. I gesture to her to enter before me.
The elevator doors close behind us, and I push the button for Ralph’s floor. “Which floor?” I ask her.
“Three.”
I nod and press the button.
And I’m thankful she says nothing more until the elevator stops on the third floor and she gets out.
I open my mouth to wish her well, but then I close it.
She has other things on her mind, and so do I.
The elevator doors open on the floor that Ralph is on, and I get out, walk swiftly past the nurses station to his room, and—
The door is open, and I stalk inside.
Anger curls at the base of my neck.
Angie is standing there, talking to Ralph.
“Angie!”
She turns, drops her mouth open. “I thought you said—”
“That I had an appointment with Dr. Engel? Yes, I said that. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I had to come here. I thought I told you to stay the hell away.”
Her cheeks redden. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Jason, but I don’t take orders from you.”
Ralph is looking smug lying in his bed. His face is looking better, the bruises beginning to yellow. The cut on his lip is healing nicely.
“Can’t keep her on a leash, huh?” Ralph says.
“I know who the hell you are,” I say through gritted teeth. “And you’re not going to get away with any of this.”
He narrows his swollen eyes at me. “I know who you are too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angie asks.
I pull on her arm, harder than I mean to, and force her outside the room.
“Jason, I—”
“Listen to me. He’s dangerous. He killed Lindsay. I know in my heart that’s what happened. That handwriting expert all but proved it.”
“That’s not proof,” Angie says. “And frankly, whatever he did to Lindsay, you’re still being charged with his battery. We have to get him to admit that someone else beat him up.”
“And you think you can do that?”
“I don’t know, Jason. I just know I have to try.”
I grip her upper arms. “And I know I don’t want you anywhere near him. The man is dangerous.” I glare at the door to his room, grit my teeth. “I’ll get what I need out of him.”
She places a hand on my cheek, turns my head back toward her. “He hates you, Jason. He’s putting you through hell.”
“Well, someone kicked his ass, and it wasn’t me.”
“You think he did it himself?”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, I’m guessing he paid a guy to do it.”
“Jason,” Angie says, her voice softening. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling,” I reply, my voice harsher than I intend. “I’m just sick of sitting around doing nothing while he gets away with murder.”
Angie reaches out, her hand cool and steady on my arm. “We’re doing everything we can. But this confrontation—it’s not going to help, Jason. It’ll make things worse. You probably shouldn’t be anywhere near him. You wouldn’t be if everyone around here didn’t already know you. You’ve been accused of---” She stops, shaking her head. “If he is who we think he is, he despises you. He thinks you stole his one true love.”
She’s right. Blake would have my ass if he knew I was here, and in any other circumstance, an accused wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a victim. Still, I shake her off. “This confrontation could get me everything I need. I’m going back in there.”
“You don’t have to,” she says, her eyes shining.
“Of course I do. I want those fingerprints, and I want him to admit that someone else did this to him, probably at his request.”
She smiles. “I can’t help you with his admission, but…” She pulls a cup out of her backpack. “I saw him drink with this, and I picked it up by the edge.”