The Girl Who Wouldn't Stay Dead. Cassie Miles

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СКАЧАТЬ a feeling.”

      He was scared—an undeniable tension prickled along his nerve endings and tied a hard knot in his gut. He didn’t like having emotions interfere with his actions. Not only had he grown up tough but Connor was a lawyer who had learned how to manage his behavior. That veneer of self-control was wearing thin. In addition to feeling fear, he was angry. If he’d followed his natural instincts, he would have grabbed Wellborn’s gun and blasted each and every one of the Riggses who got in his way.

      No doubt, one of them was responsible for running Emily off the road. If that wasn’t enough, they’d snatched her from her hospital room as soon as his back was turned. He needed to get her away from here.

      He tucked a blanket up to her chin and studied her face. Her cheeks glowed with a soft pink, more color than when she’d been indoors. Her full lips parted, and she almost looked like she was smiling. He couldn’t wait to see her smile for real and to hear her laughter. “It’s chilly out here. How can you tell if she gets cold?”

      “I can take her temperature or I can do it the old-fashioned way, like your mama did. Feel her forehead. Touch her fingers and toes.”

      Connor’s heart had been beating fast and his adrenaline pumping hard. His own temperature was probably elevated, but he did as suggested. Her forehead was smooth and cool. The white bandages protecting her head wound and the EEG sensors contrasted her dark blond hair and her complexion. Oddly, he was reminded of her snowy-white bridal veil. On her wedding day, eight years ago, she’d been so fresh and pretty and young, only twenty-two. He and Jamison had been twenty-five, just getting started with their high-power careers. Jamison had joined his investment brokerage firm as a junior vice president and had already been able to afford to buy a small apartment in Battery Park. Connor had been in Brooklyn, jumping from one law firm to another as he built his client list and his reputation.

      While Jamison was furnishing his place, he’d gone to an art gallery. That had been where he met Emily. By sheer luck, he’d found her first.

      On their wedding day, Connor had forced himself to celebrate. He was the best man, after all. He had to make a toast and tell the newlyweds that they were going to be happy and their love would last forever—not necessarily a lie but not what he really wanted. He’d felt like a jerk for his interest in his best friend’s bride, but he couldn’t help it. He should have been the man with Emily. When it came time for him to kiss the new bride, he’d chickened out and gave her a peck on the forehead. He’d been terrified that if he kissed her on the lips, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

      Sitting beside her in the back of the ambulance, he took her hand, pretending to check if she was cold but hoping he’d feel her squeeze his fingers. He desperately wanted her eyes to open. There had been a few moments in her room where her lashes fluttered. REM sleep was what Darlene had called it. Emily wasn’t moving now. Her face was still and serene, which he told himself was for the best. She wasn’t supposed to wake up. Her brain needed time to heal.

      He cleared his throat. “Is it dangerous to move her?”

      “Not if I’m in charge.”

      Agent Wellborn poked his head into the rear of the ambulance, flashed his credentials to Adam and spoke to Connor. “I’m going to get started talking to these people before they call in their lawyers. Have you made any decisions about Emily’s care?”

      “I want to get her away from here. A couple of specialists in Denver have agreed to take her case. The problem is transportation.” He looked toward Adam. “Can you arrange a Flight For Life helicopter?”

      “I’ll set it up with my dispatcher,” he said. “Shouldn’t be a problem, but it might take some time, an hour or more.”

      Connor gave a quick nod. After this incident with Thorson, he had cause to worry about the personnel assigned to take care of Emily. “I trust you, Adam. Can you come with us on the chopper?”

      “Sure thing.” He grinned. “I can always find something to do in Denver.”

      “Let’s get moving,” Wellborn said. “Connor, I want you to come with me when I talk to these people. You know them. You might notice something that doesn’t register with me.”

      “I’d be delighted to do anything that might disturb the Riggs family.” He glanced back at Adam. “While I’m with Special Agent Wellborn, you need to keep everyone away from Emily.”

      “You got it.”

      “One more thing,” Connor said. “Patricia suggested that Emily wasn’t going to wake up. Is there something I haven’t been told?”

      “I don’t know all the details,” Adam said, “but the screen on the EEG monitor shows normal brain activity for an induced coma. Seriously, dude, as long as we keep an eye on the monitors, she’ll be okay. She’s a fighter.”

      Connor agreed, “She looks like a delicate flower, but she’s tough.”

      It seemed impossible that someone would want to murder this gentle but courageous woman. Somehow, he had to keep that fact at the front of his mind. She was in danger. It was his job to keep her safe.

      * * *

      EMILY COULDN’T TELL where she was, but she sensed a change in surroundings. Through her eyelids, she was aware of the light fading and then becoming bright and fading again. The calliope music still played—boop-boop-beedle-deedle-doop-doop. But the tone was different. And she heard a man’s voice.

      “She looks like a delicate flower,” he’d said.

      It was Connor...or had she imagined the smooth baritone? She tried with all her might to listen harder and wished she had one of those old-fashioned ear trumpets with a bell shape at the end to vacuum up sound. Speak again, Connor. Say something else.

      There was something important she needed to tell him. At the reading of the will, there were details she wanted Connor to know.

      When she’d arrived at Patricia’s super-chic, nine-bedroom mountain chalet for the reading of the will, an avalanche of hostility roiled over her. Patricia hated her. Aunt Glenda had always looked down her nose at Emily. Phillip and his buddies, some of whom were good friends of Jamison, eyeballed her with varying degrees of suspicion and contempt. If Connor had been there, the atmosphere would have been different. He would have called them out and shamed them.

      Though she was capable of standing up for herself, Emily didn’t really want to fight with these people. Seeking refuge, she’d locked herself into the bathroom—an opulent, marble-floored facility with three sinks, gold-tiled walls, a walk-in glass shower big enough for four adults, a toilet and a bidet. She’d actually considered spending the rest of the night in there.

      Staring in the mirror, she’d given herself a pep talk. You have every right to be here. You were called to be here, for Pete’s sake. You can tell these people that they’re mean and interfering. After tonight, you never have to see them again. She’d lifted her chin, knowing that she looked strong and healthy. She’d been doing renovations at the gallery and was probably in the best physical condition of her life. During the past few months in Denver, her chin-length, dark blond hair had brightened. Natural highlights mingled with darker strands. There were women who paid a fortune for this look.

      She’d applied coral lipstick and given herself a smile before she opened the bathroom СКАЧАТЬ