Cheryl Tardif - Submerged

Marcus frowned. What the hell is Wesley Kingston doing here?

“I want to see my wife for a few minutes,” Kingston was saying to the officer.

“Sorry, sir, but Detective Zur wants you to stay here. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Problem?” Marcus showed the officer his ID. “Marcus Taylor, 911.” He was sure by now all the officers on duty would know he had clearance. “Detective Zur can vouch for me.”

“Already has,” the officer said. “Mr. Kingston is insisting on seeing his wife.”

Marcus turned to Rebecca’s husband. “Wesley, your wife’s in ICU.”

“I know. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s unconscious.”

The man flinched, and a small part of Marcus took pleasure in Kingston’s pain.

“They’re doing everything they can for her,” Marcus said. “Let’s go grab a coffee.”

“Tracey is getting me one. And some dinner. I would’ve joined her in the cafeteria except I was detained.” He glared at the officer. “By this man. He even searched me like I was some common criminal or something.”

The officer shrugged. “I’m following orders.”

“Let’s sit down somewhere,” Marcus said with a sigh.

As much as he didn’t want Kingston’s company, it appeared he wouldn’t be able to escape it. Someone had to calm the man down. He could blow everything.

“I’m sure you want the best for your wife, so trust me when I say she’ll be fine.”

“But the news said she’d had a relapse. She was supposed to be released today.”

“These things happen. They’re taking good care of her.” Marcus took a deep breath. “You see anyone else around the hospital that you know?”

Kingston shook his head. “It’s like a morgue around here. Dead quiet.”

The guy was oblivious to how inappropriate his comment was, considering where they were.

“You’re probably wondering why I even care, seeing as Becca and I are getting a divorce.”

Marcus shrugged. “Not my business.”

Wesley Kingston stared at the floor. “I made a lot of mistakes. Too many to count. But there are two things I got right—Colton and Ella. I’m not a deadbeat dad. I love my kids. And no matter what Becca and I become, friends or foe, that’ll never change.”

“The police think you hired the guy that ran your wife’s car off the road.”

“I would never do such a thing. Besides, how could I hire someone? I haven’t got that kind of money?”

“What kind?”

“Whatever it takes to hire someone.” Kingston gazed into his eyes. “I swear to you, Mr. Taylor, I had nothing to do with this. I don’t hate Rebecca like that. I’m moving on. I have a fiancée, and I’m cutting back on the gambling. We’re not rich by anyone’s standards. But eventually I’ll get a better job, and until I do, Tracey’s income from the old folks’ home is enough to survive on.”

“So you don’t owe anyone money?”

“You mean like the casinos?” Kingston shook his head. “Like I told the detective, I had a few small debts, but those were paid off last week.”

“From the money Rebecca had saved.”

“No, Tracey got a loan.”

Marcus saw Zur approaching. He stood. “I have to go, Mr. Kingston. Your date has arrived.”

Wesley Kingston greeted the detective with a glum sigh. “How’s Rebecca?”

Zur flicked a look at Marcus. “She’s still unconscious. I’ll take you up to see her in a while. First, I have few more questions.”

With his jacket tucked over one arm, Marcus left them to talk and stepped through the emergency doors and out onto the sidewalk. The night air was invigorating, and he inhaled it as though it might be his last breath. After a minute or two, a chill seeped through the thin dress shirt he wore. He shivered.

He was about to put on his jacket when a rectangular piece of paper fell from the pocket and wafted across the parking lot. His initial reaction was to ignore it. It was probably a receipt. But something made him rush after the paper. He grabbed it before it blew into the bushes.

It was the photo he’d taken from Rebecca’s house.

Running back to the hospital entrance, he held the photo under the light and studied it. There was Rebecca looking happier than he’d ever seen her. Wesley appeared a bit nervous, but happy. In the background, a crowd of people gathered around them, champagne glasses raised in a congratulatory toast.

Marcus’s gaze flitted across the unfamiliar faces.

Until he saw one he recognized.

Oh damn…

Warning bells blared in his head.

His eyes scoured the nearby bushes. Then the cars parked in the lot.

Nothing seemed out of place.

Then why did it feel like a current of electricity sizzled beneath his skin?

Jane?

She appeared in a fog of serene radiance, her beautiful face and melancholy gaze expressing a despondency that gripped his heart. She stretched out a hand.

As he reached for it, she whispered one word. “ Hurry…”

Rebecca peeked between half-closed eyes. Her suspicion was correct. The voice had come from someone she’d never have suspected. In some ways it made sense, though they’d been civil to each other, and Rebecca wasn’t a threat.

So then why was Tracey Whitaker in her room, dressed in a nurse’s uniform and holding a syringe?

As instructed, Rebecca feigned grogginess. “Hi, Tracey. What are y-you doing h-here?”

Tracey leaned over her. “I came to finish the job.”

“W-what do you mean?” Rebecca muffled an exaggerated yawn, praying that Detective Zur was getting every word on tape. “What job? What are you talking about?”

“You were supposed to die, Rebecca. Quick and easy.” Tracey shrugged. “Well, maybe not so quick. But it was supposed to be a simple hit and run, no survivor.”

“But you and Wesley are getting married. I’m not standing in your way. You can have him. There’s no need to do this.”

Tracey shook her head. “Rebecca, you have no idea. Of course I have to do this. For the money.”

The money? This was all about the kids’ inheritance?

“You know Wesley can’t touch that money,” Rebecca said in a faux-groggy voice.

“He can if you’re dead before the divorce goes through. He’d automatically get custody of Ella and Colton, and everything that comes with them. Including the money your grandfather left them. Wesley would have signing authority.”

“I’m not sure it would work that way.”

Tracey smiled. “We’ve already consulted a lawyer. The guy insisted there’s no contingency plan. If you die, Wesley gets the money.”

“It’s for the kids.” Where the hell is Detective Zur?

Tracey placed her hands on either side of Rebecca’s pillow, then hunched down close to Rebecca’s face. “It’s not difficult to make an expense look like it’s for them and not us.”

“I can’t believe Wesley’s in on this,” Rebecca slurred. “I can’t believe the father of my children would agree to murder. Of me or his kids. My God…”

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.