Cassie Miles - The Girl Who Wouldn't Stay Dead

“Go ahead,” Sandoval said. “I’ll stay with Emily.”

After being cooped up in the hospital room with all the beeping and blipping monitors, he was glad to step outside for a moment. The pale yellow corridors and shiny-clean nurses’ station were a welcome relief. He led the way around a corner and down a flight of stairs to a lounge with vending machines. Though the coffee was fresh brewed and free, the vending-machine snacks were a typical array of semistale cookies and candy. The selection looked good to Connor, which meant he must have really been starving.

He fed dollars into the machine and pulled out two chocolate bars with almonds. As he tore off the wrapping, he said, “I heard the investigation centered on Jamison’s Wall Street investment firm.”

“And involved several agencies, including the SEC and NASDAQ,” Wellborn said as he poured himself a coffee and added creamer. “I’m with the FBI’s White-Collar Crime Unit. We found a couple of shady glitches in his dealings, but nothing that rose to the level of fraud or insider trading. A few people in his office hated his arrogance. There were clients who felt cheated.”

“There always are.”

“Bottom line, our investigation covered all the bases. We didn’t find a significant motive for murder.”

“Nobody contacted me,” Connor said as he peeled the wrapper off the second candy bar. “Technically, I haven’t been Jamison’s attorney for years, but I stay in touch with Emily. Did you investigate her?”

“Not as much as we should have. The attack last night was proof of that.”

“Are you implying that Emily had something to do with her ex-husband’s death?” It seemed preposterous since Emily and Jamison hadn’t seen each other in months, much less had enough time together for a long-term poisoning.

Wellborn shrugged and sipped his coffee. Apparently, the feds hadn’t ruled out Emily—in the role of hostile ex-wife—as a suspect.

“Why are you here?” Connor asked.

“I’m looking into the attack on Emily as it might relate to her ex-husband’s death.”

“As far as I know, there was very little contact between them.”

“You didn’t know the terms of the will. She inherited a seven-bedroom mansion in Aspen plus all the furnishings. The artwork alone is valued at nearly fourteen million.”

A pretty decent motive for murder.

Connor’s phone rang. The caller was Sandoval.

The young deputy’s voice was nervous. “Connor, you need to get back to Emily’s room. Right away.”

Candy bar in hand, Connor dashed through the hospital corridors and up the stairs. Darlene the nurse beamed at him as he ran past her.

The door to Emily’s room stood open.

Her bed was empty.

Chapter Three

She was gone.

The hospital machines that monitored her condition were dead silent. Connor stared at her vacant bed. Rumpled sheets were the only sign that Emily had been there. Panic grabbed him by the throat. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The thud of his heartbeat echoed in his ears. His fingers, white-knuckle, gripped the edge of the door.

He’d promised to never leave her. She needed his protection, had asked for his help and he had failed her. She was gone, lost.

“Son of a bitch,” Wellborn muttered.

“Hush, now.” Relentlessly cheerful, Darlene bounced up beside the two men and said, “This is a good thing—a blessing. Emily’s family has come for her.”

“The Riggs family,” Connor said darkly.

“Such lovely people! Did you know our Dr. Thorson is dating Patricia Riggs? He signed Emily out.”

“Where did they take her?” Connor was aware of at least three different residences, not including the one she had inherited from Jamison. “Which house?”

“I can look up the address for you.” She bustled down the hall toward the main desk, talking as she went. “They hired a private nurse to take care of her at home. So thoughtful! I know Emily’s in a coma, but I think she’s aware of all these people who are concerned.”

“The deputy that was watching her, where is he?”

“It was the craziest thing,” Darlene said. “Deputy Sandoval tried to stop them.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“He called his boss, and the sheriff had already talked to Patricia. She told him it was okay, and the sheriff ordered Sandoval to stand down.”

Connor had only been out of the room for a few moments. “How did they get this done so fast?”

“When Patricia speaks, we shake a leg.”

“Ambulance,” Connor said. “Are they taking Emily in an ambulance?”

“Well, of course.”

He’d been with Emily when the paramedics had brought her in; he knew where the ambulances parked and loaded. If the Riggs family got her moved and settled in their home, it would be harder to pry her from their clutches. He had to act now.

He turned to Wellborn. “I’ve got to stop them.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Come with me and see.”

“You bet I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss this circus for the world.”

Racing against an invisible clock, Connor flew down the corridor. Ignoring the slow-moving elevators, he dived into the stairwell, rushed down four floors and exited on the first. Wellborn followed close behind. Having him along would be useful. An ambulance driver might ignore Connor but wouldn’t refuse a direct order from a fed.

At six thirty in the morning, the hallways were relatively calm. Though this was a small hospital, the floor plan was a tangled maze of clinics, waiting areas, pharmacies, shops and offices. During the four hours Emily was in surgery, Connor had explored, pacing from one end of the hospital to the other. He now knew where he was going as he dodged through an obstacle course of doctors and nurses and carts and gurneys. In the emergency area, he burst through the double doors. Outside, he spotted two ambulances.

Dr. Thorson stood at the rear of one ambulance. As soon as he saw Connor, he slammed the door and signaled the driver.

No way would Connor allow that vehicle to pull away. He vaulted across the parking lot, crashed into the driver’s-side door and yanked it open.

The guy behind the steering wheel gaped. “What’s going on?”

“Turn off the engine and get out.”

“Those aren’t my orders.”

Connor had a lot of respect for paramedics and the mountain-rescue team that had climbed down the steep cliff and carried Emily to safety. Their procedures had been impressive, efficient and heroic. Not to mention that these guys were in great physical condition.

“Sorry,” Connor said, “but you’ve got to turn off the engine.”

“Listen here, buddy, I advise you to step back.”

Respect be damned, Connor needed cooperation. He turned to Wellborn. “I need your gun.”

“Not a chance.” The fed displayed his badge and credentials. “Agent Wellborn, FBI. Please step out of the vehicle.”

Further conversation became moot when Deputy Sandoval drove into the lot, his siren blaring and flashers whirling. He parked his SUV with the Pitkin County Sheriff logo in front of the ambulance. Nobody was going anywhere.

Connor stormed toward the rear of the ambulance with only one thought in mind. Rescue Emily. He didn’t know how he’d move her from the ambulance or where he’d take her, but he sure as hell wouldn’t allow her to be carried away by the Riggs family.

Dr. Thorson stepped in front of him. “Slow down, Connor.”

Some people just don’t know when they’re beat. “Get out of my way.”

“Everything has been taken care of. I’ve got this.”

“Beg to differ.”

“I assure you that—”

“Stop!” Since the doctor didn’t seem to understand direct language, Connor decided to use his well-practiced techniques as an attorney whose job required him to deal with contentious personalities. He straightened his shoulders and leveled his voice to a calm monotone. “We can handle this situation in one of two ways. First, there’s the legal way, where I point to the documents that state—very clearly—that I’m in charge of all decisions regarding Emily’s medical care. If you don’t honor the signed and notarized advance directive, rest assured that I will sue the hospital and you personally.”