Cassie Miles - The Girl Who Wouldn't Stay Dead

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 door. Voices and laughter had echoed from the front foyer and bounced off the ornate crystal chandelier. The sound had been disproportionately loud. She’d recoiled and covered her ears. Not ready to rejoin the others, she’d slipped down the corridor to a library with a huge desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves of leather-bound books.

The cream-colored wall opposite the curtained windows had displayed framed photos of various shapes and sizes. Many were pictures of Patricia with celebrities or heads of state or family members. None had showed Patricia’s ex-husband, a man who she and Jamison had referred to as “dead to her.” Do I fall into that category? She’d searched the wall for a sign of her relationship with Patricia. There had been several photos of Jamison, but Emily saw none—not even a group photo—with her own smiling face. Patricia had erased her from the family. So typical!

The door had opened, and a woman had stepped into the library.

Embarrassed to be caught looking at photos, Emily had taken a step back. “Are they ready to start?” she’d asked.

“Not quite yet,” the woman had said. “I thought I saw you come in here. I wanted a chance to meet you before the reading.”

Emily’s gaze had focused on the Oriental carpet. She hadn’t been really interested in mingling or meeting people. With trepidation, she’d looked up. The woman’s legs were a mile long, and she was dressed in the height of Aspen chic. Her hair was long, straight and a deep auburn. Her face had had a hard expression that Emily would never forget.

“We’ve met,” Emily had said.

“I don’t think so.” Not even a hint of a smile. This woman had been as cold as a frozen rainbow trout.

The first time Emily had seen her, she’d been preoccupied—tangled in the sheets and having sex with Jamison. “You’re Kate Sylvester.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Emily hadn’t refused, even though she doubted she’d be much help. She hadn’t talked to Jamison in months, and she’d heard that Kate was living with him. Why had she wanted to ask so many weird questions about Jamison’s finances?

In her unconscious state, she heard the distant sound of alarm bells. At Patricia’s chalet, she’d been more preoccupied with keeping her equilibrium after the Riggs family’s open contempt had thrown her off her game. She hadn’t given Kate a second thought.

But now? After the attempt on her life?

Everything about the will reading took on a much darker tinge.

When she woke up, she had to remember to tell Connor about this connection that spanned the country from Aspen to Jamison’s New York investment firm.

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