Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Tone dry, Frankie said, “I’m well, thanks, how are you?”
Brad raked a hand through his hair. “Frankie, I—”
“We’ll pretend that you didn’t meet with Trick to bribe him to leave my life and that you have no idea who he is,” said Frankie, her voice even. This wasn’t the time to let loose her anger. “Brad, Marcia—this is Trick, my mate. Trick, that’s my uncle, Brad, and my grandmother, Marcia.” Neither of them did more than cast Trick a brief look, but at least they hadn’t scowled or attempted to send him away. “How is Geoffrey?”
Brad took a shaky breath. “The doctors said he’ll be fine. The bullet went straight through and didn’t hit any vital organs, but he lost a fair bit of blood. He’s had a transfusion and . . .” Brad swallowed. “It was hard to see him like that. Pale. Weak.”
“And the shooter?”
“She was arrested.” He shifted in his seat. “I’d say, ‘Sit down,’ but these chairs will make your ass numb.”
His attempt at humor didn’t break the tension, but she appreciated the effort. She didn’t sit—not simply because she didn’t feel welcome, but also because too much tension rode her body. “Do the police know why the woman shot him?”
“It was someone from an old case,” said Brad. “A custody battle.”
Frankie’s brow knitted. “Custody?”
“A couple wanted custody of their grandchildren. Their daughter joined one of those New Age cults after her husband died, and they didn’t think it was a suitable environment for the children. Their daughter didn’t want her parents to have visitation rights with the children, said her father used to . . . sexually abuse her. She said the cult was her sanctuary and that the children would be safe there. The battle was long and ugly.”
“Geoffrey granted the grandparents custody,” Frankie guessed.
“Yes.” He looked down at his hands, seeming lost. “Recently, one of the children—she was thirteen—killed herself. She wrote a letter, claiming her grandfather abused her and she couldn’t take it anymore.”
And then Frankie understood. “The mother shot Geoffrey.”
“She shot her father too,” said Brad. “He’s dead.”
If they couldn’t see the correlation to their own situation, they were blind. It was obvious that Geoffrey had seen Caroline and Francesca when he looked at that woman and her children. He’d seen the pack and Christopher when he looked at the cult. And he’d seen himself and Marcia when he looked at the grandparents. Which was why he should never have presided over that case, but there was little point in voicing what was so abundantly clear.
“He’s speaking with the police at the moment,” said Marcia, twirling her wedding band around her finger. “You can talk to him afterward, if you’d like.”
Frankie nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Trick put his mouth to her ear. “Want coffee?”
“No, thanks. It’ll either be weak or sludge.” She rubbed her temple. The fluorescent lighting was giving her a headache.
No one spoke another word as they waited for the police to exit Geoffrey’s hospital room. Once they finally did, Marcia jumped to her feet and pounded them with questions.
“He’s in room 4A,” Brad told Frankie.
Trick stayed close behind her as they walked down the hallway. Pushing open the door, Frankie saw Geoffrey propped up on pillows, watching the wall-mounted TV. She was surprised to see him hooked up to so many different machines that monitored his vitals, since he wasn’t ill. She wasn’t sure whether it was pain, blood loss, shock, or a combination of all three, but he looked pale even against the bright white linens.
As the door closed behind her and Trick, the noises of the waiting room were replaced by the soft drip of the saline, the reassuring steady beat of the heart monitor, and the low sounds coming from the TV.
He double-blinked at the sight of her. “Francesca.” She half expected his heartbeat to pick up, but it remained steady. “I didn’t think you would come.”
She might feel pissed and let down, but . . . “I’m not heartless.”
“No, but we’ve given that heart of yours a pounding lately.”
The admission surprised her. “You remember Trick.”
“I do.” His head slightly moved in what could have been a weak, hesitant nod of greeting, but Frankie couldn’t be sure.
She didn’t take the plastic chair next to the bed. Instead, careful not to bump the IV stand, she went to his side and rested her hand on the metal side rail of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to stay here overnight and have all these extra tests done.” He cast a glare at the admittance bracelet on his wrist. “Your grandmother insisted on it.”
“She’s feeling helpless. Using her pull is her way of doing something.”
“Well, I’d be far more grateful if she brought me food that wasn’t dry or tough.” He sniffed at the table at the foot of the bed, on which rested a tray with a half-eaten meatloaf. “The way she’s acting, you’d think I’d had a heart attack or was suffering from a mystery illness.”