Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

T he itch near her knee under the cast was driving Emily crazy. Only a few more days to suffer through the heavy plaster keeping her left leg immobile. While her doctor hadn’t committed one way or another, Emily had read between what he hadn’t said to realize she might not regain full mobility because of the multiple breaks in the appendage, which meant moving to a single-level home made even more sense.

Her bedside clock registered close to midnight, but her mind wouldn’t stop whirring. Jay used to call it her “whirling Dervish” brain when she couldn’t get it to shut off for the night. He’d had a few tricks up his sleeve that had helped, but since he’d been gone, she had had less success in silencing the inner thoughts.

Her door stayed cracked a sliver, allowing a narrow beam of light from the dim hallway to spill onto her floor. The police had stationed someone outside her door, but he’d been called away to a six-car pileup nearby around nine, with assurances the rehab security would be keeping a close eye on her. She wasn’t reassured—after all, someone had breached security to get to her room last night.

A shadow blocked the light from the door. Her heart rate lurched into high gear. She closed her fingers over the call button as the door slowly opened and the outline of a big man filled the doorway.

“Mrs. Ainsley? It’s Seth Whitman.”

She relaxed her hand on the call button. “Seth, you gave me quite a scare. Come in.”

He did so, returning the door to its original position. “Can’t sleep?”

“No, and I didn’t want to take any sleeping pills.” She raised the head of the bed, then pointed to the chair next to her bed. “Have a seat and tell me why you’re here at this hour of the night.”

“Has Jetta called you?” Her alarm must have shone on her face because he quickly added, “She’s okay.”

“No, she hasn’t.”

He looked down at his clasped hands, big, strong hands capable of protecting her sweet youngest daughter. That he cared for Jetta was apparent to Emily, although she doubted Jetta could see it. The man kept his emotions well-hidden, but Emily had learned a thing or two about reading a person as a high school teacher, and she could see his interest in the way he hovered around her daughter. “What’s going on?”

When he stayed silent, she prodded. “You’re here at this hour in my room because you’re worried about Jetta.”

“No, ma’am.” His swift denial gave her pause. “Not Jetta. I’m worried about you.”

“Me? I have someone keeping an eye on me. The officer will be back soon.” And he would be, but not until the tomorrow night’s shift.

“I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.”

Emily bit back a smile at his tactful way of calling out her half-truth.

“I stopped by the security office when I didn’t see the officer outside your door, and he told me about the callout. So you don’t have protection.” He leaned forward. “Which is why I’m here.”

“To protect me.” Emily regarded the brawny young man.

“Yes.”

She thought about sending him home, but something in Seth’s eyes told her he would simply sit outside her room instead of leaving the facility. She decided to find out what had prompted this visit. “What happened?”

He had the grace not to pretend he didn’t understand her question. “Jetta’s fine.”

“But…” She hadn’t raised five kids to not know when something was being left unsaid.

Seth acknowledged her prompt with a slight smile. “But she’s worried about your safety.”

“As I’m worried about hers.” She settled back against the bed, but the pillow had shifted down. Seth adjusted it for her without her having to ask, cementing her first impression of a sensitive man. Perfect for her youngest daughter—not that she’d tell either of them that. At least not yet.

“When did you first move into the house?”

She considered his question, glad for the distraction from fresh worries about Jetta and the grandchild she carried. “Let’s see, we moved to Virginia from Indiana when I was pregnant with Jason, our third child. That would have been nearly forty years ago.”

“Then you’re not the first owners of the house.”

“Not by a long shot.” Memories of the 1950s kitchen and 1970s shag rugs made her smile. “We did buy it from the kids of the original owners, who had been a bit of a do-it-themselves when it came to renovations. Our first Christmas, when Jason was a newborn, I insisted on a live Christmas tree. Jay wrestled it through the door and onto the stand, nearly taking out the chandelier in the foyer in the process. When we had it up and decorated, he flipped the switch for the lights and promptly blew a fuse. That wasn’t the first time we’d run into circuits being unable to handle whatever we turned on or plugged in. The previous owners had done some DIY electrical work that ended up costing us a small fortune because we had to get the entire house rewired.”

She shared a few more stories of their early life in the home she now had to leave.

“Sounds like you have many good memories of living there.”

The wistfulness in Seth’s voice made her think his upbringing wasn’t nearly as idyllic as the one she’d given her children. “Yes, I do. Mixed with the not-so-good too, of course.”

“It must be hard to contemplate leaving.”

In the low light of the room, his features lay hidden in shadow, but she detected a yearning in him for such memories of his own. “It is.” She sighed. “But I’ve sensed God nudging me to let go of the past and embrace my future with him more and more.” She tapped her leg cast under the covers. “It took an accident to push me to finally make the changes I should have made years ago.”

She yawned as sleep began to press down on her shoulders and eyelids. She lowered the head of the bed so she was more reclined than sitting up, allowing the quiet inside the room to lull her toward sleep.

“Why are you so certain your husband didn’t embezzle the money?”

“Because I knew Jay.” She smothered another yawn. “You know that adage about looking up a word in the dictionary and finding that person’s picture? You would find Jay’s photo next to the word honest . He went out of his way to be above board in every aspect of his life. Did you know he pushed for annual audits by an outside firm the first year he was at Topher Robotics? Peter Topher nixed the idea, saying he didn’t want outsiders messing with his books, but every chance he got, Jay hounded Peter, and then Ryan, Peter’s oldest son, for yearly audits. Maybe if he’d been successful, the embezzlement would have been uncovered sooner.”

“But it was uncovered eventually and all evidence pointed to Jay.”

Emily shook her head. “Jay never talked much about his work—another hallmark of his integrity—but he did let it slip once a few years before the accusations against him that he thought someone was stealing small sums of money from the company. He must have been thinking out loud and immediately clammed up when I asked him what he’d meant.”

“Can you remember his exact words?”

She closed her eyes, willing her mind to dredge up the long-ago conversation she’d deemed unimportant at the time. “I did mention it to the police after his death, but they weren’t interested in investigating any longer since the person accused of the crime couldn’t be prosecuted. It might be in the police report, if it has been kept somewhere.” She breathed in and out slowly, casting her thoughts back to the April day. Rain poured down, and she’d talked Jay into taking Jetta to school rather than making her wait in the deluge for the bus, which usually ran late on days like this.

He’d agreed, but clearly had been distracted because she’d seen him put on his trench coat while Jetta was still eating breakfast. Emily had hustled to catch him before he could leave the house and that’s when she’d overheard his muttering. Her eyes popped open. “I remember. He said, ‘It has to be one of three people, but why would any of them take such a risk for so little money?’”

“One of three people taking small sums of money,” Seth repeated.

“That’s all he said. He dismissed it as a work issue when I asked him what he meant.” Sleep beckoned more insistently as she fought to keep her eyes open.

“This could be helpful. I’ll pass it along to the former FinCEN agent who’s helping us with the financial side. Now, rest easy, Mrs. Ainsley. I’m not going anywhere until the morning.”

“Thank you, Seth.” She lowered the bed’s head until it was nearly vertical, her preferred way of sleeping. Emily allowed her body to fully relax for the first time that night, closing her eyes. Lord, thank you for bringing Seth into Jetta’s and my life. Heal the hurt I sense behind his kind exterior. And I also pray you would bring the two of them together, if it is your will. Help us uncover the truth behind what happened to Jay too. Amen.

* * *

Seth shifted in the chair next to Mrs. Ainsley’s bed, drawing the light blanket he’d found in the closet onto his chest. While it had been comfortable when he’d first sat down, a few springs had sprung in the seat. No matter how he maneuvered, one of them dug into his backside. Mrs. Ainsley’s soft breathing assured him she had fallen asleep, something Seth had been hoping to do until the chair declared war on his body.

He rose and paced to the windows with floor-to-ceiling drapes. After slipping behind the heavy curtains, he gazed out onto an inner courtyard. Garden lights framed paved walkways that wound around mulched beds. The bright moon, coupled with the low lights, illuminated the space. Flowers in muted fall colors of orange, red, and yellow had been tucked in among shrubs and small trees. The mix of greenery with color created a welcoming oasis at odds with the sterile interior of the facility.

Leaning his shoulder against the window, he allowed himself to revisit the memories talking with Emily had dragged to the surface. Despite Jay’s death, she had created a loving environment for Jetta and her older children. His own childhood had been so different.

The memories played like a jerky home movie across his mind’s eye. The fights between his mom and her man-of-the moment that always escalated into broken dishes and smashed knickknacks. Then the awful yelling that went on for hours before the boyfriend slammed out of the house. His mother gathering up whatever things he’d left behind and chucking them out of the apartment window to the street below. The curses raining down along with shirts, shoes, and toothbrushes.

Her anger spent, his mom would then shout for him to clean up the mess because she was going out. Which translated into heading to the nearest bar to find another man. Somehow, she always did, and the next morning, a new face would be across the breakfast table. He never bothered to learn their names. Instead, he’d watch their eyes to see if they would be nice or mean. If a mean one, he would find more excuses not to come home. For a nice one, he’d try to weasel out some cash for food or a needed clothing item.

The predictable, familiar cycle rinsed and repeated every few months throughout his childhood until one day, Hunter Thomas flipped the script. Definitely not the time to revisit that particular memory, not when he needed to stay alert to keep Mrs. Ainsley safe.

He peeked around the curtain to ensure Mrs. Ainsley slept, oblivious to his inner churnings. In some ways, that night made him into the man he was today. It certainly was why he’d chosen to keep watch over Mrs. Ainsley. He’d vowed to never let a woman get hurt on his watch again.

Seth returned his gaze to the courtyard, seeing not the peaceful space but Jetta’s lovely face. Her skittishness reminded him of his mother, who tried to hide the bruises from her revolving-door lovers. He didn’t think Jetta played the field like his mother had, which meant her ex-boyfriend must have been a piece of work. If Seth ever saw the man, he’d be hard put not to plant a fist in his jaw for the way he’d treated Jetta. How men could use their strength to dominate women, Seth would never understand. Women should be treated with respect, with dignity. He would never treat a girlfriend in such a way. Not that he’d ever had a chance to find out.

All he knew for sure was he wouldn’t keep his distance, not when someone was trying to hurt Jetta and her mother. The next time might result in injury or worse. But keeping them safe meant risking his own heart. Jetta had slipped past his defenses before he’d been aware the fortress he’d constructed around his heart had been breached.

Not that it mattered. Long ago, he’d resigned himself to spending life alone. He was too broken to ever be whole enough to be loved. No matter how much he wished it not to be so. A lifetime of experience had taught him that simple truth.

He shoved away from the window and quietly returned to Mrs. Ainsley’s bedside. She hadn’t moved, her features relaxed in sleep. His own mom had never relaxed, her movements either jittery or abrasive, depending on her mood. He ignored the torture chair and snagged the blanket. Moving back to the window, he stretched out on the floor, covering his body with the blanket. Within seconds, sleep claimed him.