Page 53 of Target Acquired
He frowned. “You get out of the hospital and you come straight here? Are you crazy?”
She bit her tongue for a full five seconds. “Not crazy, just not hurt that bad. Like I told you in the hospital, I’m fine. The wound required two stitches and some glue.”
He grunted. “That doesn’t sound serious.”
She was going to stomp her feet and yell any second now. Instead, she pulled in a slow, deep breath and then let it out while she squelched the desire to have a good old-fashioned temper tantrum. “Like I said, it’s not.”
He studied her for a brief moment, and a hint of a smile curved his lips before it disappeared. What was that all about? “You don’t have to take me to the grave today,” he said. “We’ll go another time.”
She sat. Stood, then sat again. He raised a brow. “Something on your mind or you got ants in your pants?”
“I need to apologize. Cole said I blew you guys off at the hospital. That’s not . . . I didn’t mean to do that.”
His still laser-sharp gaze cut into her. “We wanted to be there for you.”
Kenzie swallowed the “why?” that almost tripped off her tongue. “I know and I appreciate that. It’s just . . . I didn’t . . .”
“Say what you want to say, girl.”
She sighed. “Okay, fine. I don’t mean this as a criticism against you, so please don’t take it that way. It just is what it is. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you raised me to show no weakness, and admitting that I might need help is showing weakness. And as much as I try to overcome that—because I don’t believe it’s true—it’s so ingrained in me that I find myself falling into that mindset when it comes to you and my brothers. So, I’m sorry. Thank you for coming by the hospital. It means a lot.” She found herself surprised she meant it. This time when she stood, she planned on walking out the door.
“Hold up, Kenzie.”
She turned back.
“Where’s Logan?” he asked.
“Outside talking to Cole.”
He nodded. “Can you help me into my chair?” He could stand as long as he had something to hold on to, so getting him in the chair wasn’t as difficult as it would be if he had no use of his legs at all.
“Sure, but I don’t mind getting you whatever you need so you don’t have to get up.” She rolled the chair over next to him while speaking.
“You can’t give me what I need.” He hesitated. “At least not a new pair of legs, but you might be able to help with something else. Something that I need to show you and a story I need to tell you. I was going to tell you the story on the way to the grave, then show you the room when we got back, but this will do.” He shot her a wry smile. “See? Asking for help isn’t so hard.”
“Are you feeling okay?” She wasn’t even kidding.
He laughed and she blinked. Okay, that was a weird interaction, but she was also curious. And a little freaked out.
Once she had him in the electric wheelchair, he motored himself down the reconstructed hallway to the room across from his. The room he made her promise to leave alone. The room that her mother had been sleeping in toward the end. After her mother had died, he allowed Kenzie to take whatever she wanted from it, then shut the door and told her to stay out of it. She’d complied, having no interest in visiting the room that symbolized her parents’ marriage. Separation. Isolation. Arguments. Stoic silence. Bitterness. Anger . . .
She could go on, but he pushed the door open and rolled inside.
She swallowed hard, stepped over the threshold, and her jaw dropped. A crime scene board covered one wall. Well, the lower part of it. A large blown-up picture of the intersection where the accident had happened was on the adjacent wall. But it was the list of suspects and their pictures on the crime scene board that captured her attention. She walked over to it. “Dad?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, there was more emotion there than she’d ever seen. Ever. And then it was gone in a blink. “After you left,” he said, “I needed something to distract me. So I went back to something that I suspected but could never prove.”
She ran her fingers over her mother’s face smiling out at her from the wedding picture her father had tacked to the wall under the label “Victim.”
The breath caught in her lungs and she turned. “You don’t think . . . no . . . I mean, it was an accident.”
His eyes locked on hers. “I think it was murder.”
COLE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY just behind Logan, who strangled on a gasp. “What? This is why you refused to let me come in this room?”
Mr. King spun in his chair, an expert maneuver that would have been impressive if everyone’s attention hadn’t been on the scene before them, ears ringing with his pronouncement.
“What are you doing sneaking around?” Mr. King snapped, eyes blazing his irritation. “I told you to give me some time alone with her.”