Ryker thrust a bottle of water into her hand, and she twisted off the cap and drank, all the while thinking a shot of liquor might have been more appropriate. Still, she appreciated the gesture. Her mouth and throat were so dry that she was having difficulty swallowing. She downed half the bottle in a few gulps.
“Thanks.”
“I coaxed one of the nurses into giving me information. Apparently, Peter only took a bite of the chocolate and immediately vomited. They’re pumping his stomach now. They think they got to him in time.”
“Thank God.”
“Who gave Elizabeth her birthday chocolate?”
“I did.”
Daria still couldn’t believe Elizabeth was gone. Damn. Damn. Damn. She’d worked so hard to improve her lot in life. And now she was dead.
“Who else knew that you gave her the chocolate?”
“Everyone in the office. We had a party.”
Daria would never again come home after a hard day of work to find her friend fussing with the plants. Never again share their late-night girl talks that sometimes lasted until dawn. Never again see her smiling face behind the counter of the Fifth Avenue store again.
And Peter, the golden child. Happy-go-lucky Peter with the ever-ready smile and warm hugs—she couldn’t bear to think of losing him, too.
As a kid, on the rare occasions when the sisters had been home, Peter had tagged after them like a little pest. He’d been their parents’ favorite, the spoiled baby who’d gotten all their love, and yet she and Fallon could never hold that against him. He was too sweet and adorable. Her brother had never complained when his father started grooming him to take on the huge responsibility of running the Harrington conglomerate.
While brother and sisters hadn’t been close due to their eight-year age difference, Peter had often deflected his parents’ wrath from her and Fallon’s shoulders. He never failed to speak up for them—and now he was lying in that hospital room, maybe dying due to the same poison that had taken Fallon and Elizabeth from her. No way could she return to work until she knew for certain that he would live.
During the time Daria had spent mourning her sister, Isabelle had taken over running the stores and she would take care of the company during the current crisis, but the older woman didn’t like the responsibility. Daria reminded herself that whatever happened she couldn’t leave Isabelle in charge for too long without overburdening the woman, who was getting on in years.
“So everyone had access to the chocolates?” Ryker asked.
Daria nodded. “Elizabeth had to watch her weight like me, but she always loved to get candy for her birthday. She liked every kind of chocolate, the creams, nuts, caramels, peanut butter and even peppermints. We never could find one that Elizabeth didn’t like.” Leaning over, Daria rested her elbows on her knees and placed her face in her hands.
Ryker rubbed the back of her neck, his strong fingers kneading muscles knotted with tension. She knew he was trying to comfort her but she couldn’t accept, didn’t deserve, comfort—not when her brother could be dying. “If Peter doesn’t make it…”
“He will,” he told her again. “He’s young and strong and a fighter. He’s going to pull through.”
“But if he doesn’t…”
“Daria.”
Eyeballs gritty and dry, she lifted her head. “What?”
“The press is going to accuse you of attempting to murder both of your siblings—even if Peter lives.”
It wasn’t fair. Daria had no reason to kill Elizabeth—even if she’d known her friend was dating her brother and hadn’t approved, that wasn’t a motive for murder.
Ryker had told her what he believed the press would print. His voice had been gentle, and she knew he’d only spoken the harsh words to prepare her for what was ahead. But the statement felt like a direct blow to her heart. She had to force air into her lungs. Breathing was an effort, tiring her more than she’d have thought possible. Once again in her mind’s eye she relived Fallon’s and Harry’s horrible deaths. The surprise, the paralysis, the death masks of terror.
Oh, God. She wasn’t yet ready to face her family, never mind the outside world, the press and the cops.
Just let Peter live, she prayed. Let him make a full recovery. The thought of him lying in that bed, mindless or paralyzed, was more than she could bear. She started to tremble, then shake.
“Hey, hey. I’m sorry.” Ryker pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “Think positive thoughts.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“But what if—”
“Shh.” He tipped up her chin, looked into her eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“It could have been.”
“How?”
“If someone’s trying to hurt me by—”
“Then it’s their fault. Not yours.”
“So why do I feel responsible?” she countered.
“Because that’s what you do in a crisis. You take everything onto your shoulders. Solve the problem. Fix what is broken. Forge ahead. Only this time, control of the situation is out of your hands.”
Just then, her father and Shandra barged through the front door of the hospital like a whirlwind. Shandra was dressed to the nines in her designer dress, her father in an immaculate suit and tie. True to form, her father started making demands.
Arms flailing in huge gestures, Rudolf raised his voice before he even reached the information desk. “I donated a wing to this hospital. I expect my son to receive the very best of care. The best. A specialist. I won’t have an intern touching him. I want the chief of surgery—”
The woman behind the front desk responded kindly. “Sir, your son doesn’t require surgery.”
“You aren’t listening,” Rudolf sputtered. “I want to talk to his doctor right now. You hear me? Right now.”
“Dad.” Daria broke from Ryker’s embrace and hurried toward her father. “Please. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”
Shandra shouted shrilly at Daria. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you! Then all you’d have to do is kill me next, and you’d inherit everything this family owns.”
Shandra had made so much noise that reporters outside could hear every word. Daria didn’t deserve her savage verbal attack. Not that she’d expected to buy her stepmother’s love with the large check she’d written, but she hadn’t expected such viciousness.
Daria sensed Ryker was ready to defend her, but she’d had plenty of practice in that department. “Shandra, if you don’t lower your voice, I’ll knock your teeth down your throat and give those reporters pictures to go along with their stories.”
Rudolf reached out to grab Daria’s shoulder. “How dare you—”
Ryker somehow planted himself between her and her father’s grasping fingers. “Sir. Why don’t we all sit down and talk where the press can’t overhear every word?”
“Rudy!” Shandra burst into tears. “Are you going to let your daughter, that murderer, talk to me like that?”
“I want to know what’s going on,” Rudolf spoke more calmly.
Stomach churning at the ugly scene, Daria allowed Ryker to lead her back to the relatively private corner of the waiting room where they had been sitting earlier, leaving her father and Shandra to follow or not as they liked.
They followed. Rudolf sat down so hard, the chair skidded back several inches. “What happened?”
“Yes, tell us.” Shandra removed a hankie from her purse and spread it over the chair before sitting, as if fearing contamination.
Their rude outburst might be over, but Daria wouldn’t forget the hostile words. How could she, when Shandra had called her a murderer? But she put the hurt aside and fought back her nausea to give her father some hope.
“We don’t know much more than I told you on the phone,” Daria began. Then, numb and cold, she repeated to her parents what the nurse had told Ryker.
“How long before we can see Peter?” her father demanded.
&nbs
p; “After they move him to a private room, I’d imagine,” Daria speculated.
A doctor wearing blue scrubs strode through the double doors into the waiting room and approached their corner. “You are the Harrington family? I’m Dr. Sidholm.”
“How’s my son?” Rudolf demanded.
“Peter will make a complete recovery. We’re going to keep him overnight for observation. If everything goes as well as we expect, we can release him tomorrow.”
“Thank God!” Shandra started crying again, this time from relief and joy.
“When can we see him?” Rudolf asked in a more pleasant tone.
Dr. Sidholm frowned. “I suppose you’ll have to ask the guards stationed by his door.”
“Guards?” Daria asked. Surely the murderer wouldn’t try again.
“A Detective O’Brien is with Peter now. He’ll be able to answer your questions better than I can. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients.”
Her parents turned away, rushing toward the elevators without another word.
“Doctor,” Daria said. “Thank you for all that you’ve done.”
“You’re welcome. Your brother seems like a fine young man. He never once asked about himself. All his concern was for a girl named Elizabeth.”
“She didn’t make it,” Ryker spoke softly.
“I’m sorry.” Dr. Sidholm left them with a shake of her head.
Daria walked toward the elevators with Ryker, emotions of relief at her brother’s expected recovery battling with grief over Elizabeth’s death. She realized that if Ryker hadn’t been there, her parents would have rushed off anyway and left her alone.
And she was so grateful not to be alone right now. She squeezed his hand. “I know it’s your job, but thanks for being here anyway.”
Ryker stopped walking right in the middle of the hallway. The traffic parted, people ignoring them and hurrying by, leaving them isolated.
Ryker placed one hand on each of her shoulders as they stood toe to toe. “Let’s get a few things straight.”
“This isn’t the time…”
His eyes narrowed on her with a fierce protectiveness. “If I waited for you to pick the moment, this conversation would never happen.”
She flung her hair back in a defiant gesture. “What then? Tell me and get it over with.”
“I’m not here with you right now just because of my job.”
She sucked in her breath. “You aren’t?”
“I’m here because I want to be here with you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m here because you need me.”
Of course she did, that’s why she’d hired him in the first place. But then she looked into the embers burning in his eyes and suddenly realized that he’d just taken their relationship to a different level. He’d meant that she’d needed him as a friend. As a man.
She wanted to deny that he was right. She didn’t want to need anyone. She wanted to rely on her own ingenuity to find the killer and her own strength to get through this emergency and the pending murder charges she still faced.
If she ever had, she no longer considered him an employee. In the short time they’d been together, she’d come to rely on his good judgment, his experience and expertise. But even more, she’d come to rely on his supportive strength. She did need him.
Knowing that one person believed in her innocence gave her the courage to keep going. She hadn’t wanted to admit that she needed him. But now that she had, what was she going to do about it?
Chapter Eight
Daria was still on her feet, operating on pure guts. Ryker knew that most people would have fallen apart long before now. But the only thing that Daria didn’t seem to know how to deal with was honest affection. When he had stated that she needed him, she’d turned silent. She’d stared at him in astonishment and then in wonder, before she had thought to look down in an attempt to hide her feelings. But he’d seen enough. Enough to know that she was vulnerable. After what she’d already been through, she didn’t need any more hurt on account of him.
He wanted to take her home, but he knew better than to suggest leaving the hospital when she wanted to see her brother. However, he dreaded taking her upstairs where her parents might turn on her again. And he feared that this time, Peter might side with them against her.
Ryker moved away from the personal conversation, which had obviously made her uncomfortable. “Peter’s probably worn-out.”
“I just want to see him for a minute. Give him a hug.”
She didn’t say the words but he understood that she needed to reassure herself that he was alive. And Ryker couldn’t refuse.
They took the elevator up and spotted Peter’s private room—conspicuous due to the guard outside the door. Detective O’Brien was exiting the room just as her parents entered.
“Let’s give your folks a few minutes alone with Peter,” Ryker suggested, then faced the detective. “Could Peter tell you anything helpful?”
“Only that Elizabeth swallowed the entire chocolate in one bite about thirty seconds before Peter bit into his. After he saw her reaction, he stuck his fingers down his throat and made himself vomit. Since he’d only ingested a tiny quantity of poison and upchucked almost immediately, he survived. His quick thinking saved his life.”
“Did anyone hand them the candy?” Ryker asked.
“He says he picked the chocolates out of the box at random. We’ve got the remaining candy and the foil wrappers and box. Maybe we’ll get lucky and pick up some prints. And we’ll test every piece for poison.”
Remembering that Daria’s computer had been wiped clean of prints, Ryker doubted the cops would find any incriminating evidence on the candy wrappers or box. Whoever was using the poison hadn’t left them any obvious clues to follow.
Poison was known as the murder weapon of women for a variety of reasons. Poisoning someone didn’t take physical strength, and the killer needn’t even watch her victims die. But it was also difficult to predetermine who would end up as a victim. Elizabeth could have offered a piece of candy to any employee or customer. So had this been a random murder—like those caused by poisoned aspirin or cereal in a grocery store? Or had the victim been preselected somehow?
“Detective,” Daria asked, “am I the only suspect in this murder, too?”
“Right now, I can’t say.” O’Brien looked her directly in the eye. “But you bought Elizabeth the candy, and you have the most to gain from your brother’s death, since if he’d died, you would be your parents’ sole heir.”
“How could I have known Elizabeth would give my brother a piece?” she asked the detective.
“Maybe you told her he had a sweet tooth.”
“I didn’t even know they’d be together until last night,” Daria denied again.
“So you say.”
“But you are looking at other…possibilities?” Ryker asked.
The detective glanced down the corridor, then led them away from Peter’s doorway until there was no chance of anyone accidentally overhearing his words. “The D.A. is frothing to make a conviction. What does Ware have against you, Ms. Harrington?”
“Ware hates my father. A long time ago both men loved my mother.”
O’Brien frowned. “Your mother?”
“She died when I was a child. Ware blames my father for her death.”
“So why would Ware want to convict the daughter of the woman he loved?” O’Brien asked.
“Ware hates my father so much, it outweighs anything else.”
“I see.” O’Brien glanced down at the business card Ryker had given him a few hours ago. “I’ve checked your background, Mr. Stevens.”
“Ryker.”
“You get anything useful at all, I’ll be happy to look into it.”
“Appreciate the cooperation.” The two men shook hands, then O’Brien headed to the elevator.
After the detective left, Daria glanced at Ryker, questions in her eyes. “Detective O’Brien’s atti
tude sure changed after he looked into your history.”
“The Shey Group has connections in high places.”
“And those high places filter all the way to the New York Police Department?”
“We’ve done a lot of favors for law enforcement, at all levels.”
“Thanks.” Daria rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Seems like I’m always thanking you.”
“That part was just doing my job.”
“I’m having a little trouble keeping straight exactly what is part of your job and what isn’t.”
“Kissing you isn’t.”
He tugged her into his arms, dipped his head until their lips almost touched, giving her the opportunity to pull away if she wished.
She didn’t.
Daria placed her arms around him, her fingers drawing sensuous circles on the back of his neck and shooting desire straight to his brain. As if she’d hardwired his circuits for a kiss, without thought he brought his mouth down hard. He meant to be tender, but he couldn’t hold back.
She parted her soft full lips, welcoming him with a moan of invitation. He gathered her closer, tasting her fully, his head spinning with a blend of lust and wonder at the delicious sensations.
“She’s disgusting.” Shandra’s shrilly accented words broke through Ryker’s passion. He forced himself to pull away from Daria, but not so fast that Rudolf couldn’t guess what they’d been doing before he emerged to stand behind his wife in the hospital room’s doorway.
Shandra’s voice was loud enough to wake the terminally ill. “Peter’s lying in his hospital bed and this tart of a daughter is—”
“Don’t speak to her like that,” Ryker warned, his temper high, his voice hard despite his lowered tone. As his anger spiked, his head cleared of passion.
“I’ll speak to her any way I please, won’t I, Rudy?”
“Not while I’m here, you won’t.” Ryker eased behind the couple into Peter’s room, drawing a shaken Daria with him. Then he shut the door in her parents’ faces and leaned against it, ignoring their frantic knocks to come inside.
The guard standing by Peter’s bed looked more amused than concerned. He nodded at Ryker in greeting. Clearly, O’Brien had informed him of Ryker’s status. But the police officer watched Daria closely, indicating that she wasn’t to be trusted.
Defending the Heiress Page 10