Uncovered: A Hearts of the South story

by Linda Winfree

  “Mad.” Ash pulled her back. She leaned forward, stroking the back of his wrist. His eyes clouded with pain. “Gonna stay? Want you with me.”

  “Of course.” She caressed his hand once more, a hard rush of emotion she didn’t want to identify curling through her. “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  This was a bitch.

  Ash blinked the fuzziness away from his vision, focusing on the white acoustic tiles of the hospital ceiling. Whatever painkillers dripped into him from the IV line kept the agony to a dull roar in his body but kept pulling him in and out of consciousness, so he didn’t know how long he’d been here or exactly what damage he’d done to himself.

  He was out of the ER and into a room. Fluorescent light gleamed over his head; he turned to the left. The dark of night hovered outside. He flexed his fingers. All right, he could move his arms, although the sensation was sluggish and dull. Someone had rebandaged his hand. He lifted fingertips and touched his face. More stitches below his mouth; his lip seemed swollen.

  His right foot twitched when he told it to. His left leg…he couldn’t move. Panic slithered through him. Why couldn’t he move that leg?

  Refusing to succumb to the dread, he scanned the room. He was alone, and a twinge of another kind of pain joined the alarm. Where was Madeline? She’d told him she’d be here.

  Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe he’d expected too much.

  A click and the door swished open. He glanced to his right, hope and anticipation rising in him, only to be dashed.

  “Ash?”

  His brother Rob stood just inside the doorway, his face set in lines of anxiety. Shit, now why had Tick called Rob? His presence wasn’t a good sign. For Rob to come all the way from Houston… Hell, how bad was he injured? He closed his eyes, fear slinking over his nerves again.

  When he tried to pull in a deep breath, pain exploded in his chest, cutting off his oxygen. His eyes snapped open as he struggled to get air into his lungs.

  “Hey, easy.” Rob’s warm hand steadied his shoulder. “You’re all right. Calm down.”

  Calm down. Sure. Easy for him to say.

  “You look like shit.” Another deep male voice, cultured, familiar. What was he doing here?

  Finally able to pull in a shallow breath without hurting, Ash flicked a glare over Rob’s shoulder at Vince Falconetti. “Thanks.”

  Vince’s even white teeth flared in his predatory grin. “Anytime.”

  “What’re you…doing here?” He stared at the ceiling again. He hated this, being flat on his back, being helpless.

  “You took a twenty-foot fall, Ash. They were worried you’d broken your back.” A wry note tempered the concern in Rob’s voice. “Did you think none of us would come?”

  Ash flicked a hand in Vince’s direction. “What about him?”

  “Daddy has the Lear in Alaska, hunting. I needed someone with a private jet and enough clout to get me in the air as soon as possible.”

  Vince smiled again, inspected his nails, buffed them on his shoulder. Ash would have rolled his eyes at the smug bastard if he hadn’t felt like day-old cow shit.

  “What’d doctor say?” Rob would have cornered the medical professionals first, would have the whole picture. He’d give it to Ash straight.

  “You’re lucky to be alive.” Mouth tight, Rob looked truly shaken. “Bruised your kidneys, broke a couple of ribs, tore the hell out of the tendons on your knee. You’re going to have to have surgery to repair it, but the swelling has to go down first. They’ve immobilized it.”

  Relief ripped through him. That didn’t sound so bad.

  “Messed up that pretty face of yours.” Vince narrowed his eyes, studying him. “Nothing a good plastic surgeon can’t fix.”

  “Fuck…you, Vince.”

  A rich chuckle rumbled from Vince’s throat, and he tagged Rob’s arm. “He’s fine.”

  “You cut your chin open,” Rob said, ignoring their friend and business associate. “Eight stitches. Another three or four inside, where you probably bit your lip.”

  On a nod, Ash closed his eyes. He was good. Not so much right this second, but he’d be okay. Obviously not working his farm for a while, but Tick would already have that covered. The weird half-sleep sucked at him, and he jerked to awareness, with a wild glance around.

  “Time is it?”

  “Almost eight. Why don’t you get some sleep—”

  “Where’s Madeline?”

  “Who?” Rob lifted his eyebrows and looked across the bed at Vince.

  Then she wasn’t here. A different hurt settled over him. He shouldn’t be surprised, probably. Not like he hadn’t known she ran from her emotions, from the tough stuff. This definitely counted as the tough stuff, at least on his end. But he’d thought, hoped even, from the look in her eyes when they’d loaded him in the ambulance that…well, he’d been wrong.

  Damn it.

  “Madeline.”

  At Tick’s voice, she turned from the vending machine, carefully cradling a cup of scalding hot chocolate. Her neck and back had stiffened after hours of sitting, watching Ash’s sleeping face, and she’d hoped a warm drink would settle the nervous worry jumping in her stomach. A fine film of what she suspected was marshmallow floated on top of the pale brown liquid. Maybe this had been the wrong beverage choice.

  She frowned at the cell phone in Tick’s hand. “Are you supposed to have that in here?”

  He waved a dismissing hand between them. “Just talked to Ford.”

  “Well?” She resisted the urge to prod him physically, as she’d done Jack more than once when he’d teased with the same kind of gleeful reticence over a lead, with a well-placed jab to the chest. She wasn’t in the mood for this tonight, not with her mind tumbling over and over the possible implications of Ash’s fall. God, it could have been so much worse, but seeing him lying motionless in that hospital bed was bad enough. Almost as awful as seeing Jack, after.

  “Our body?” Tick’s voice pulled her back. “Dental records match to Kelly Coker.”

  “Oh, God.” She covered her mouth with one hand, appalled at the rush of tears stinging her eyes. Shit damn fuck, what was wrong with her? Hot liquid splashed over her wrist, scorching pain over her skin, and she stared with sick realization at her shaking hands.

  “Hey, be careful.” Long fingers plucked the steaming cup from her hand and set it aside. He pulled her toward the water fountain and shoved her wrist under the stream of icy water.

  Her palm still over her mouth, she blinked hard, the vision of those bones spinning through her head. Kelly, alone, under that house for years and years. “I didn’t want it to be her, Tick, I didn’t want it to be her.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” The quiet sympathy, combined with the horrors of the day, undid her.

  Hot tears spilled over, dripping down her cheeks, a rough sob tearing at her chest. She covered her face, trying to stop the crying, each image her brain spun only making it worse. Ford’s initial examination had indicated a horrible death—stab wounds, head trauma. And it was Kelly, who’d never willingly hurt anyone, who’d even made Madeline stop her Jeep once to hop out and scoot a turtle off the road.

  “Madeline, please don’t.” Awkward arms enfolded her, her nose bumping a cotton shirt. She buried her wet eyes into the curve of that shoulder and sobbed while Tick patted her back in self-conscious comfort. Something about that discomfited touch only made her cry harder. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t even cried when Daddy had been killed or when Jack had been shot, when Jack had died, and now she was bawling her eyes out over a girl she hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.

  Maybe she was crying for all three of them: Daddy, Kelly…and Jack.

  “I didn’t want it to be her. I wanted…” Shit, her nose was running, waves of tears assaulting her, sobs like little wails ripping up from her throat. She hadn’t cried like this since…since…

  “Madeline. Come on. Don’t do this.”

 
Since that night she’d so royally fucked up everything.

  “You’re going to make yourself sick.” Desperation tinged Tick’s words, and a laugh bubbled up, turning to bigger, gulping sobs. “Quit it, Holton. I mean it.”

  Her knees threatened to give way, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding on and leaning in before she ended up on the floor. Finally, Tick gave up on the soothing words and shut up, simply wrapping her close and letting her cry.

  She wept, crying it all out, until the tears slowed to a trickle and the sobs faded to breathless hiccups. Beneath her nose, Tick’s chest moved in a harsh sigh. She closed her eyes. Oh, God. She’d lost it for sure now.

  His arms flexed, and he rested his chin atop her head. “Better?”

  She nodded and sucked in a breath, tested her knees to make sure her shaky legs would stand alone. Breaking his hold, she stepped back, not looking at him. “I’m sorry, this is so weird—”

  “Tell me about it.” The dry rejoinder struck her as funny, and she laughed, the shaky sound too close to the sobs she’d finally gotten under control. She sniffled.

  “Oh no, you don’t. We’re not doing this again.” Tick stepped away and reached for his back pocket, a grimace contorting his face. “Hell, I don’t have a handkerchief. I used it earlier on—”

  “You carry a handkerchief?” Did anyone still do that? Her grandfather had always had one in his pocket, ready to dry tears or mop up an ice-cream sticky face, but that had been her eighty-year-old Papa. The idea of Tick carrying one around struck her as funny too, although she didn’t know why.

  “Yes, I carry a handkerchief.” He snagged a box of tissues from a table near the door and offered a handful. “Monogrammed ones, for your information.”

  “Monogrammed?” With a helpless laugh, she mopped at her nose and face.

  “Cait’s idea. She has this thing for monograms, and I have a drawer full of handkerchiefs with mine now.” A rueful grin lifted one corner of his mouth as he mopped at the damp spot on his shoulder, smeared with remnants of her mascara. “Surprised I haven’t ended up with her initials tattooed on my ass.”

  “I wouldn’t give her any ideas.” Madeline blew out a shaky breath and swiped her wrist over her cheeks. “She’s a tad possessive about you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” His expression said he didn’t mind. He gave up on trying to clean his shirt and tossed the wadded-up tissues in the waste can. “We’ve got a hell of a job in front of us with this one.”

  She nodded. Following the investigator’s rule of twenty-four, delving into the periods of twenty-four hours before and after a death, would be wicked hard when they couldn’t be sure exactly when Kelly had died.

  She should be raring to jump into this investigation. She always had been in the past—ready to go as soon as the call came in, chasing the leads, losing herself in the challenge and adrenaline.

  Instead, she couldn’t shift her brain into gear, into cop mode. Too much of it was still focused on Ash, on willing him to be all right.

  “Listen,” Tick said, bringing her out of the momentary reverie, “I know I should be all gung-ho and ready to go on this case, but it’s been one hell of a day and I’m running on something like three hours of sleep. I need some caffeine, a change of clothes and maybe some food before I can fire on all cylinders. Why don’t you check on our boy and I’ll bring you something to eat?”

  She opened her mouth to correct that “our” boy, but who was she kidding? She nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “All right.” He checked his watch. “Give me about forty-five minutes. I’ll stop by the station and grab whatever we have on this case, too.”

  “Okay.” As he walked away, she lifted what was left of her hot chocolate—now lukewarm chocolate—and downed it quickly, grimacing over the powdery taste. Her wrist stung, and she rubbed an absent circle over the red spot.

  A decorative mirror hung in the middle of the waiting area, and she took a quick glance, recoiling. Damn, she looked awful—hair tousled, eyes and nose red, all makeup gone. She smoothed her hair best she could, wiped away a smudge of mascara from under her eye. Straightening the hem of her T-shirt, she headed for Ash’s room. The hall was relatively deserted, a couple of nurses chatting over a chart, a man using the phone at the nurse’s station.

  “I just left him. He’s fine, really.” The man’s voice wafted over her as she passed. “I don’t think it’s necessary for you to come…”

  She slipped into Ash’s room without knocking. The television played softly, and she frowned. It hadn’t been on when she’d gone to the waiting area and—

  He wasn’t alone. Madeline stopped just inside the doorway, clutching the edge of the door, sudden nerves flipping in her stomach. Her gaze jumped to Ash, who appeared to be still sleeping, and then to the tall man with flawless black hair sitting in the vinyl chair by the window. He looked up from the magazine he was idly paging through, and a wolfish smile touched his full mouth.

  “Well, hello.” Gleaming eyes, a much darker shade of green than Ash’s, trailed over her face, dipped to survey her body, pausing over the length of her legs and again over her breasts, until she felt like he’d touched her. “May I help you?”

  “I—” She darted another look at the bed and swallowed, running her tongue over her bottom lip. Ash’s brother, whom Tick had called earlier and was trying to get a plane out of Houston. He had to be. That explained why he looked familiar, despite the difference in coloring. She tucked her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. She looked a mess, not the first impression she wanted to give his family.

  Shit, she was worried about impressing his family? She was in so much trouble.

  “Yes?” The smooth voice was like honeyed velvet, with a hint of gravel underneath. Deep, a little raspy, a lot rich. She frowned. He didn’t talk like Ash, didn’t have the same cadence in his sentences, which didn’t make sense if they were siblings. Even she and Autry phrased sentences the same way despite their years apart. But something about his speech was familiar. His speech and those eyes.

  Unease prickled over her and to mask it, she straightened, throwing her shoulders back in what Jack had always called her “bitch-cop stance”. She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

  One raven eyebrow winged upward, and the predatory smile widened. “Oh, I like you.”

  She didn’t trust this one as far as she’d be able to throw him. “I asked you a question.”

  At her voice, Ash stirred, blinking. “Mad?”

  Keeping Mr. Slick in her range of vision, she crossed to lean over Ash. “Hey.”

  He fumbled for her hand, pain and meds hazing his eyes. “Thought you left me.”

  “Only long enough to get a drink.” She cradled his head, caressing his forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “Like day-old cow shit.” His lashes fell, casting shadows on his face. “Glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.” She slanted a look at Slick, who’d risen to his feet and watched with a spare-me expression. “Is this your brother?”

  Ash glanced to the foot of the bed. “Him? Hell…no.”

  Perfect teeth flared in a broad smile. “Oh come now, Ashleigh, I’m offended. I happen to come from an excellent gene pool.”

  “Shallow one.”

  A rich baritone laugh rolled between them. Women probably fell at his feet all the time. She wasn’t impressed, and after the day she’d had, she didn’t feel like playing games. “Who the hell are you?”

  “He’s leaving,” Ash rasped.

  “That’s nice.” Slick laid a well-kept hand over his heart. “I left my grandfather on the golf course to come to your side in your time of need—”

  “Get out before I…” Ash sucked in a breath, winced and tightened his fingers on Madeline’s, “…remind you my best friend is…fucking your sister.”

  A dull flush tinged high cheekbones, and Madeline swallowed a laugh. She stroked the inside of Ash’s wrist. “You are really doped up, aren’t you, to say s
omething like that.”

  “That is precisely the only reason I am not dragging you out of that bed and beating you to a bloody pulp.” Deadly ice dripped from each word.

  Ignoring him, Madeline gazed down at Ash. “Cait’s brother?”

  Closing his eyes on a grimace of pain, Ash nodded. “Vince.”

  “Oh, him.” Madeline smoothed the lines from his face and leaned down to whisper in his ear, just for him. “Lucky colonel’s daughter.”

  A wicked smile curved his damaged mouth. “Damn straight.”

  “You should be resting.” She ran her fingers through his short hair, the strands crisp.

  The door opened behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder at the newcomer. This had to be the brother—same sandy hair, eyes closer to hazel than green but the same shape, same line of the mouth. His gaze settled on Madeline with heavy curiosity, but he crossed to stand beside her and speak to Ash first.

  “Just got off the phone with Daddy. He wanted to come but I told him right now you were okay. Unless anything changes with you, he’s staying in Alaska to finish his hunting trip.”

  “Thank God.”

  Rob huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, I know. I thought he’d make me crazy when I broke my leg skiing. I know he drove the nursing staff insane.”

  “Mother hen.”

  “Yes.” Rob patted Ash’s uninjured knee. He darted another glance at Madeline and extended his hand, his handsome face open and friendly. “Rob Hardison, Ash’s brother.”

  “Madeline Holton.” She took his hand in a brief, warm handshake.

  “Nice to meet you.” Rob’s amiable smile made his eyes glow.

  “You too.” She dropped her gaze to Ash’s face, his eyes closed once more. God, her social skills were lacking. Obviously, she’d not practiced them enough the last few years.

  “Vince,” Rob said, smacking his hands together and rubbing them lightly. “We should get out of here, get a bite, check into that bed and breakfast downtown. Let him get some rest. Ash, I’ll be back in the morning. Madeline, again, good to meet you.”

  The door clicked shut behind them, the room plunged into silence except for the soft prattle of a sitcom from the television.