"How about a glass of wine or some tea?" she asked, slipping out of his grasp. "Come on in, take off your gloves and stay a while. You can meet Marcus when he gets back."
"Oh, I'm not planning to stay long. But tea sounds like a plan. Let me get it for you. You don't seem to be moving too quickly."
She smiled. "Thanks, Walter."
As he puttered around in the kitchen, he called out, "Honey or sugar?"
"Honey, please." She settled back onto the sofa and propped a pillow behind her. "There's herbal tea in the cupboard and regular too."
"Found it. Let's try the strawberry pomegranate. Lots of antioxidants."
She almost laughed, wondering when Walter had become such a connoisseur of teas.
When he handed her a mug, she nodded in thanks. "It really is very nice of you to stop by."
He set the teapot on the coffee table. "You are my daughter-in-law." He peered over her shoulder. "Are the kids sleeping?"
"They're at my sister's."
"Perfect."
She raised a brow. "How so?"
"I mean, dear, that you need some time to heal, and running after two active children can't be easy right now."
He had a point, and she let out a sigh. "The past few days have been very difficult."
"And Wesley and Tracey didn't make it easy."
She was touched by his understanding. They'd never been that close. She'd always found Walter a little standoffish. Yet here he was, drinking tea in her living room.
"I wish things had gone differently," she said.
"Me too."
She cradled the mug in her hands and took a sip of tea. It had a bitter aftertaste, and she made a face.
"Too sweet?" he asked. "I wasn't sure how much honey you take, so I put in a good spoonful. Can't hurt. It's good for you."
"It's fine." She drank a bit more, hoping to get the sickening sweet taste out of her mouth. "I still can't believe it…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's probably best we don't talk about everything that happened." She yawned. "It's been a long day."
"I'm sure it has."
"I hope we can remain…friends. For the kids' sake. You're their grandpa."
"You need fluid and lots of rest."
She chuckled. "You sound like a doctor. Dr. Kingston, MD."
"There was a time when I thought I'd go into that profession. But law suited me better. I have a deep need to right wrongs."
She blinked. "You're a good lawyer."
"I don't hate you, Rebecca. I want you to know that. Sometimes we have to make hard decisions."
Walter's response wasn't what she'd expected.
In their shared silence, she listened to the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. It made her want to go to sleep. All she had to do was close her eyes.
Stay awake!
She nearly fell off her chair at the voice in her ear. A woman's voice. The same voice she'd heard when Tracey had tried to kill her.
Rebecca's eyes wandered over Walter's face. His smile was gone, replaced with a frown. "What's wrong, Walter?"
"Besides everything?"
She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt suddenly weak. "I know you must be upset because—"
"Upset?" His voice sounded distorted as he reached out, taking her mug and setting it on the table. "Your pathetic husband can't get a grip on his spending, and you think I'm upset?"
"I meant because of…the accident…the kids."
"I told Wesley he needed help," Walter said, as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said. "He needed to get that damned gambling under control."
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew. I knew everything. Do you think I'm an idiot? Besides, who do you think has been bailing him out all this time?"
"Tr…Tracey." Why was the room spinning?
"That stupid twit? She couldn't even follow simple instructions. All she had to do was get the drugs into your IV. But no, she had to talk to you, waste time."
"W-what? What are y-y-you talking about?"
"She came to me, begging for another loan to give to Wesley. But they'd been sponging off me far too long. She couldn't pay off the last loan. And when I found out about the money you got from your grandfather…" He let out a mocking laugh. "You couldn't even bail out your own husband?"
"The money's for the k-kids."
"So it's okay for Wesley to keep taking my money?" His voice was dripping with bitterness. "It's okay to make me look like a fool? Well, no longer."
"I d-don't understand."
"It's simple. Wesley is an embarrassment. I ordered him to clean up his mess. I gave him precise instructions to get the money from you, pay off his own debts for a change. But he's too much of a wimp and couldn't follow directions if someone stamped them on his forehead."
Walter's words made no sense. And why was he still wearing his gloves?
"You think Wesley set this all up?" he asked, his lips twisting into an ugly jeer. "You're as stupid as he is. When Tracey told me about the money you'd inherited, I said I'd do one last thing. Help them get the money. What they did with it was their problem, but there'd be no more loans from me. With one exception. I hired someone I could trust that could get the job done."
"You?" Rebecca shuddered. "Y-you paid off…that…Delaney g-guy? You hired him…to k-kill me—us?"
"I had no idea the kids were with you. Until Rufus called me from the gas station. I am sorry about that. But there was no other way. With the three of you out of the picture, Wesley could clear his debts and move on—out of my life. That was deal I made with Tracey."
"Deal?"
"I'd pay Rufus and help them get the money, and they'd leave Edmonton. I couldn't afford the rumors about Wesley affecting me any longer. Even his blasted affair with Tracey was office fodder. Oh, and Rebecca?" He stared into her bleary eyes. "They'd been having an affair far longer than you think."
She swallowed hard and fought back tears. "How long?"
"Since you were pregnant with the girl."
Ella. Sweet Ella.
She recalled how nervous Wesley had been when she'd said she was pregnant again. She'd thought it was because his job situation was so precarious. Now she knew better.
But still…Walter?
"Drink some more, Rebecca. You'll feel better. It's special tea." The mug shifted, splitting into two and then three.
Her breath froze in her chest, and her pulse raced. "'Special tea'?"
The malevolent look in Water's eyes told her he'd drugged it.
With a flick of her wrist, she dropped her mug, spilling tea down her legs.
Oh God. He's going to kill me.
Chapter Forty -Nine
Edmonton, AB – Monday, June 17, 2013 – 4:32 PM
Marcus's cell phone rang. It was Zur.
"Hey, John. What's up?"
"Just thought you should know we're getting nowhere with Kingston. He still claims he's innocent."
"Don't they all?"
"Yeah, except we can't find any evidence against him."
"What about the confession from the Whitaker woman?"
"She didn't specifically name Wesley Kingston. We'll hold him, but unless we find something concrete…"
"You may have to let him walk." Shit!
"We'll have no choice. He has a solid alibi. So while he may have motive, we can't pin him to the crime scene. Nor can we find any link between Kingston and Rufus Delaney."
"What's Delaney have to say, now that Tracey is dead?"
"He still won't admit she hired him. And we haven't found a trace of the money."
"He's probably got it stashed somewhere."
"We're still checking him out. Something tells me we're missing the connection between Delaney and Kingston."
Delaney and Kingston…
Marcus stared out the windshield, his eyes resting on the license plate of the vehicle in front of him. JU5T1C3—an odd combination for an Alberta plate.
He narrowed his eyes. JUST…once…three?
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Then it came to him. JUSTICE.
His gaze jerked toward Rebecca's house as the pieces slipped into place.
Walter Kingston, Wesley's father, was a lawyer. And what did lawyers usually want? Justice.
The man was wealthy, respected and in a position of power.
Marcus redialed John's number. Three rings and his friend picked up.
"Did you ever check out Walter Kingston?" Marcus asked.
"The lawyer?"
"Yeah. He's Rebecca's father-in-law."
"We interviewed him after Mrs. Kingston was found, but he didn't know anything about his son or the Whitaker woman's plans. And he seemed to have a decent relationship with Mrs. Kingston. Even she said so." Zur cleared his throat. "You think he had something to do with this?"
Marcus groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know. I'm probably grasping at straws here."
"Hold on. Let me check something."
Seconds later, Zur came back on the line. "We missed it. It was there all along, but we didn't dig far enough."
"What?"
"Back a few years, when Walter Kingston worked criminal law, he represented someone we both know."
"Let me guess. Rufus Delaney."
"The one and only."
"Shit…" Marcus turned off the ignition.
"Listen, Marcus, as soon as I get off the phone and get a warrant, I'm going to have one of our tech guys check out his bank records."
"You think he's the one who paid off Delaney?"
"Tracey said someone loaned her the money. We know Wesley Kingston doesn't have any. Daddy Kingston's the next best thing. We're going to send a car to Kingston's place and pick him up."
"He's not there."
"What? Where the hell is he?"
Marcus climbed out of the car and quietly closed the door. "He went into Rebecca's house over twenty minutes ago. I'm going in."
"No, stay where you are. In your vehicle. I'll have cars be there with backup in less than ten minutes."
Marcus crossed the street. "He's in there with her now."
"Stay in your car!"
"Sorry, John. I can't do that. Rebecca's in danger."
"Wait!"
But he was no longer listening.
Tucking the cell phone into his pocket, Marcus strode up the sidewalk. At first, he figured he'd rush through the front door, but common sense kicked in. What if Walter Kingston had a gun? No. His best chance of saving Rebecca was bringing the element of surprise.
He crept up to the living room window. Lights from the kitchen and a lamp near the door illuminated the room. There was no sign of Walter Kingston. Or Rebecca.
He moved to the front door, turned the knob and let out a soft breath when it opened. Slipping into the house, he eased the door closed. Then he listened. Someone moved at the far end of the house.
With cautious footsteps, he proceeded into the house. From his previous visit, he knew the floor plan. The bedrooms were in the back. That's where he'd find Kingston and Rebecca.
Passing through the kitchen, he spotted a pill bottle on the counter. It rested on its side, a pile of small blue pills next to it. A kettle next to both.
Shit! He's drugged her.
As he tiptoed down the hall, Marcus caught sight of Colton's bedroom. It was exactly like he'd last seen it, with clothing and sporting equipment spread out across the floor—including a worn-out hockey stick.
That'll do.
He strode into the room, grabbed the stick and continued down the hall, hockey stick raised.
"What are you doing?" he heard Rebecca say from inside her bedroom.
The sounds of her slurred voice combined with running water made Marcus shiver. I'm coming, Rebecca. Hold on.
"Relax, Rebecca," Walter Kingston replied.
Marcus muffled a curse. Then he stepped up to the bedroom door, which was cracked open an inch, and peered inside. The room was empty, but dancing shadows came from the open doorway into the en suite.
He moved swiftly into the room. He scrutinized his surroundings, desperate to find a way to catch Kingston off guard. He had to get him out of the bathroom, away from Rebecca. How?
A laptop sat on the bed, its screen glowing. Had Kingston caught her in bed checking e-mails?
Marcus approached the laptop, and when he read the document displayed, his stomach clenched. It was a suicide note. From Rebecca. Either Kingston had typed it, or he'd made Rebecca do it.
Splashing sounds came from the bathroom.
"No!" Rebecca cried. "Stop!"
Marcus spun toward the hallway, nearly knocking over the laptop. Forgetting his previous plan to lure Walter Kingston back into the bedroom, he darted toward the doorway.
What he saw made his heart stop.
Rebecca was in the bathtub, fully clothed, while Walter Kingston held her head underwater with one hand. In his other hand, he held a straight blade.
Marcus would have taken a slap shot at the man's head, but at the sound of footsteps, Kingston whipped around, his eyes locking on Marcus's, the knife against the back of Rebecca's neck.
"Let her go!" Marcus shouted. "It's over, Mr. Kingston. The police are on their way."
Rebecca's head was still beneath the water.
"Let Rebecca go," he said again, moving closer.
Kingston raised the blade. "Stay back! I don't know who you are, but this isn't your concern." He yanked Rebecca's head up, and she gulped for air. "It's all her fault."
Marcus lowered the hockey stick and held his other hand up to stall him. "Listen, Rebecca didn't do anything other than marry your son."
"Wesley?" The man sneered. "He's no son of mine. He's a weakling."
"The police know everything. They'll be here any second. If you step away from her and put the blade down, things won't get any worse for you."
"Worse? Tracey is dead. Wesley's in jail. And that bastard Rufus is probably singing like a fucking canary." Kingston's lips thinned. "So, yeah, how could things possibly get worse?" He drew the straight blade underneath Rebecca's chin and a thin line of blood appeared.
Marcus flinched. "Let Rebecca go, Walter. The kids need her."
"It's too late, Mr. Whoever-You-Are."
"S-superhero," Rebecca slurred.
Marcus frowned. Kingston must have drugged her first.
As Kingston's head swiveled toward her, Marcus lunged forward, but Kingston must have heard him because the man twisted around and swiped at him with the knife. The blade slashed across Marcus's arm, tearing through the fabric of his jacket and slicing through skin. Blood gushed from the wound.
Marcus growled a curse and batted the blade from the man's hand. It skittered across the floor. Kingston let out a roar and rushed at Marcus, tackling him with startling agility. The hockey stick flew out of Marcus's hand, and they rolled across the bathroom floor, each struggling to get the upper hand.
Marcus landed a punch to Kingston's left cheek.
The man went down, but he didn't stay down. Without warning, Kingston grabbed Marcus and pinned him to the floor.
Before Marcus realized what had happened, the man was on top of him, his hands wrapped around Marcus's throat, squeezing.
Marcus gasped, and his vision became distorted. Oh God, Rebecca…
He blinked and saw movement by the bath tub.
Then he saw the hockey stick slice through the air. It made a sickening sound as it connected with the back of Kingston's head. The man's eyes rolled back and his mouth gaped as if he wanted to say something. Then he slumped forward, his face resting inches from Marcus's.
Marcus scrambled out from beneath Kingston. Pressing two fingers to the man's neck, he felt a faint pulse.
"Is he dead?" Rebecca said in a shaky voice.
"No."
He heard her blow out a pent-up breath. Her shoulders slumped and he reached her as she collapsed on the bloody floor. Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode out of the bathroom and set her down on the bed.
"You think you'll ever be done rescuing me?" she asked in a groggy voice.
"Probably not—if you can't kick this drug habit you've got." When she stared at him in confusion, he added, "That's twice now that someone tried to drug you." He grinned, then gathered her close and kissed her hair. "I thought you were dead."
"Apparently, I'm not that easy to kill," she slurred.
They heard shouts coming from the front of the house. The cavalry had arrived.
"Marcus?" someone yelled.
"John Zur," Marcus said to Rebecca. Then he hollered, "We're back here! Kingston is down."
As footsteps thundered down the hall, Rebecca stared at the broken hockey stick on the floor. "I owe Colton a hockey stick."
He grinned. "We'll buy him all new gear."
"You're bleeding," she said with a gasp.
He looked down at his arm. A thick trail of blood oozed down his sleeve and dripped onto the floor. "It's a flesh wound. You aren't afraid of a little blood, are you?"
When she shook her head, he said, "Good." Then he hugged her.
Chapter Fifty
Edmonton, AB – Monday, June 17, 2013 – 5:28 PM
After Walter was taken into custody and the house was cleared, Rebecca changed into some warm clothes, then joined Detective Zur and Marcus at the kitchen table. Marcus had already made coffee, and she grabbed a mug and sipped it, fighting back the tears that simmered in her eyes.
"Thank God you didn't finish the tea," Marcus said, shaking his head slowly.
Still lightheaded, she glanced at him but said nothing. She knew how close she'd come to death. A few sips more and it would have been lights out. Walter would've succeeded in drowning her.
Detective Zur sat down across from her. "Your father-in-law will be going away for a long time, Mrs. Kingston."
"Please. Call me Rebecca. That name…" She shivered.
"Of course." The detective placed a hand over hers. "Rebecca."
"Seems like Walter Kingston went through an awful lot of trouble just to get back the money for loans he gave Tracey and Wesley," Marcus muttered.
"That's why we never considered him a suspect. The guy was loaded."
"What I can't comprehend is why Walter would go to all this trouble to get me out of the way," she said. "He didn't need the money. And he had no personal reason to see me…dead."
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