“No no no no no,” he whispered as he left the desk and ran after the two EMTs. They all knew Bailey, so no one stopped him when he ran into the treatment room. It was Doctor Michael Reynolds who finally stopped him from approaching the gurney. “Stop, Bailey. What’s the matter?” Doctor Michael asked while the medical staff started working on the patient.
“That’s Brendan,” Bailey wasn’t capable of saying anything else as he watched in horror when Brendan went into cardiac arrest. This wasn’t happening; it just wasn’t happening. He must be having a nightmare. Had he fallen asleep during work? “Get him out of here,” Doctor Michael yelled suddenly. Before Bailey knew it, he was grabbed and taken out of the treatment room.
Bailey struggled to make his way into the room again, but two big strong staff members held him tightly. “Let me back in. That’s my brother in there,” he yelled. Bailey was held tight, but they didn’t hurt him, even though he struggled to free himself. He needed to get into the room again. His brother needed him.
“Please, Bailey, stop struggling before you hurt yourself,” said the man who held his left arm. “NO,” Bailey yelled. “You don’t understand. That’s my brother in there; he needs me,” he was crying now. “Bailey, you need to calm down and let the doctors work. If you do not calm down, we will give you a mild sedative,” the man who held his right arm said.
Bailey stopped struggling because he didn’t want to be sedated. Even though he knew that the two men who held him meant well, but right now, he hated them with a passion. It took some time and a lot of effort until Bailey got his breathing under control. “We will let you go now, but Bailey, please don’t go into that room. If you do, then we need to sedate you, and we really don’t want to do that,” said the man who held his right arm. Bailey knew the two guys, and they were always nice and treated him with respect. Still, right now, he didn’t think that they were pleasant at all, but he relented because he wanted to stay close to his brother.
Bailey knew that if he tried to get into the room anyway, they would remove him altogether. Then, he had to wait in the family room, which wasn’t an option. Bailey knew that they cut him some slack by letting him stay directly in front of the treatment room. People who weren’t staff members didn’t even get this far; they had to wait in the family room until the doctor had time to talk to them.
“Bailey?” Keith Aldridge came running around the corner. Bailey stood, and Keith hugged him tightly. Keith Aldridge was Bailey’s best friend, even though they knew each other for only five months. “How did you know?” Bailey whispered. “Sandra called me. She thought that you needed a friend.” Keith gently pushed Bailey at arms-length. “Honey, do you know what happened? I heard that Brendan was injured in a car accident,” he said in a soothing tone.
“No, I only know that he is critical, but Brendan will be okay. He will pull through; he just has to,” Bailey whispered. Keith urged Bailey to sit down again. He held his hand and gently rubbed Bailey’s back. Keith stayed silent because he had no clue what to say.
“Bailey? Buddy, wake up,” Keith gently shook Bailey’s shoulders. Bailey opened his eyes and jumped bolt upright from the uncomfortable plastic chair. He must have fallen asleep. “How is Brendan?” Bailey croaked. The look in Doctor Michael’s eyes told Bailey what he didn’t want to hear. Doctor Michael sighed. “I’m so sorry, Bailey, but.” Bailey felt like he couldn’t breathe. Doctor Michael, calling for assistance, was the last thing Bailey heard; the room tilted, and then his world went black.
Chapter Three
Marc had forced himself to turn the key, start the car, and drive away from the flower shop. What was it with this guy? He had felt an instant attraction, and that wasn’t like him. Marc didn’t do instant attraction.
He pushed the button, the gate opened, and Marc drove up to the mansion, parked the car in front of the house, and stayed in the vehicle for a while, lost in his thoughts. After about ten minutes, he climbed out of the vehicle, took the two bags with groceries, and walked up to the house. Marc opened the front door, stepped inside, strode into the kitchen, put the car keys on the kitchen counter, and put the groceries away. Then he opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Marc unscrewed the bottle on his way to the study; he needed more information about this man who claimed to be Bailey Hudson.
He sat down behind his desk and fired up his laptop, the one that wasn’t connected to the internet. Even though the internet could be helpful in getting information about someone, it was dangerous and treacherous. It allowed others to hack your computer and take control. That person could see, change, and download all your files, and that’s why the internet wasn’t an option for this particular laptop; this one had his assignments on it.
Marc pulled up the file from his last case before Alec was murdered three years ago. A wave of guilt flowed over him at the thought of his dead partner and his attraction for Bailey Hudson. “Bailey Hudson,” Marc whispered as he watched the picture of what appeared Bailey Hudson on his laptop. “Who are you? Why are you still breathing? You should be dead because I put a bullet in your head,” Marc whispered to the screen that showed a huge picture of Bailey Hudson’s face. Well, he was planning on getting to know this man who called himself Bailey Hudson. To Marc, there was no doubt that the picture of the man on the screen and the flower shop owner were one and the same.
Marc’s phone rang, but he let it go to voice mail when he saw that it was Celia, his sister. “Not now, sis,” he said to the empty room. Marc knew that he needed a strategy to get to know Bailey. He sighed because he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to the flower shop owner. This was wrong on so many levels.
The phone rang again, and Marc sighed when he saw that it was Celia, again. What was it with her? His family never contacted him, and that was precisely the way he liked it. Marc let it go to voice mail again; he would listen to the message when he felt like it. The Blake Clan had practically banished him after he told them that he liked men instead of women.
Blake Senior had tried to disinherit his oldest son, but Marc’s grandfather had put a clause in his will. It said that Marcus Blake Senior only could inherit and keep the family business if his oldest child would inherit it after him. The moment that Blake Senior would cut his oldest child off, he would lose control of the family business, and Marc would get everything. It was a complicated clause, and at that time, no one had understood. Now all of Marc’s siblings and his parents did understand.
Marc read the file he had on Fabian Copely, the man with the blond curls and the big green eyes, and shook his head. He was getting confused, and that wasn’t like him. “Why aren’t you dead? Who are you?” Marc whispered to the man with the big green eyes that gazed back at him from the computer screen. Well, only one way to find out, Marc had to do a background check on Bailey Hudson.
A look at his wristwatch let Marc know that it was already after ten o’clock. He sighed as he grabbed his phone to check his voicemail. Why had his sister called him? It was the only member of the family that he’d stayed in contact with.
Marc pressed the button to listen to the voicemail. “Marc? It’s Celia. The reason that I call you is to let you know that our mother is very sick, and she wants to see you. Please contact me as soon as you hear this message.” Marc frowned; why would his mother want to see him? How ill was she? Was she dying? The second message was the same as the first one. Marc debated if he would call right away but decided against it. He would contact his sister in the morning.
Marc poured himself a whiskey and strode into the living room. He sat down and grabbed the remote control, and zapped until he found a documentary about archeology. However, he wasn’t able to concentrate; his thoughts continued to wander off toward the flower shop owner. Marc rose from his chair and went into the study again. Something was bothering him, and that drove him mad. So, he fired up his laptop again and clicked on Fabian Copely ‘s file. Fabian looked exactly like Bailey Hudson; still, something was different. Was there rea
lly a difference, or was it wishful thinking because he was attracted to the man. He shut his laptop once again and went into the living room.
Marc sat in the chair in front of the window, which offered a great view of the beautiful garden. However, it was night, and the garden was cloaked in darkness. Marc was a hard ass, but he also respected nature. If the garden were illuminated at night, then it would disturb the nightlife. The garden of the manor was all about animals. That meant no lights in the night. Marc had installed floodlights just in case of intruders. Well, safety first.
Marc sighed as he stood and grabbed another bottled mineral water out of the fridge. When he returned to the living room, his phone signaled that he had a message. Marc sighed when he saw that it was another message from his sister. He put the phone back on the table. This was getting ridiculous; what the hell did she want? Well, there was only one way to find out; Marc grabbed his cell phone again and dialed his sister’s number.
Celia answered on the first ring. “Marc, finally. What took you so long?” Celia sounded irritated. “Well, hello to you too, sis. So, tell me, how is mother doing?” Marc asked matter of factly. “Marc? Mother is dying. She is holding on because she wants to see you. We don’t know how long she has. That she still is breathing is sheer willpower. Marc, please, come home,” Celia begged. “Alright. I’ll take the first flight out,” Marc promised. “Thank you. Thank you,” Celia whispered. Marc ended the call and called the airline.
Marc was in luck; the next flight out was in two hours. He went upstairs and packed his carry-on. Marc wanted to book a hotel, but on second thought, he decided against it. Celia would have his head. They would expect him to stay at the Blake Estate.
Marc entered the plane, put his carry-on in the overhead compartment, and sat down. He had a window seat and was in luck when the seat beside him stayed empty. Marc leaned back and closed his eyes; he didn’t sleep, though. He never slept on the plane. Marc was the first passenger who exited the plane after landing. He rushed outside and immediately saw his sister. Well, one couldn’t miss Celia Blake; she stood next to a red Ford Mustang convertible. She smiled and waved when she spotted her brother. Marc walked toward Celia, and they hugged. Marc put his small suitcase on the back seat and climbed into the car. Celia started the vehicle and carefully eased the car into the traffic.
“Why did it take so long for you to call back?” Celia questioned while her eyes stayed on the road. “I was busy,” Marc replied vaguely. Celia eyed him for a second before she had her eyes on the road again. They drove in silence to the Blake Estate. Marc had hated the house from day one. He had only been nine years old when they had moved into the house that he called a monstrosity. When they drove through the massive, wrought iron gate, Marc got that same feeling again he had when seeing the house for the first time. Yep, it was still a monstrosity.
“You still dislike the house that much?” Celia chuckled. Marc’s smile was rueful; Celia had always been very perceptive. “Well, anyway, welcome home,” she said cheerfully. Marc didn’t reply because, to him, the house had never been home. The front door opened, and someone Marc didn’t know greeted them. He assumed that it was the butler. Another servant hurried their way and took Marc and Celia’s coat. Marc frowned; Celia chuckled. “You never liked it,” Celia said, meaning the servant who took their coats. “I still don’t like it. I can put away my own coat,” he replied.
“Leave your things here; Dahlia will bring them to your room,” Celia said as she pointed to the massive marble stairs that led to the second floor, where most of the bedrooms were. The mansion had a third floor where Celia had her quarters. As far as Marc knew, Celia was the only one who still lived at home. She also acted as the lady of the house because Mrs. Blake was very sick.
Marc didn’t leave his luggage unattended, not even in his parents’ house. Celia frowned but didn’t say anything. Together they went up the stairs. “Put your things in your room first,” Celia said. “Your old room is still intact,” Celia informed him. Marc went left to where his room was. It was weird, so freaking weird. He stepped inside the room and was amazed that there was no dust, the bed had fresh sheets, and the window stood slightly ajar.
Marc put his luggage on the bed, and then he joined his sister again. It didn’t surprise him that his father wasn’t there to welcome him home. Marc chuckled at the thought of his father greeting him. The old man would rather cut off his arm than greet his gay son.
Marc stopped when they passed the master bedroom. Celia motioned for him to follow her, so Marc did. They were now entering the west wing. Damn, he had forgotten how big the house was. “Mother is in the west wing?” Marc asked because he couldn’t believe it. Just how sick was his mother because she would never have agreed to be put in the west wing. She didn’t like the west wing, but then, she too had hated the house from day one.
Marc’s father, Marcus Blake Senior, had bought the house without asking his wife. It was typical; the man never asked for anyone’s opinion, not even his wife’s. Joyce Blake had always given in, even when the old man had tried to disinherit Marc.
“Her room has all the equipment that it needs to keep her as comfortable as possible. The west wing is perfect for what she needs,” Celia explained. Marc didn’t buy her story for one moment. It was obvious that his father was behind it. He didn’t like sick people, not even if it concerned his own family. Yep, the old man was still a rat bastard.
Celia stopped and turned. “Listen. Mother is dying. I didn’t lie about that. We don’t know how much time she has left. The doctors are amazed that she still is breathing,” Celia said in a soft voice. “Please, Marc, whatever you do, don’t upset her.” “I won’t,” Marc promised. “Did she say why she wanted to see me?” he asked. Celia shook her head. “No, only that she insisted that you come to see her,” Celia said, then she opened the door. Marc waited for Celia to step into the room, but she stayed where she was. “Mother wanted to talk to you alone,” she whispered as she gently pushed him into the room.
Chapter Four
Marc slowly approached his mother. He glanced at all the equipment that surrounded the bed. Well, at least she wasn’t on a respirator, although that machine was in the room. Marc was shocked to see a small, fragile person lying in this huge bed. Joyce Blake had her eyes closed, and Marc was about to turn and quietly leave the room when his mother suddenly opened her eyes.
She lifted her arm as if reaching for her son. “Marcus? You came,” Joyce whispered, and she sounded so weak. “Hello, mom,” Marc said in a soft voice. He grabbed a chair and placed it next to the bed. Marc was careful when he took his mother’s hand. Joyce didn’t have a free hand because IV needles were stuck in both of her hands. Even Joyce’s smile was weak. Marc felt a sadness inside him because Celia had not exaggerated. His mother was dying. What angered Marc most was that his father had distanced himself from his wife.
Marc knew that now was not the time to talk about his father. “Are you comfortable, mom? Are you in any kind of pain?” Marc questioned gently. Joyce shook her head. “No, sweetie. They stuff me full of pain medication and morphine, I think,” she whispered. “Morphine? That’s heavy,” Marc replied; he was still holding his mother’s hand. “I’m so glad that you’re here. We need to talk,” she said. Marc cocked his head. “No, we don’t need to talk. It would be best if you rested because you must be tired,” he soothed.
Joyce’s eyes grew wide, and Marc was all too familiar with the look that she gave him. “I asked Celia to skip the medication when she told me that you were coming,” she paused because she needed a few minutes to gain enough strength to continue. “I need a clear head for what I’m going to tell you,” she said out of breath, even though her voice was sounding much stronger now. Marc was getting confused; what the hell was going on?
“I’m dying, and I want to let you know that I changed my will,” Joyce Blake paused again, and Marc could tell that his mother was having difficulty breathing. “Easy, mom. Why don’t yo
u sleep for a while? I’m not going anywhere,” Marc soothed. “No!” Joyce tried to squeeze Marc’s hand, but she was too weak. “Alright, I’m listening,” Marc gave in because he didn’t want to upset his mother even more.
“My dear son, when I’m gone, you will inherit my fortune.” Before Marc could respond, Joyce continued. “Marc, I’m dying, I’m not sick, but it’s murder.” Joyce gasped for breath. “I must warn you. Your.” Joyce didn’t finish because her heart had stopped beating. Marc called his sister into the room. “Marc? For God’s sake, what happened?” Celia cried out. “She’s gone,” Marc said. Celia didn’t look shocked; she knew that her mother had lived on borrowed time.
Assassins the Florist Book One Part One Page 3