by N L Hinkens
“Are you all right, Mrs. Hartman?” a muffled voice inquired.
Bridget frowned, the room spinning every which way. She forced her eyes to focus on the person kneeling at her side. Quinn! When had he arrived? She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out other than a peculiar rasping sound that filled her with fear. A wave of nausea coursed through her. What had Jack done to her?
“It's okay, don't try and talk,” Quinn said, looking as scared as she felt. “I called 911.”
Bridget sank back to the floor, sucking in one slow, painful breath after another. Air had never felt so precious.
Quinn watched her with an uneasy expression on his face. “Do you want some water?”
Bridget attempted to nod, wincing at the pain in her throat. Quinn disappeared into the bathroom and returned a moment later, with a glass of water in hand. He cradled her head in his arms and held the glass to her lips. She tried to take a sip, but the muscles in her neck felt like jelly, and most of the water dribbled down her chin. Her head flopped back, the mere effort of trying to swallow draining the last of her energy.
She lost all track of time as she waited for the ambulance to arrive. To his credit, Quinn never left her side. Every time her eyelids fluttered open, he was anxiously peering down at her, making sure she was all right.
At the sound of the doorbell, Bridget flinched out of a semi-conscious state. All of a sudden, the room was filled with a blur of color, activity, and snatches of terse conversation.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?” a female voice asked.
“She can’t speak,” Quinn answered on her behalf.
“Did she lose consciousness at all?”
“I … don’t think so,” Quinn said. “I don’t know for sure.”
“All right, we’ll take it from here.”
Bridget was dimly aware of walkie-talkies warbling, and uniforms moving in and out of her field of vision, and then she felt herself being hoisted onto a gurney. She wondered briefly where Jack was. Had they taken him out already? Her stomach churned at the possibility of coming face to face with him again in the emergency room. She wished she could ask the paramedics about him, but she had neither the energy nor the ability to talk.
When she opened her eyes again, she was being wheeled into the hospital. The first face she recognized in the ER was her father’s.
Her lips mouthed the word, Dad, but the only sound that came out was a weak wheezing. It sounded like air was leaking through her windpipe. She desperately wanted to ask him where Harper was. He’d probably had to leave Elise and Harper to fend for themselves. It wasn't as if any of the neighbors were likely to offer to help given the cold shoulder they’d been meting out of late.
“Don’t try and speak, sweetheart,” her dad said, rubbing her arm. “Your throat’s badly swollen.”
Bridget bit back tears of relief and trepidation. Everything felt tender, bruised, and raw, and her ears were ringing. She was terrified at the thought of the damage Jack might have done to her throat. But she was alive, and he hadn’t left her brain damaged—she could understand everything her dad was saying, surely that was a good sign.
A solitary tear trickled down the side of her cheek and into her ear when she thought of how Jen Carson must have suffered at Keith’s hands, how she’d undoubtedly experienced those same desperate feelings of wanting to fight for every last breath—only Jen hadn't been so lucky. What must she have thought, looking into the eyes of her husband as he’d strangled her to death?
The next few hours went by in a mindless blur as Bridget was subjected to a barrage of tests and x-rays to rule out any serious internal injuries or bleeding. By the time Detective Wright showed up, she was sitting up in bed and had managed to swallow a few drops of water. Her throat was still too painful to attempt to speak so Detective Wright handed her a legal pad to write on.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Sore. Thankful Quinn arrived home when he did.
Detective Wright gave a sympathetic nod. “What were you doing in the Carsons’ house?”
Looking for evidence that Keith helped Steve flee—an airplane ticket receipt or something like that. Yes, I know I was trespassing. Is Jack here?
“He was. He's been discharged and taken into custody.”
He said Steve killed Jen.
“He wanted you to die believing that.” Detective Wright grimaced. He interlaced his fingers and leaned forward. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you in person. Jack’s confessed to strangling Jen and hiding her body in your husband’s car.”
Bridget’s eyes widened and a rasping sound escaped her lips. A thousand thoughts fired through her brain at once. So Steve wasn’t trying to dispose of Jen’s body?
“No. Jack was trying to pin the murder on him. The tampering with evidence charge against Steve has been dropped. He's a free man whenever he decides to show his face again.”
Bridget furrowed her brow. I don't understand why he ran. It doesn't make sense.
Detective Wright rubbed his chin, looking uncomfortable. “The money’s still missing from Keith’s company. It always comes back to the money, I’m afraid.”
Bridget grimaced inwardly. Loathe as she was to entertain the possibility that Steve had made off with the money, there really didn’t seem to be any other explanation for his disappearance at this point. She reached for the legal pad again. Why did Jack kill Jen?
Detective Wright leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him. “He overheard Jen and Keith arguing about their impending divorce and splitting up their assets. Jack was afraid Jen was going to ruin the company. Keith had threatened to kill her on more than one occasion, and Jack knew there was a good chance he would do it in a blind rage and end up in prison. So he decided to come up with a more carefully orchestrated plan to pin the murder on Steve—he knew Jen had been secretly meeting with him.”
Bridget lifted her pen. Where does this leave Henry?
“I’m afraid he'll still have to go to his disposition hearing on Friday. The fact remains that he tampered with evidence. However, my guess is that the judge will be more lenient once he hears that Henry's father had nothing to do with Jen’s murder.”
Did Keith know about his father's plan?
“He says he didn’t. Naturally, we’re skeptical that he was entirely clueless. We’re bringing him in for questioning, and I intend to put plenty of pressure on him. We’ll also ask him about the silver Audi and whether or not he picked Steve up that morning. If he denies it, we’ll impound the vehicle and have forensics test it to see if Steve was ever in it.”
Bridget glanced up at the sound of footsteps approaching the room.
“Mommy!” Harper yelled as she darted into the room, followed by her grandfather.
Bridget’s heart lurched in her chest as she wrapped her arms around her daughter and buried her face in her lavender-scented hair. “Hi, honey,” she managed to croak.
Detective Wright got to his feet. “I’ll leave you to catch up with your family. I need to get back to the station to interview Keith Carson.” He nodded goodbye to John and exited the room.
Bridget reached for the yellow legal pad that had slipped beneath the sheet. Does Henry know what happened to me?
Her dad shook his head. “Not yet.”
Don't say anything to him. I'll tell him myself tomorrow.
“Are you sure you're going to be up to visiting him?”
Bridget nodded. They're only keeping me overnight for observation.
“Mommy, I’m sorry a bad guy hurt you,” Harper whispered, stroking her arm softly.
Bridget threw her dad a questioning look.
“That's why you never talk to strangers,” he said cryptically.
Bridget smiled her thanks at him. It was better that Harper didn’t know it was Quinn's grandfather who’d tried to strangle her and killed Jen. Bridget didn’t want Harper developing a fear of her own grandfather in return. She scribbled anothe
r question on the pad. Is Mom okay on her own?
“She's not on her own. Our next-door neighbors came over and offered to stay with her. They were deeply apologetic for not being more supportive. They were afraid to get tangled up in the situation when they thought Steve was the killer. Apparently, there were rumors we were hiding him in our house.”
Bridget gave a rueful smile. She couldn't help wondering if the school would be as remorseful about how they’d treated her children when they learned the truth. A familiar voice drifted down the corridor, interrupting her musing. A moment later, Quinn and Maria entered the room carrying a huge bouquet of flowers.
Quinn set the flowers down on the table next to Bridget’s bed. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you, Mrs. Hartman.”
My hero, Bridget mouthed to him.
“I would have warned you away from Jack, but I was completely blindsided,” Maria said, shaking her head. “I was certain Keith was behind it.”
“The police still think Dad might have had a hand in it,” Quinn added, stuffing his fists into his pockets.
Bridget smiled sadly at him as she reached for her pen. I'm so sorry for everything you've gone through with your parents.
He read what she’d written and gave an awkward shrug. “Thanks. I’m lucky I have Maria.”
“Can we have Maria as our housekeeper too?” Harper piped up.
Maria chuckled. “Your mom doesn't need me when she has a helper like you.”
Harper puffed out her chest. “I can make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Well, there you go,” Maria said. “You can make your mom lunch when she comes home.”
“When’s Henry getting out?” Quinn asked.
“We're not sure yet,” John answered. “His disposition hearing is on Friday.”
“We should get going and let you rest, Bridget,” Maria said. “Quinn just wanted to stop by and drop off these flowers.”
Bridget reached for his hand and squeezed it gratefully.
Maria and Quinn hugged Harper goodbye and shook hands with John before taking off.
A moment later, Bridget's phone rang. She glanced down to see Detective Wright’s number appear on the screen. She hit the speaker and gestured to her dad to answer it.
“Hello, this is John, Bridget's father.”
“Detective Wright here. Can Bridget hear me?”
“Yes,” John replied. “Harper’s here too.”
“Okay, thanks for the heads up. I just wanted to let you know that we’ve finished interviewing Keith Carson. He denies having anything to do with Jen’s murder, but he’s admitted to picking Steve up in his Audi the morning he disappeared.”
John shot Bridget a quick look before asking, “Did he say where Steve was headed?”
Detective Wright cleared his throat. “He didn't get very far. Turns out Keith Carson’s been holding him hostage in one of his storage facilities.”
36
Bridget let out a strangled rasp and reached for the pen and pad lying next to her. Is Steve all right?
Her dad read the question aloud for Detective Wright.
“We think so,” the detective responded. “I’ve dispatched a squad car to the storage facility. Apparently, Keith was trying to pressure Steve into revealing the account Jen moved the company’s assets to. Rest assured, Keith Carson will be going to prison for a long time.”
A thousand thoughts flooded Bridget’s mind at once. Steve hadn't gone on the run at all—more importantly, he hadn’t abandoned them. He’d been kidnapped and held hostage by Keith Carson in a desperate bid to force him to reveal information he didn't have to begin with. Her eyes flooded with tears of relief and shame. All this time she’d believed the worst about her husband—suspected him of murdering his lover, then covering up the crime, and fleeing with the money. But he hadn't killed Jen Carson, and he hadn't tampered with the evidence either. His only mistake had been to try and talk her out of moving the Carsons’ company assets illegally.
A wave of guilt washed over Bridget. Steve hadn’t lied to her about any of it. Her thoughts flitted back to the night she’d seen Jen exiting his office. Nothing was how it seemed. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more unlikely it was that Steve had been having an affair with Jen at all—maybe he’d simply been helping out an old friend as he’d claimed all along.
Harper tugged on Bridget’s sleeve, pulling her out of her reverie. “Is Daddy coming home?”
Bridget nodded, squeezing back more tears. “Yes,” she wheezed. “Daddy’s coming home now.”
It was several hours later before an unshaven and haggard-looking Steve appeared at Bridget’s bedside. The swelling in her throat had subsided a little and she was finally able to converse in a hoarse whisper. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Steve raised his brows in bafflement.
“For everything. For doubting you.” She traced her fingers slowly along his cheek, taking stock of the bruises on his face. “And for what happened to you—it looks like Keith roughed you up.”
“Forget it, it’s nothing compared to what you went through.” Steve’s forehead puckered. “It's me who should be saying sorry. It's my fault you ended up in the hospital. I should never have agreed to counsel Jen behind her husband’s back. I should have sent her someplace else. It’s not like she couldn't have afforded to hire a skilled accountant and a good divorce attorney.”
Bridget smiled sympathetically at her husband and squeezed his hand. “It’s hard to say no to a beautiful woman in distress.”
A haunted look crossed Steve’s face. “I’m not going to deny that some part of me was flattered when she reached out to me for help—we all had a crush on Jen back in high school. But I could never be unfaithful to you, Bridget. You must know by now how much I love you and the kids. I would never do anything to jeopardize what we have. I realize I was giving all the wrong signals by working longer and longer hours, but I was honestly just trying to keep the company afloat so that none of you would have to suffer.”
Bridget dropped her gaze, trying desperately to hold stinging tears at bay. “I know that now. I didn't mean to add to your burden by nagging you about spending more time with me and the kids—I just didn’t want you to miss out.”
“You had every right to nag me,” Steve said. “Going forward, I intend to make some much-needed changes. If I have to downsize the company, then that’s what I’ll do. Henry will be out of the house in a few short years and it will be too late to build a relationship with him then.”
“I’m so worried about him,” Bridget croaked. “His disposition hearing is on Friday.”
“I talked to his lawyer a little bit ago. He's optimistic the judge will be more lenient now that the charges against me have been dropped, not to mention the fact that Henry has a loving, two-parent family to come home to. Bryan says the juvenile court judges prefer to send kids home with their families than to juvenile hall, if at all possible.”
“I hope he’s right about that. I don’t think I could stand it if Henry’s sent back to juvenile hall,” Bridget said. “At least we're allowed to visit him tomorrow.”
Steve slid an arm around her shoulders. “And we will, together, just like we're going to get through everything from now on.” He kissed her softly on the forehead. “It’s time for you to get some rest.”
The following morning, Bridget was discharged with a list of instructions on how to care for her throat, along with a follow up appointment with an ENT doctor to make sure she was healing properly. Steve escorted her out to the parking lot, supporting her as if she were a waif about to collapse of malnutrition at any minute.
“My legs work fine. You do know that, don’t you?” Bridget said with a faint chuckle, wincing at the pain that immediately radiated through her neck. Whispering was just about tolerable, but laughing and coughing were still beyond a manageable pain threshold.
Steve grinned as he opened the car door for her. “Make the most of it.
Pack horse duties will resume before you know it.”
“Did you stay at my parents’ house last night?” Bridget asked.
“No, I was down at the station with Detective Wright until the early hours. The police are still trying to trace the Carsons’ money, but there’s a chance they’ll never find it now that Jen’s dead. I ran home to shower and change and grab a couple of hours sleep before coming here to pick you up. Our neighbors are getting together this morning to clean the exterior of the house. There's nothing stopping us all going back home today, after we visit Henry, of course. Harper will have to stay with your parents until we get back. They don’t allow minor siblings at juvenile hall.”
“I’d like that. It’s time to go home and be a family again,” Bridget said smiling across at Steve as he clicked in his seatbelt. “And Harper’s more than ready. She misses her room and her toys.”
“Then it's settled.” Steve turned the key in the ignition. “Let's go by your parents’ place and pack up your gear. I want to see my little girl.”
Bridget's parents were ecstatic when she and Steve walked into the house a short time later.
“My poor baby!” Elise exclaimed. “How are you feeling?”
“A lot better today,” Bridget whispered, sinking down in the chair next to her. “Steve got roughed up pretty badly too.”
“It’s nothing, only a few bruises,” Steve said.
”Mommy!” Harper shrieked, tearing into the room like a tornado. She came to a sudden halt and stared at Steve for a split second before hurtling toward him and wrapping her arms tightly around his legs. He picked her up and cradled her to his chest where she snuggled contentedly. A tingling warmth of happiness spread through Bridget’s veins. It seemed like only yesterday that Harper was born. From the very beginning, she’d always slept peacefully next to Steve’s heart.