Page 53 of Some Like It Deadly
I love her. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m in love with a lie.
The truth should have set him free, but all that knowledge brought was more pain.
Chapter 13
Richard
He made it as far as the curb of the emergency room exit when he realized he didn’t have his car. Glancing around the darkened parking lot, he swore and started for the street. He’d find a taxi.
“Mr. Prentiss?” Peterson’s voice cut through the darkness. “If you’ll give us one minute, we’ll have a car here for you.”
Richard stopped. He was covered in blood. If he made it to the curb, he’d probably end up with a police ride home. “Fine.”
The men who’d followed him out fanned around him in a semi-circle. Peterson came to stand next to him on the curb. “The man who fired the weapon was named Leonard Braun. His father invested heavily in your father’s confidence scheme and the family lost everything. They never recovered. Leonard, however, had other issues including a diagnosed clinical depression. He went off his meds over a year ago—right around the time the story broke about the Princess Alyxandretta.”
He tried not to listen, but the man kept right on speaking.
“The police have begun a thorough search of his apartment—a source informed me he had several news clippings regarding you, specifically in your capacity as attorney for the family, as well as other notable cases. They also found surveillance footageand a damaged vehicle in his garage. We’re assuming paint on it will match the color of your car.” Peterson paused when an SUV paralleled the curb right in front of him.
Jerking the handle, Richard slid in, but Peterson blocked him from closing the door.
“You are angry and feeling manipulated by the situation. That is your right.” The man’s tone might have been neutral, but his hard assessing gaze was not. “However, while Braun seems to have been working alone, there are two simple facts you need to be made aware of.”
The man apparently would not let him go until he’d said his piece. Richard stared at him and waited, because he sure as hell wasn’t explaining himself to another of the prince’s employees. “And they are?”
“Your life was under threat, and it is not unlikely that you won’t face similar threats in the future with your increased profile.” Peterson tapped the car door. “Ms Braddock quit more than a month ago. She called me and explained that her level of personal involved compromised her ability to protect you. She resigned as your personal protection and requested permission to tell you the truth.”
“Is that it?”A month ago.The weekend after she’d been shot the first time. She’d been so opposed to personal involvement and then?—
And then she’d come downstairs and he’d seen the choice shining in her eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Prentiss.” Cool disapproval hummed in the words. “Unless you want to know a status on Ms Braddock?”
He intended to say no, but instead said, “Is she going to be all right?”
“The first bullet punctured her lung. They had to reinflate it. The second nicked her bowel wall, but they assure me it is repairable. The surgery is complicated and could be a few hours.If at any time you want a prognosis, ask one of my men. They’ll call me.” Peterson backed up a step.
“Take care of her.” The adrenaline and anger had fled. He was exhausted. Closing the door at the man’s nod, he leaned back in the seat.
“Your house, Mr. Prentiss?” The driver asked in a tone as carefully neutral as the security chief’s.
His house. The bed he shared with Kate. The life he’d begun to construct around her with every intention of keeping her in it.
“No. The Beverly Wilshire. See if someone at the house can pack up some clothes for me and send them over. They should probably pack Kate’s things as well.”
“We’ll take care of it, sir. Do you want Ms Braddock’s things delivered to the hotel?”
“No. Peterson will know what to do with them.” Richard closed his eyes. He didn’t open them again until he was at the hotel. One of the men offered to book the room for him and another offered him a clean shirt. He stripped out of the bloodied clothes and passed them over.
Once in his room, he didn’t sleep. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He replayed every conversation, every act, and every single moment he’d shared with her.
She resigned as your personal protection. Her level of personal involvement compromised her ability to protect you.
His mind wouldn’t shut up. Showering, he washed until the last of her blood was off him and, when sleep remained elusive, he cracked open the wet bar.
THREE DAYS LATER…
“Wake up.” Water splashed his face. The cold burned away the fog of sleep, but did nothing for the brutal hangover savaging his skull.
