Page 35 of Justice Denied

ChapterThirteen

The itch near her knee under the cast was driving Emily crazy. Only a few more days to suffer through the heavy plaster keeping her left leg immobile. While her doctor hadn’t committed one way or another, Emily had read between what he hadn’t said to realize she might not regain full mobility because of the multiple breaks in the appendage, which meant moving to a single-level home made even more sense.

Her bedside clock registered close to midnight, but her mind wouldn’t stop whirring. Jay used to call it her “whirling Dervish” brain when she couldn’t get it to shut off for the night. He’d had a few tricks up his sleeve that had helped, but since he’d been gone, she had had less success in silencing the inner thoughts.

Her door stayed cracked a sliver, allowing a narrow beam of light from the dim hallway to spill onto her floor. The police had stationed someone outside her door, but he’d been called away to a six-car pileup nearby around nine, with assurances the rehab security would be keeping a close eye on her. She wasn’t reassured—after all, someone had breached security to get to her room last night.

A shadow blocked the light from the door. Her heart rate lurched into high gear. She closed her fingers over the call button as the door slowly opened and the outline of a big man filled the doorway.

“Mrs. Ainsley? It’s Seth Whitman.”

She relaxed her hand on the call button. “Seth, you gave me quite a scare. Come in.”

He did so, returning the door to its original position. “Can’t sleep?”

“No, and I didn’t want to take any sleeping pills.” She raised the head of the bed, then pointed to the chair next to her bed. “Have a seat and tell me why you’re here at this hour of the night.”

“Has Jetta called you?” Her alarm must have shone on her face because he quickly added, “She’s okay.”

“No, she hasn’t.”

He looked down at his clasped hands, big, strong hands capable of protecting her sweet youngest daughter. That he cared for Jetta was apparent to Emily, although she doubted Jetta could see it. The man kept his emotions well-hidden, but Emily had learned a thing or two about reading a person as a high school teacher, and she could see his interest in the way he hovered around her daughter. “What’s going on?”

When he stayed silent, she prodded. “You’re here at this hour in my room because you’re worried about Jetta.”

“No, ma’am.” His swift denial gave her pause. “Not Jetta. I’m worried about you.”

“Me? I have someone keeping an eye on me. The officer will be back soon.” And he would be, but not until the tomorrow night’s shift.

“I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.”

Emily bit back a smile at his tactful way of calling out her half-truth.

“I stopped by the security office when I didn’t see the officer outside your door, and he told me about the callout. So you don’t have protection.” He leaned forward. “Which is why I’m here.”

“To protect me.” Emily regarded the brawny young man.

“Yes.”

She thought about sending him home, but something in Seth’s eyes told her he would simply sit outside her room instead of leaving the facility. She decided to find out what had prompted this visit. “What happened?”

He had the grace not to pretend he didn’t understand her question. “Jetta’s fine.”

“But…” She hadn’t raised five kids to not know when something was being left unsaid.

Seth acknowledged her prompt with a slight smile. “But she’s worried about your safety.”

“As I’m worried about hers.” She settled back against the bed, but the pillow had shifted down. Seth adjusted it for her without her having to ask, cementing her first impression of a sensitive man. Perfect for her youngest daughter—not that she’d tell either of them that. At least not yet.

“When did you first move into the house?”

She considered his question, glad for the distraction from fresh worries about Jetta and the grandchild she carried. “Let’s see, we moved to Virginia from Indiana when I was pregnant with Jason, our third child. That would have been nearly forty years ago.”

“Then you’re not the first owners of the house.”

“Not by a long shot.” Memories of the 1950s kitchen and 1970s shag rugs made her smile. “We did buy it from the kids of the original owners, who had been a bit of a do-it-themselves when it came to renovations. Our first Christmas, when Jason was a newborn, I insisted on a live Christmas tree. Jay wrestled it through the door and onto the stand, nearly taking out the chandelier in the foyer in the process. When we had it up and decorated, he flipped the switch for the lights and promptly blew a fuse. That wasn’t the first time we’d run into circuits being unable to handle whatever we turned on or plugged in. The previous owners had done some DIY electrical work that ended up costing us a small fortune because we had to get the entire house rewired.”

She shared a few more stories of their early life in the home she now had to leave.

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