Page 12 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
“Did you want something else?”
Kimberly shut the door. “No, I was trying to remember why I put artichokes on my list.”
“Maybe they sounded good?” He turned off the burner. “Do you mind dishing up from the pan?”
“No.”
“Abbie teases me saying I get the food decent but fail in presentation.”
Kimberly brought both plates from the table and handed Mr. Alexander the blue-speckled one. She hadn’t realized she’d chosen one matching his eyes. How embarrassing. Kimberly didn’t look at him as she filled her plate, then sat at the table.
Mr. Alexander took the seat across from her. He didn’t pick up his fork. Instead he laid his arms on the table palms up. “Do you mind if I pray?”
Kimberly placed her hands in his and bowed her head, mostly to hide her shock. He prayed? And cooked? She pinched herself as the amens were said. Yep. It hurt. So much for still being asleep. The food confirmed it. Kimberly was sure you couldn’t eat in dreams and have it taste this good. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“Mom, cooking shows, just around.”
“You watch cooking shows?”
“Sometimes.” Mr. Alexander used his fork to point at the chicken. “This recipe is one Abbie likes but always ruins. I may have learned to cook it better than her to rub it in.”
“Some twin thing?”
“Probably. It may be a sibling—” Mr. Alexander’s phone beeped with some alert, his face morphing from relaxed to high alert in seconds. “Your father-in-law is on TV.”
Kimberly hurried after Mr. Alexander into the living room. An image of Hawthorn Thompson filled the screen. The banner at the bottom read, “Hunt for Kimberly Thompson!” Kimberly sat on the coffee table and listened to her father-in-law’s crocodile-tear-filled voice.
“We don’t care what happened. We just want our Kimmy to come home and not harm our unborn grandchild.”
At the mention of the detested nickname, Kimberly muttered, “Liar. We? You and who else?”
Hawthorn blinked several times, then cleared his throat. “Kimmy, we understand you are distraught, but we don’t believe you killed our Jeremy.”
“What?” Kimberly jumped up, wishing she could punch the screen.
The camera pulled back to show Hawthorn putting an arm around a woman he’d been dating.
A commentator’s voice took over as pictures of Kimberly filled the screen. “Once again, authorities are searching for Kimberly B. Thompson, widow of Jeremy Thompson, who has recently become the focus of an SCC investigation into Thompson Investments for possible illegal activities, including money laundering and bribery of California officials. We believe Mrs. Thompson walked out of a Northern California hospital after faking a miscarriage. According to her father-in-law, Kimberly Thompson is in the early part of her second trimester. He believes she is a danger to herself and unborn child. She boarded a flight to LAX after leaving the hospital. Authorities assume she is still in California. The family is pleading for the public to help them find her before she can terminate her pregnancy. The FBI wants to question her about her late husband’s untimely death. New evidence surfaced yesterday prompting a homicide investigation.”
“Unbelievable! I was the one who questioned his death! The police wouldn’t listen to me.” Where could she run now? The entire country would be looking for her. She could bleach her hair and cut it short. Could she get into Canada?
Mr. Alexander laid his hand on her shoulder. “I believe you.”
The three words triggered an internal pause button, her internal tirade subsiding.
He removed his hand and stepped away.
Kimberly circled the coffee table and sat down on the couch.
The news story contained a shot of her pastor, with the church in the background. “We are all praying for her safety. Many of us have been worried about her since her husband’s death. She hasn’t been herself.’’
“Only because I wanted to protect you.” Kimberly closed her eyes to keep her tears of frustration at bay.
6
Alex switchedto another channel to see the same news conference played from a different angle. They showed a clip of Kimberly at her late husband’s funeral. Three men watched her, all of them in military-type stances. Kimberly hadn’t exaggerated about the presence of her former bodyguards. They should have been blending in at a funeral, not scaring well-wishers.
When the clip ended, the screen filled with a l-800 number and a text code to report leads.
