Page 46 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
“That reminds me. Uncle Donovan called to let me know the FBI received another email from your father-in-law. It’s addressed to you.”
“I don’t want to see it. Let them do whatever they want with it. I called Mom’s hospital today. She’s still in ICU. They can’t find her living will, so I asked my attorney to fax a new copy.” Kimberly kept her back to Alex, knowing if she turned around, it would take only one step to find herself engulfed in the bear hug he always offered and the tears would come.
Alex stepped closer. She could feel his heat on her back. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “If you want to make it happen, we can get you out there before she passes.”
Kimberly shook her head, biting back the sobs that would start if she opened her mouth.
Alex reached around her and removed the brushes from her hand, then turned her to face him. “You’ll have both Hastings and the FBI watching your back.”
Kimberly closed her eyes. More than missing her mother’s death and funeral, the kindness in Alex’s face tore her apart. She shook her head and sidestepped him. He let her pass.
Other than to insist she eat, Alex left her alone the rest of the evening. While she ate, he walked the grounds. Not that there had been a single threat in the three weeks at the property. It hadn’t taken her long to realize how Alex used his job as an excuse to give her space when he thought she needed to be alone.
Kimberly washed the dishes by hand, hoping Alex would return.
He didn’t.
She climbed into bed and texted him.Good night. Going to bed early.
—Sleep well.
She should stay up and make him talk about their marriage before it got more confusing. Alex saw more about her than she expected. He bought her favorite ice cream, listened to her babble without laughing, and let her fall asleep on his shoulder. The truth was, Jeremy never paid this much attention to her unless it was a corporate event and she had parsley between her teeth. She’d followed Mom’s advice and married for money, believing it would last. Next time, she’d marry for love. Money wasn’t worth it. If only she could marry Alex next time.
17
Beep.Alex sat up at the first note of the alarm from his phone.
“Alex?”
Beep, beep.
Kimberly never used the audio feature in the night.
“What’s wrong?”
Alex rolled off the couch and slipped on his shoes.
“The”—hiccup—“hospital”—hiccup—
Alex opened Kimberly’s bedroom door without knocking.
“She’s gone.” Kimberly sat in the middle of the bed, wearing one of last year’s Hastings softball team shirts.
In two steps, he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms.
She cried.
And cried.
When Kimberly fell asleep with her head on his chest, Alex tried to slide her off, but she grabbed a fistful of T-shirt and mumbled something sounding remarkably like “Don’t leave me.”
So Alex stretched out beside her, and Kimberly burrowed into his side. He wrapped an arm around her and counted the clicks of the ceiling fan. He’d leave as soon as she fell into a relaxed sleep. He wouldn’t notice the scent of lavender or the tiny sighs. He wouldn’t text Uncle Donovan to ask that they slow up the forensic accounting so this could last longer.
* * *
Early morning light peeked above the window ledge. A pressure on her side pushed her out of a happy dream. She fought to get the dream back, trying to remember what made her so happy. The pressure lessened, and her brain urged her to wake up to understand the messages it was receiving. Automatically, her hand went to explore, expecting to find a twisted comforter, but instead, she found a hand.
The hand moved, sliding out of her grasp.
