Page 80 of Fight for Me

Blane trusted his brother implicitly. If he said no one would get to her, then no one would..

* * *

Anne’s mom was right. The media found her within twenty-four hours and camped on their doorstep—figuratively, of course—hoping for a glimpse. Someone found her medical records from the tiny hospital in Maine and all kinds of speculation abounded in the tabloids about how she’d broken her ankle, the plane crash, and where Blane was.

The pain had abated and she was navigating the house on crutches, which she hated. She’d had to take a leave of absence from work. And after three days of being fussed over by her mom, Anne was going stir-crazy. She found refuge in her dad’s office, resting on the leather sofa by the window while he was on the phone.

Sun streamed in the window and Anne enjoyed the warmth while she waited. She’d always liked her dad’s office, which was a sanctuary only Anne was allowed to violate. Even her mom knocked first. Wood bookshelves lined the walls, some filled with books, some with trinkets gathered from her dad’s clients and his travels. A thick Persian rug stretched the length of the room and her dad sat behind a heavy cherry wood desk, talking through an earpiece.

Anne propped her injured foot up on the couch and heaved a sigh. She’d thought a long time about what to do and when her dad hung up his call, she was ready.

“Pumpkin, how are you feeling?” He took the earpiece out and set it on the desk.

“Better. Just going a little crazy. You know how Mom is.”

“Give her a little break,” he said, sitting back in his leather chair. “We both thought you were dead for a few days.”

Anne sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” He smiled and focused more intently on her. “Something on your mind?”

Anne nodded. She’d watched her dad in business for years. He was cunning and ruthless. If anyone could help her out of this mess, it would be him.

“Actually, yes I do.” She started at the beginning with Smithson and his file, and ended with meeting the murderer in person, who happened to be Blane Kirk’s brother. It took a while. Her father didn’t seem surprised by any of it.

“And you’re sure Smithson orchestrated the plane crash?” He asked when she was through.

Anne hesitated. “We’d assumed so because he arranged the flight. But…I guess it could’ve been someone else who knew.”

“It just seems like someone would have a better motive than Smithson, especially if they knew Kirk was on the plane.” He leaned back further and looked at the ceiling, his brow creased in conversation. “Maybe you were just collateral damage.”

“That’s awesome,” Anne muttered.

“I have some people I can call and look further into the crash,” he offered.

Anne frowned. “What kind of people?”

“Don’t you worry about it,” he said, his gaze serious. “And don’t tell your mother any of this.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” That would be a disaster. No one had found out the crash had been deliberate. Yet. “Let me know what you find out, okay?”

“You bet.”

Anne got to her feet, stuffing the crutches under her arms. “Thanks, Daddy. I’ll see you at dinner.” She hobbled over and kissed his cheek.

He grabbed her hand as she went to move away. “Pumpkin, I’m so glad that you came home okay. Your mother…and I…were devastated.” His eyes shone slightly. He squeezed her hand.

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

She hobbled back to the guest bedroom that had been set up on the main floor for her, gratefully sinking onto the bed and discarding the crutches. What her father had said about Smithson made sense. It was at least worth investigating.

Anne lay back on the bed with a tired sigh. She’d had a couple of sleepless nights, anxiously thinking things through. And despite everything, wondered about Blane.

Where was he? Was he in hiding because of what he believed about Smithson? She’d left the file behind. Had he looked at it? Seen the photos of Kade trailing her brother? What had he thought?

And it didn’t escape her notice that, although she’d left orders for no visitors, he hadn’t tried.

Now that she had time to think about something other than Smithson and the pain in her ankle, her thoughts were filled with him. Conflicting emotions warred within her. Maybe she’d reacted too drastically and should have given him a chance to explain? But what possible explanation could there be?

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