The Girl Who Wouldn't Stay Dead

“I’d like to see you try.”

Wellborn stepped between them. “Gentlemen, let’s take this conversation inside.”

“I’m not leaving Emily,” Connor said as he reached for the latch on the rear door. “This facility isn’t secure, and there’s reason to believe she’s in danger.”

When he yanked open the door, he saw long-limbed Patricia Riggs scrunched into the ambulance. He hated that she was near Emily, close enough to disconnect an IV line or turn off one of the machines. Thank God the paramedic was there, keeping watch.

Patricia pushed a wing of dark brown hair off her face to reveal tears welling in her eyes and streaking down her chiseled cheekbones. “Oh, my God, Connor, I can’t believe this terrible accident happened to our dear, sweet Emily.”

He wasn’t buying the tears. Patricia was a hard-edged businesswoman, a lady shark who knew as much about the investment game as her cousin, Jamison. The only type of tragedy that would cause her to weep was when the Dow dropped four hundred points. Still, he played along, needing to get her out of the ambulance and away from Emily. He reached into the vehicle, grabbed her manicured hand and pulled her toward the open door. “You’re upset, Patricia. Let’s get you a nice latte.”

“Are you patronizing me?”

“Let’s just say that I’m as sincere as your tears.”

“You don’t get it.” She dug in her heels. “I need to be with Emily when we take her home for the last time.”

The last time? Though Emily’s condition was listed as critical, none of the doctors who had seen her thought she was terminal...except for Thorson, Patricia’s boyfriend.

“No more games,” he growled. “Get out of the ambulance.”

“But I—”

“Emily is going to recover.”

“But Eric said—”

“Dr. Thorson isn’t the best person to listen to. I warned him, and I’ll play the same tune for you. When you interfere with Emily’s care, you’re breaking the law.”

“Don’t be a jackass.” Her upper lip curled in a sneer as she came toward him. Her tears had dried, and her dark eyes were as cold as black ice. “We want the best for Emily, even if she did divorce my cousin and tear off a big chunk of the family fortune.”

Connor knew precisely how much Emily had received in settlement. Considering that she’d been entitled to more in the prenup, the amount she’d actually collected shouldn’t have been enough to ruffle Patricia’s feathers. “You’re talking about the house Jamison left her.”

“It’s an estate,” she snapped. “Why the hell would he leave it to her? In the past few years, they hardly ever came to Aspen. After the separation, not at all. My brother, Phillip, had to move in and take care of the property. If anyone should inherit it, it’s Phillip.”

“I remember when Jamison and Emily first got married,” Connor said. “They stayed at the Aspen house whenever they had a spare moment. They even had a name for the place.”

“Jamie’s Getaway,” she muttered. “Appropriate for a bank robber.”

Or for a man who appreciated a place where he felt safe. Connor understood why he’d left the house to her. Jamison had been acknowledging the happier times in their marriage. His sentimental gesture wasn’t enough to make up for his cheating, but it reminded Connor of why he had liked Jamison Riggs. “Here’s the deal, Patricia. I make the medical decisions for Emily. If you or anyone in your family interferes, you will regret it. Jamison was once my friend, but that won’t stop me from going after his family.”

“You’ll sue?”

“Damn straight.”

Patricia stepped out of the ambulance and stalked over to her boyfriend. With her smooth dark hair and his blond curls, they made a handsome pair. Though Connor wanted to hear Wellborn question them, he turned his back and entered the rear of the ambulance. He had to see Emily, to make sure she was all right.

The paramedic was one of the men who had participated in the rescue last night. Connor was relieved to see him. “It’s Adam, right? How come you’re still on duty?”

“I caught a couple of z’s, then came back to pick up an extra shift for a friend.” He lifted a thermal coffee mug to his lips and took a sip. “Your girlfriend is looking good, considering how we found her.”

He’d hooked Emily to IVs and portable machines similar to those in her hospital room, including a cannula that delivered oxygen to her nostrils. Throughout the long night, Connor had observed the digital readouts and knew what the numbers were supposed to show. He had no cause for alarm. “Are her vitals within normal range?”

“You bet. Transferring her into the ambulance went real smooth.”

Still, Connor worried. “The woman who was in here, Patricia, did she get in the way?”

“You bet she did. Man, I was tripping over Riggses. There was Patricia and her bro and an older lady—maybe her mom.”

“Aunt Glenda,” Connor said.

“And a couple of other guys.”

“Minions.” The Riggs brood was a high-maintenance family, requiring many people to manage their affairs. “Did any of them touch Emily?”

“Not on my watch,” Adam said. “What’s got you so jumpy?”

“Just a feeling.”

He was scared—an undeniable tension prickled along his nerve endings and tied a hard knot in his gut. He didn’t like having emotions interfere with his actions. Not only had he grown up tough but Connor was a lawyer who had learned how to manage his behavior. That veneer of self-control was wearing thin. In addition to feeling fear, he was angry. If he’d followed his natural instincts, he would have grabbed Wellborn’s gun and blasted each and every one of the Riggses who got in his way.

No doubt, one of them was responsible for running Emily off the road. If that wasn’t enough, they’d snatched her from her hospital room as soon as his back was turned. He needed to get her away from here.

He tucked a blanket up to her chin and studied her face. Her cheeks glowed with a soft pink, more color than when she’d been indoors. Her full lips parted, and she almost looked like she was smiling. He couldn’t wait to see her smile for real and to hear her laughter. “It’s chilly out here. How can you tell if she gets cold?”

“I can take her temperature or I can do it the old-fashioned way, like your mama did. Feel her forehead. Touch her fingers and toes.”

Connor’s heart had been beating fast and his adrenaline pumping hard. His own temperature was probably elevated, but he did as suggested. Her forehead was smooth and cool. The white bandages protecting her head wound and the EEG sensors contrasted her dark blond hair and her complexion. Oddly, he was reminded of her snowy-white bridal veil. On her wedding day, eight years ago, she’d been so fresh and pretty and young, only twenty-two. He and Jamison had been twenty-five, just getting started with their high-power careers. Jamison had joined his investment brokerage firm as a junior vice president and had already been able to afford to buy a small apartment in Battery Park. Connor had been in Brooklyn, jumping from one law firm to another as he built his client list and his reputation.

While Jamison was furnishing his place, he’d gone to an art gallery. That had been where he met Emily. By sheer luck, he’d found her first.

On their wedding day, Connor had forced himself to celebrate. He was the best man, after all. He had to make a toast and tell the newlyweds that they were going to be happy and their love would last forever—not necessarily a lie but not what he really wanted. He’d felt like a jerk for his interest in his best friend’s bride, but he couldn’t help it. He should have been the man with Emily. When it came time for him to kiss the new bride, he’d chickened out and gave her a peck on the forehead. He’d been terrified that if he kissed her on the lips, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Sitting beside her in the back of the ambulance, he took her hand, pretending to check if she was cold but hoping he’d feel her squeeze his fingers. He desperately wanted her eyes to open. There had been a few moments in her room where her lashes fluttered. REM sleep was what Darlene had called it. Emily wasn’t moving now. Her face was still and serene, which he told himself was for the best. She wasn’t supposed to wake up. Her brain needed time to heal.

He cleared his throat. “Is it dangerous to move her?”

“Not if I’m in charge.”

Agent Wellborn poked his head into the rear of the ambulance, flashed his credentials to Adam and spoke to Connor. “I’m going to get started talking to these people before they call in their lawyers. Have you made any decisions about Emily’s care?”

“I want to get her away from here. A couple of specialists in Denver have agreed to take her case. The problem is transportation.” He looked toward Adam. “Can you arrange a Flight For Life helicopter?”

“I’ll set it up with my dispatcher,” he said. “Shouldn’t be a problem, but it might take some time, an hour or more.”

Connor gave a quick nod. After this incident with Thorson, he had cause to worry about the personnel assigned to take care of Emily. “I trust you, Adam. Can you come with us on the chopper?”

“Sure thing.” He grinned. “I can always find something to do in Denver.”

“Let’s get moving,” Wellborn said. “Connor, I want you to come with me when I talk to these people. You know them. You might notice something that doesn’t register with me.”

“I’d be delighted to do anything that might disturb the Riggs family.” He glanced back at Adam. “While I’m with Special Agent Wellborn, you need to keep everyone away from Emily.”

“You got it.”

“One more thing,” Connor said. “Patricia suggested that Emily wasn’t going to wake up. Is there something I haven’t been told?”

“I don’t know all the details,” Adam said, “but the screen on the EEG monitor shows normal brain activity for an induced coma. Seriously, dude, as long as we keep an eye on the monitors, she’ll be okay. She’s a fighter.”

Connor agreed, “She looks like a delicate flower, but she’s tough.”

It seemed impossible that someone would want to murder this gentle but courageous woman. Somehow, he had to keep that fact at the front of his mind. She was in danger. It was his job to keep her safe.

* * *

EMILY COULDN’T TELL where she was, but she sensed a change in surroundings. Through her eyelids, she was aware of the light fading and then becoming bright and fading again. The calliope music still played—boop-boop-beedle-deedle-doop-doop. But the tone was different. And she heard a man’s voice.

“She looks like a delicate flower,” he’d said.

It was Connor...or had she imagined the smooth baritone? She tried with all her might to listen harder and wished she had one of those old-fashioned ear trumpets with a bell shape at the end to vacuum up sound. Speak again, Connor. Say something else.

There was something important she needed to tell him. At the reading of the will, there were details she wanted Connor to know.

When she’d arrived at Patricia’s super-chic, nine-bedroom mountain chalet for the reading of the will, an avalanche of hostility roiled over her. Patricia hated her. Aunt Glenda had always looked down her nose at Emily. Phillip and his buddies, some of whom were good friends of Jamison, eyeballed her with varying degrees of suspicion and contempt. If Connor had been there, the atmosphere would have been different. He would have called them out and shamed them.

Though she was capable of standing up for herself, Emily didn’t really want to fight with these people. Seeking refuge, she’d locked herself into the bathroom—an opulent, marble-floored facility with three sinks, gold-tiled walls, a walk-in glass shower big enough for four adults, a toilet and a bidet. She’d actually considered spending the rest of the night in there.

Staring in the mirror, she’d given herself a pep talk. You have every right to be here. You were called to be here, for Pete’s sake. You can tell these people that they’re mean and interfering. After tonight, you never have to see them again. She’d lifted her chin, knowing that she looked strong and healthy. She’d been doing renovations at the gallery and was probably in the best physical condition of her life. During the past few months in Denver, her chin-length, dark blond hair had brightened. Natural highlights mingled with darker strands. There were women who paid a fortune for this look.

She’d applied coral lipstick and given herself a smile before she opened the bathroom door. Voices and laughter had echoed from the front foyer and bounced off the ornate crystal chandelier. The sound had been disproportionately loud. She’d recoiled and covered her ears. Not ready to rejoin the others, she’d slipped down the corridor to a library with a huge desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves of leather-bound books.

The cream-colored wall opposite the curtained windows had displayed framed photos of various shapes and sizes. Many were pictures of Patricia with celebrities or heads of state or family members. None had showed Patricia’s ex-husband, a man who she and Jamison had referred to as “dead to her.” Do I fall into that category? She’d searched the wall for a sign of her relationship with Patricia. There had been several photos of Jamison, but Emily saw none—not even a group photo—with her own smiling face. Patricia had erased her from the family. So typical!

The door had opened, and a woman had stepped into the library.

Embarrassed to be caught looking at photos, Emily had taken a step back. “Are they ready to start?” she’d asked.

“Not quite yet,” the woman had said. “I thought I saw you come in here. I wanted a chance to meet you before the reading.”

Emily’s gaze had focused on the Oriental carpet. She hadn’t been really interested in mingling or meeting people. With trepidation, she’d looked up. The woman’s legs were a mile long, and she was dressed in the height of Aspen chic. Her hair was long, straight and a deep auburn. Her face had had a hard expression that Emily would never forget.

“We’ve met,” Emily had said.

“I don’t think so.” Not even a hint of a smile. This woman had been as cold as a frozen rainbow trout.

The first time Emily had seen her, she’d been preoccupied—tangled in the sheets and having sex with Jamison. “You’re Kate Sylvester.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Emily hadn’t refused, even though she doubted she’d be much help. She hadn’t talked to Jamison in months, and she’d heard that Kate was living with him. Why had she wanted to ask so many weird questions about Jamison’s finances?

In her unconscious state, she heard the distant sound of alarm bells. At Patricia’s chalet, she’d been more preoccupied with keeping her equilibrium after the Riggs family’s open contempt had thrown her off her game. She hadn’t given Kate a second thought.

But now? After the attempt on her life?

Everything about the will reading took on a much darker tinge.

When she woke up, she had to remember to tell Connor about this connection that spanned the country from Aspen to Jamison’s New York investment firm.

Chapter Four

In a vacant office near the emergency exit, SAC Wellborn assumed the position of authority behind the desk. Patricia and Aunt Glenda sat opposite him while Connor remained standing with his back against the closed door. The only thing keeping him awake was a fresh surge of adrenaline, and he thoroughly resented that the Riggs women held coffee mugs from the hospital cafeteria in their manicured hands.

He hadn’t seen Aunt Glenda in four or five years. She hadn’t aged, which was a testament to plastic surgery and stringent maintenance procedures. He knew for a fact that she was in her late seventies. Her straight hair—solid black without a trace of gray—was pulled up in a high ponytail, showing off her sharp features. Though the never-married matriarch of the Riggs family might be described as a handsome woman, Connor thought she looked like a crow with her black hair and beady eyes.

“Where’s Phillip?” he asked.

“Dealing with another matter,” Patricia said. Her upper lip curled in a sneer. She really didn’t like him.

The feeling was mutual. Connor couldn’t resist baiting her. “Your baby brother should be here. Whatever he’s doing can’t be more important than talking to the FBI.”

“Phillip is accompanying Dr. Thorson.” Her hostility flared. “Because of your absurd accusations, Eric is in trouble with the hospital administration. Phillip went with him, hoping to smooth the waters.”

Reading between the lines, Connor figured that Phillip would get Thorson off the hook with a big fat juicy donation to the hospital. Not only was the Riggs family wealthy, but they’d been in Aspen for a long time and wielded a lot of influence. Some of the cousins were on the city council, and Phillip had considered running for mayor. Their uncaring manipulation of power made Connor want revenge. Suing them wasn’t enough. He wanted blood.

Wellborn placed a small recording device on the desk. “I’ll be making a permanent record of this conversation.” He stated the date, the location and the people in the room.

Before he could proceed, Patricia rapped on the desktop. “Excuse me, should we have a lawyer present?”

“That will not be necessary,” Aunt Glenda pronounced. “We wish to do everything possible to be helpful. I feel partially responsible for Emily’s accident. When she left, I should have sent someone along with her or had her followed.”

“Why is that?” Wellborn asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? After hearing about her inheritance, she was so thrilled and excited that she couldn’t keep her little car on the road.” Glenda spoke with absolute confidence. “We’ll do whatever we can to take care of Emily. That includes opening my home to her and hiring a nurse to watch over her.”

Patricia backed up her aunt with a barrage of commentary, describing the facilities at Glenda’s sprawling cattle ranch, which included a barn, a bunkhouse and a hangar for a small single-engine airplane—none of which seemed pertinent to the care of a woman in an induced coma. But Patricia was on a roll, babbling about how much she liked Emily and how much they had in common and many, many, many other lies.

Wellborn interrupted, “Why didn’t you consult with Mr. Gallagher before moving the patient?”

Glenda held up a hand to silence her niece. “It simply never occurred to me. I don’t know what Connor has been telling you, but he has no relationship with Emily.”

Wellborn looked toward Connor. “I thought you were her fiancé.”

“No.”

Patricia took her shot. “You lied. So pathetic! You’ve always been insanely jealous of Jamison. You envied his success, his style and now his wife. What’s the matter, Connor? Can’t find a girlfriend of your own?”

Rather than going on the defensive and trying to justify his lying, he sidestepped. “Aunt Glenda is right. My relationship with Emily is irrelevant. However, her advance directive documents give me durable power of attorney and appoint me as the decision maker for her medical care. I’ll be happy to show you the paperwork.”

“Which brings me back to my initial question,” Wellborn said. “Why not talk to Connor before transporting an unconscious woman to your ranch?”

Glenda looked down her beak. “How would I know he was responsible?”

“Thorson knew,” Connor said. That fact was indisputable.

“But I didn’t.” Glenda sniffed as though she’d caught a whiff of rotten eggs. Apparently, she had no problem throwing the blond doctor under the bus, blaming the whole incident on him.

Patricia leaped to his defense. “My fiancé saved Emily’s life. He’s—”

“You’re engaged to Dr. Thorson,” Wellborn said.

“Yes, I am.” Proudly, she stuck out her left hand so they could admire her flashy Tiffany-cut diamond. “We’ll be married next year.”

“Or sooner,” Aunt Glenda said. “Patricia mustn’t wait too long, doesn’t want to add any more wrinkles before the wedding. She’s fourteen years older than the doctor, you know.”

“Please, Aunt Glenda.” Patricia pinched her thin lips together. “The FBI doesn’t need to know about my personal affairs.”

“Agent Wellborn might want to watch out,” Aunt Glenda continued. “He’s a very attractive man, and he’s wearing a Burberry scarf.”

“You’ll have to excuse my aunt,” Patricia said.

“It’s no secret that you prefer younger men. You’re a cougar, my dear, and a successful one. You should be pleased with yourself.”

“How dare you!”

“Cougar.”

Their infighting made him sick. Connor hated that Emily had wasted some of the best years of her life in the company of these harpies, and he vowed to never again complain about his huge Irish family in Queens. Sure, the Gallaghers did a lot of yelling. But there were also hugs, apologies and tears. Under all their blarney and bluster, there was love.

“Ladies,” Wellborn said, “I’d like to get back to the central issue. Did you move Emily on the advice of Dr. Thorson?”

“We wanted to take her to the ranch,” Patricia said before her aunt could throw another barb at her fiancé. “You must have forgotten, Aunt Glenda, but we spoke to Eric about our plan, and he told us there might be a problem with the paperwork.”

“I didn’t forget,” Glenda snapped. “My mind is as sharp as it ever was.”

“Of course it is.” Patricia’s voice dripped with condescension, and she rolled her eyes. Not a good look for a bona fide cougar. “We were so concerned about Emily that we didn’t pay enough attention to Eric’s advice. It was for the best, we decided, to avoid a confrontation with Connor. Emily needs to be home and surrounded by family before she passes on.”

“She’s not dying,” Connor said.

Patricia schooled her expression to appear sympathetic. “I understand the denial. But, Connor, you must be aware that Emily flatlined on the operating table. It happened twice. She was technically dead. Her heart stopped.”

He hadn’t heard this before. Though he wouldn’t put it past Dr. Thorson to make up a story like this if it suited his purposes, there had been other doctors present. No one had told him that Emily was so near death. “You’re lying.”

“Think what you want,” Aunt Glenda said. “That girl is hanging on by a thread.”

It wouldn’t do any good for him to explode. Connor threw up a mental wall, blocking their innuendo and deceit. Glenda and Patricia wanted Emily under their control; they’d admitted as much. But why?

“If Emily died,” he said, hating the words as soon as they passed his lips, “what would happen to the house she inherited?”

“You seem to be acting as her attorney,” Patricia said. “You tell us.”

It was an interesting question—one he needed to research. As far as he knew, Emily had no living relations. She’d been an only child. Her parents were older when they had had Emily, and they’d died from natural causes when she was a teenager. He doubted she had a current will reflecting her divorce. There were documents he’d drawn up when she and Jamison were first married, but that was a long time ago.

A further complication when it came to ownership of the house she’d inherited was the actual transfer of property. Emily didn’t have a deed. The probate court would surely step in. He handled transactions like this on a regular basis, and the paperwork was intense.

While Patricia launched into another diatribe about how her brother had been taking care of the property and deserved compensation, Wellborn leveled an assessing gaze in her direction. Connor had the sense that the good-looking black agent was accustomed to dealing with self-obsessed rich people who wouldn’t stop talking. He maintained an attitude of calm. The only sign of his annoyance was the way he tapped his Cross pen as though flicking ashes from a Cuban cigar.

“Last night,” Wellborn said, “was the reading of the will for Jamison Riggs. Start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened.”

Patricia settled back in her chair and sipped her coffee. “I should probably start with the list of individuals who had been invited. My assistant has a copy, as does our family attorney.”