She looked so pale. Fragile.
Jett whipped out his phone but saw she already had hers out. “Who are you calling?”
“Detective Jensen. He’s on the way.” She grimaced, and he noticed red running down her arm.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I guess I am, Captain Obvious.” She tried to smile, but it looked more like a pain-filled smirk.
“We need to get you checked out.”
Her jaw squared. “Not until the detective arrives.” She touched her arm as if assessing it. “I don’t think I’ll die today.”
“While I’m glad, you still need to have it examined.” He knelt beside her and turned on the flashlight on his phone so he could examine the wound. “Looks like he sliced you cleanly, but it’ll need stitches.”
“I’m not leaving until Detective Jensen gets here.”
Jett didn’t know whether to strangle her or go along. The cut was bleeding but if he could find some gauze to apply to it . . . no, that was crazy. She needed to have a professional check it out. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No.”
“Then I’m taking you.”
“Not a chance.” She moved as if to get up from the floor, then groaned. “Thanks to you I spent time yesterday at the hospital.”
“You give me too much credit. I think the other driver was to blame.”
“You called 911.”
“After you called me.”
“We’re wasting time.” This time the stubborn woman did make it to her feet, though she ignored his hand.
“I could have helped you up.”
“No, you want to help me to the hospital. Let’s find his office.” She wobbled her way down the hall to the second bedroom. He ducked into the bathroom and grabbed a wet washcloth and rummaged around until he found Band-Aids.
The office was tiny, maybe ten by ten, typical of apartments in this area that cut separate living spaces out of cramped areas. A set of gliding doors covered a closet on the far wall. The room was barely big enough for the large wood desk. He found her leaning her hip against the desk.
He waved the Band-Aids and washcloth. “Before you poke around, we need to get this cleaned up. The moment it bleeds through the bandage, you’re headed to the ER if I have to carry you.”
She huffed but didn’t stop him as he leaned closer to examine the cut. “We should cut your sweater sleeve off.”
“What?” She frantically turned to look at it, as he grabbed a pair of scissors from a holder on top of the desk. “You can’t do that. Do you know how much this cost?”
“It’s already been sliced.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Go ahead. Just hurry so we can look around before the detective gets here.” Savannah’s gaze shifted everywhere but her arm.
The moment he finished bandaging her as well as he could, she picked up the framed picture of Addy from the corner of the desk.
The woman’s jaw clenched so tightly she could crack a tooth. Honestly, Jett was surprised it hadn’t happened already. Savannah carried her tension internally, and as far as he could tell she didn’t have a mechanism for releasing it.
“Let’s see what’s in here.”
His words seemed to jar her from wherever her thoughts had taken her but didn’t ease the tension locked in her jaw.
“All right.” Her words were resigned rather than engaged. “I think the file cabinet is in the closet.”
“I’ll start there.”
“Okay.” Savannah eased onto the edge of the desk chair. She didn’t want to be here. It was etched in the way her feet shifted and her gaze flitted about the room. He admired the way she squared her shoulders and went to work anyway. “Where did Addy stay when she was here?” She frowned. “I thought he had a bed for her.”
Jett glanced around, then noted a twin Murphy bed up against the wall. “This must pull down somehow.”
“Hmm. It’d be tight.” She wore her discomfort like a coat. Her shoulders were uncharacteristically rolled forward, and she couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. Each told Jett more plainly than the words she couldn’t find that this woman wanted to be anywhere but here . . . and with anyone but him. It hit him.
“You still loved him.”
She startled and looked at him. “What? No!” But telltale red climbed her neck.
“The way you looked at him in the hospital. It makes sense now. He must have been your first love. No other reason you’d still be single otherwise.”
“What? You’re insane.”
He shook his head. “You can deny it. But I was there and overheard him telling you he made a mistake. Must have fanned the flames.”
“He left me fifteen years ago.”
“Doesn’t matter. You still love him. That’s why you can’t stand to be here now. Especially with me.”
“Now I know you’re crazy. If the article you wrote wasn’t enough, this confirms it.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. “Is this how you write? Draw random conclusions from two unrelated data points?”
“Everything I write is well-researched, and—”
“I know, fact-checked. Well, if you want to stay, lay off the bologna that I was still in love with Dustin.” She turned away from him and took a couple of deep breaths. She relaxed while he watched. “I suppose you’ll say the fact I’m planning his memorial service for Addy is proof I love him. If I could, the man would not be remembered by my family. But I love Addy, so I’m planning a service on Monday for the man who left me. Addy’s the one I love. Not him.” She punctuated the words with a finger stab.
“Defensive much?” He regretted the words as they left his mouth. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
She stared at him, then turned away. “I have documents to find. You know where the door is if you need it.”
He went back to the four-drawer file cabinet crammed in the corner of the closet. It was an industrial-style unit, something that could have been a government reject from some Korean Conflict–era office. The battered gray showed years of wear. There were no labels above the handles, so he started with the top.
It held file folders stuffed with bills. There could be a treasure trove of information on each credit card statement if he examined them. The next drawer had a collection of correspondence and what looked to be invoices. He’d riffle through each of those folders just in case he found anything related to Thailand. The third drawer was mostly empty, which didn’t make much sense considering the fourth drawer was filled with years’ worth of tax records, and at the back of that drawer he hit pay dirt. One file labeled Will, and next to it, Life Insurance.
He pulled them out and opened the top one. He quickly scanned the thin document and then offered it to Savannah. “I found something.”
“What’s that?” She didn’t bother to turn from the drawer of files in the desk that she was perusing.
“His will.”
She spun around in the office chair. “Really?”
“I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”
“I don’t want anything from him.”
“Well, he wants something from you.”
She shook her head. “I highly doubt that.”
Jett handed her the file. “He named you his executor.”
“No.” The word’s brevity punched.
“Yes.”
He watched for the moment reality hit.
“No, no, no. I don’t need this right now. There’s no reason for me to be listed. He must have changed his will since our marriage.”
Jett nodded. “He did. Look at the date at the bottom of the last page.”
Her hand went to her throat as if that would protect her. “Six months ago.”
She tipped back in the chair but kept reading. The will was all the proof he needed that there had still been something between them. She might claim the niece was their only connection, but she was wrong. Dustin at least still trusted Savannah.
He turned back to the file cabinet rather than watch her read. That was too much like watching grass grow when there was so much waiting right here.
A sniff pulled his attention from the files to the desk. Savannah’s shoulders were tense, and her head angled away with her chin tipped down so her hair fell like a veil around her face. Please don’t cry. He was all thumbs and awkwardness in those moments.
A knock at the door sounded. She squared her shoulders, then swiped under her eyes. “That must be Detective Jensen.”
“I’ll get it.” As he passed her, he squeezed her noninjured shoulder.
Once he opened the door for the detective, he motioned for the man to wait. “I need to get her to urgent care or the ER. She’s putting on a brave face but needs stitches.”
“Need an ambulance?”
“I don’t think so, and she’s too stubborn to get in one. I’ll be doing well to get her to let me drive.”
“All right.” The man pulled out his notebook. “Time to fill me in.”