Trent set his coffee cup on the hospital room’s bedside table and held Skylar’s hand again. She seemed bewildered this morning with so many of Unfinished Business’s investigators crowded into her room. Even the boss and his wife were there, and the lead investigator, Ryland, having cut their vacations short as soon as they’d heard about the attack on Trent and Skylar.
It was Grayson, in his thousand-dollar business suit, who’d smoothed things over with the hospital administrator to allow all of them up here at one time. Trent doubted that Erlanger East Hospital had ever had this many visitors in one room before.
But that’s how his team rolled. They were as tightknit as any family. And even though Trent wasn’t hurt, just knowing he could have been killed had them driving through the night or, in some cases, flying to check on him. He was exceedingly grateful that Callum had stopped at the house and convinced a cop to let him get Trent some clean clothes even though they’d still been processing the home as a crime scene. The fresh suit that Callum had grabbed wasn’t as comfortable as jeans would have been, but it beat the hospital scrubs he’d been given in the ER when he’d arrived in the ambulance half-naked.
He wasn’t sure if his team’s support was because this was his “pet project” case or whether they’d guessed just how much Skylar meant to him. Maybe both. He certainly wasn’t hiding that he cared about her. He’d only let go of her hand to eat breakfast and drink his coffee since the team had arrived.
“Overwhelming seeing them all at once, in person, huh?” he teased her.
“It’s just...crazy different being around this many people. I’m used to being by myself.” Her cheeks flushed. “And I’m embarrassed that I can’t remember all of your names from the video calls we had. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s far easier for us to learn one name than for you to learn all of ours. I’ll point everyone out. And there won’t be a test afterward. There are a couple dozen support staffers in Gatlinburg, mostly lab rats and computer nerds. But this is most of the core team. There are eleven of us, counting the boss.” He motioned toward the foot of the bed. “Meet Grayson Prescott, our founder and benefactor. The lovely lady beside him is his wife, Willow, who’s also our victim’s advocate.”
They smiled and told her they were happy to meet her as Trent continued pointing out the others. “Lance Cabrera, Faith Lancaster—no relation to the Chattanooga Lancasters—Asher Whitfield, Brice Galloway, Ivy Shaw. Our liaison with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation isn’t here yet. Her name’s Rowan Knight. The guy on the far right by the window is Ryland Beck, lead investigator. That’s the team.”
“Hey, hey,” Callum called out. “You forgot me.”
“No he didn’t,” Ryland teased. “He was trying to forget you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just glad you’re back so I’m off the hook now as acting lead.”
“You may not be glad once I return to the office,” Ryland quipped. “I hear there are some expense reports we need to talk about.”
Callum shrugged. “I’m going to borrow one of Trent’s mottos. ‘It’s easier to ask for forgiveness—’”
“‘—than to get permission’,” everyone said.
Skylar laughed. “Seriously? That’s one of your mottos?”
“I might have said it a time or two.”
Everyone laughed this time.
Skylar addressed the team. “I’ll try to remember your names going forward. I’m in awe that you dropped everything to come here. Especially when there really isn’t anything wrong with me.” She raised her right arm covered in a white bandage from elbow to wrist. “Being admitted to the hospital for what amounts to a scratch is ridiculous.”
“Twenty stitches isn’t a scratch,” Trent said. “And they admitted you because of that nasty bump on your head. You lost consciousness. The neurologist wants to keep you overnight for observation.”
She gave him a disgruntled look at the reminder about her clumsiness in falling over a log.
“Since you’re all here,” he said, “we might as well address the elephant in the room. Richard Lancaster is no longer a threat. But his brother, Scott, is. And who’s to say that Richard’s widow, Phoebe, won’t step in on her husband’s and teenaged son’s behalf and still try to meet that deadline to keep Skylar from inheriting? The Lancasters still have millions of incentives to want her dead. They’re very much a threat. And now they know where she is, courtesy of the media who got wind of the shootout.”
Skylar tensed. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, letting her know without words that he was there for her. But this needed to be addressed. They still had to figure out how to protect her, long-term.
“We stop the clock,” Callum suggested. “We let the will’s trustees know that Skylar is the legal heir. I’m sure the court will order new DNA tests. It will be a long process. But at least the financial incentive to kill her will be gone. Even better, she can have her own will drawn up declaring non-Lancaster beneficiaries, making doubly sure there’s no reason for them to go after her.”
Trent shook his head. “While I agree she should get her inheritance, that won’t solve the problem of how to keep her safe. Revenge is a powerful motivator. I can’t see the Lancasters letting Richard’s death go without some kind of retribution. They’ll still blame Skylar.”
She tugged his hand, drawing his attention. “They’ll blame you too. Richard may have started the gunfight. But you finished it. You’re in danger as much as I am.”
“Probably so. The local police can pursue an attempted murder charge against Scott. But he’ll likely drag it out for years before doing prison time—if he even goes to prison. No telling what kinds of legal stunts he’ll pull. I can name a handful of uber-wealthy murderers who paid so-called experts to confuse juries. How do you fight a crooked multimillionaire like Richard Lancaster and expect to win?”
Grayson crossed his arms. “You give him what he values most. Money. Skylar, how do you feel about giving up some of the fortune that your grandmother left in trust for you to buy off the Lancasters?”
Trent shook his head. “No way. It’s her money and wrong on so many levels for a victim to pay off the perpetrator.”
“I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor, always have been. If my continued survival means giving them money I never expected to get anyway, I’m all for it. It’s worth it to buy myself a life. Grayson, how do we go about this?”
He gave Trent an apologetic glance before answering. “I’ve brokered hundreds of business deals over the years. I can make the offer, have a contract drawn up. We’ll agree to increase their annual stipend every year that Skylar is safe. The increases will have to be significant to ensure that their greed outweighs their desire for revenge.”
“I don’t like it,” Trent said. “The plan isn’t fail-proof. They could always change their minds and decide their vendetta is more important than the next stipend increase.”
“Nothing’s fail-proof except putting them in prison,” Grayson said. “But the FBI’s been investigating for years. None of the recent events provides evidence to support federal charges. This proposed contract could be a stopgap until the FBI comes through, if they ever do. I could add an annual renewal option so Skylar can reevaluate and change her mind.”
She pulled her hand free from Trent’s and twisted both of her hands together. “I’m trying to envision my future life. Even with this agreement, I’d need bodyguards, security at my home, wherever that might be. I’d have to constantly look over my shoulder like I’ve been doing for years. I got a taste of a normal life this past week and I liked it. I’m not interested in hiding away and becoming a hermit again.”
Grayson nodded. “I completely understand. But if we don’t get enough prosecutable evidence to put Scott, and maybe even Richard’s wife, Phoebe, away for good, we don’t have many options. Unless someone else has a suggestion?”
A knock sounded on the door and a nurse walked in. Her eyes widened when she saw how many people were crowded inside.
“I’m sorry but you all need to leave to give the patient privacy while I check her vitals and prep her for the doctor’s visit. He’ll be here in a few minutes. The waiting room is down the hall, to your left.”
Grayson stepped forward and introduced himself. Trent grinned at how flustered she became with the attention of such a polished and obviously well-off businessman in his power suit.
“Is there a private room, perhaps a conference room, where my team can meet? We won’t take long. We need to brainstorm some ideas. Or should I speak to Mrs. Wilkerson again, the hospital administrator? She was very understanding of our situation when I spoke to her earlier.”
She swallowed nervously. “There might be a doctor consultation room available. It would be tight and there aren’t enough chairs for everyone. But you could probably all fit.”
“That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
She nodded, looking relieved that he’d accepted her suggestion rather than argue. She explained where the room was and everyone headed out, except Trent.
“Nurse, could I have a moment with the patient before I leave?”
“Um, okay. But only a minute. I need to finish before the doctor arrives.”
“Thank you.”
After the nurse was gone, he took Skylar’s hand again.
“You have me wondering if you have a hand fetish as much as you keep holding mine.”
“It’s more serious than that. I have a Skylar fetish. An obsession, really.”
Her eyes widened. “That sounds serious.”
“It is. I wanted to tell you that I—” His phone buzzed in his pocket. He sighed and pulled it out to check the screen. It was the FBI agent he’d been talking to off and on since the shootout, the one working on the Lancaster case. He texted a quick reply and shoved the phone back in his pocket. “I’m sorry, Skylar.” Him telling her he cared about her was going to have to wait a little longer. “I have to go.”
“I understand. Your team is waiting for you.”
He was going to correct her assumption that it was his team he needed to see, but a knock on the door announced the nurse’s return. This time she was pushing a rolling computer cart. As soon as she saw him, she frowned.
“I’m going, I’m going.” He kissed Skylar’s cheek. “Be good. Don’t argue with the doctor.”
“As long as he promises to let me out of here in the morning, I won’t.”
He laughed at the nurse’s stern look and hurried out. When he entered the family waiting room, the FBI agent who’d texted him waved from the far left corner. Trent nodded and started toward him, then stopped when another familiar-looking face caught his attention.
An older, dark-eyed woman with gray-streaked dark brunette hair was sitting by herself, nervously clutching her purse in her lap. An idea bloomed in his mind, one that might be the answer to the problem of how to give Skylar back that “normal” life she wanted so badly.
He detoured to the woman. “Excuse me, are you Abigail Flores?”
“Yes, yes, I am. I’m here to see my employer, Mr. Scott. Are you his doctor?”
“No ma’am. My name is Adam Trent. I’m a friend of, ah, a mutual friend of ours. If you have a minute, I need to talk to you about that friend. I also have an urgent favor to ask you.”
He motioned for the FBI agent to join them.