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MAUREEN AND MY father made arrangements with the hospital to transport Lisa back to Minnesota right away. When the time came, the doctors and nurses let me have a few moments alone with her to say my goodbyes. I wondered if I was ever going to see her alive again.
She looked so peaceful lying in the hospital bed. It was almost like she’d wake up and ask me how the PI business was doing.
My conversation with my father the day before may have brought me back to reality, but saying goodbye to her made it all seem final.
I sat on the edge of the hospital bed and took Lisa’s delicate hand in mine, thinking about what I should say to her. Would she hear me? Would the news that Maureen and my father were taking her back to Minnesota have a detrimental effect? It sure as hell depressed me. I opted to keep that part to myself.
“Hey, Lisa. It’s me, Kate.” I stroked her hand with my thumb, unsure if she could even feel it. “I just wanted to say goodbye for now. Looks like Maureen and Dad are moving you back to Minnesota where they can take care of you better.” I took a deep breath, fighting back the tears. “I’ll come and see you, I promise. It just might not be as often as I’d like.” The thought of going back to Minneapolis and dealing with my two older siblings and Maureen on their home turf made me shudder.
As though she was listening, I continued until my list of current events was exhausted. A nurse appeared at the door and gave me a kind look that said I should wrap things up. I nodded and turned back to Lisa.
“Be well. I love you.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then I stood and shrugged my purse over my shoulder. With one last, final look, I walked out of the room.
I drove the streets of Seattle aimlessly, not wanting to go home but not wanting to stop anywhere, either. When I found myself near the house in Green Lake where Ian was supposed to meet her that fateful night, I pulled to the curb and shut off the engine.
Why did I even bother? Every time I tried to start a new life, something I could be proud of, things went sideways. And it usually involved the ones I loved the most getting hurt. Yes, I’d made a big mistake when I hooked up with Roberto Salazar, but even after I extricated myself from that hellacious nightmare he’d come after me, upsetting all the careful plans I’d made. I’d run to Alaska to get away from him, but he found me there. Or, more accurately, Angie McKenna tracked me down with the help of a private eye who lost his life for the trouble.
Sam helped me get away, but in doing that I lost everything. I ran to Hawaii, where I trusted an old friend who turned out to be just as dirty as Roberto, and had to leave again. Finally, I changed my name, my hair, and my address once more, hid out in the little town of Durm, Arizona, and I was safe. At least for a while.
Five years later, John Sterling, an associate of Salazar’s, tracked me down and tried to kill me. But he died in a mine collapse, or so I thought, and I rebuilt my life yet again. Soon, he and Roberto Salazar caught up with me, and the nightmare began again. Angie made another appearance and shot the man I was involved with to try to get to me. He survived, but later events ultimately led to my losing him. Fortunately, I found Quinn and together we put my trouble with Salazar to rest.
That was, until Vincent Anaya got wind that I still had his money. Again, I’d asked Quinn for help and he’d obliged.
The two years that had passed since then had been relatively quiet. I was beginning to relax, to not jump quite so high when a car revved its engine, or hit the decks whenever someone lit a firecracker. Sam said I had PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and he was probably right. Fighting for my life for so long left me with nightmares and a deep anxiety that I just assumed would be my new normal.
Years ago, an old man in Mexico had told me bad spirits surrounded me, that I wouldn’t be rid of them until I had lost everything.
He’d been wrong.
I’d lost everything many times over. No matter where I went or what I did, bad luck followed me. And God help anyone who was a friend of mine.
A soggy blanket of depression enveloped me, dampening my already low spirits. I turned away from what was once going to be a bright, shiny future and started the Jeep.
What the hell was I doing? My life stood for nothing. I stood for nothing. I was a waste of space. A living, breathing bag of flesh and bones. That was it.
Screw that.
Pushing away feelings of self-pity and hopelessness, I pulled away from the curb and into traffic. My confidence grew as I planned my next steps. I was going to make a difference.
And I was going to start with Chacon.