He wanted to make things better. Reggie knew that was completely foolish of him, but with the three women in front of him, he wished he could.
If he had a magic wand or a damned easy button, he’d one and make everything just go back to the way it was supposed to be. Reggie was used to building things with his hands. Make the strong, sure, stable. Safe.
Everything he’d ever built with his hands was as sturdy as he could make it. He took pride in that. In making things. Buildings or a chair, it was as strong as he could make it.
Strength. Endurance. He’d taken pride in his work for years. In creating something that mattered.
But to these women, he was just the destroyer, no doubt.
He excused himself from the trio. The elevator waited for him, and he practically dove inside. He had to get away from them. Before he said something to make it worse.
Their eyes were burning through him, and they didn’t even mean to do that.
Reggie scared them, Dr. Netorre and Izzie MacNamara.
That sickened him.
He’d never done anything to frighten a woman in his entire life.
The elevator closed, and he slammed his hand against the lobby level button. Reggie’s eyes stayed on hers as the metal doors slid closed.
He hadn’t expected Izzie—she looked more like an Izzie than an Izadora—to look so frail. So almost broken.
She hadn’t had any makeup on, her pajamas had to be a joke, and her hair had been completely untamed. Natural.
But it had shone like dark silk in the fluorescent light.
He was starting to sound like an idiot, even in his own head.
It had been the pajamas that had done it. Made him wonder about the woman she was, rather than what she had possibly done to trigger his father. The pajamas hinted at so much…character. So much life.
For the first time, he’d seen her as a person. Not just his father’s victim—or trigger.
He’d seen the videos.
The woman had said something to his father. From what reports his private detective had been able to get, she’d asked his father how she could help him.
That had been it. Just a few words that everyone at a receptionist desk had probably said a million times a year. How can I help you?
Nothing worth putting two bullets in her in that instant.
The absolute horror and pain on her face when it had happened still haunted him. He never should have watched the security videos. Reggie would never forget her face.
His father had shot her, made her sit for a while before he’d thrown her toward another man out in the hall.
He’d shot her again in the hall.
Three times. Three bullets.
Reggie tried not to flinch when the elevator hit the third floor—and dinged three times. In his head, the dings sounded like gunshots, even though he knew that was completely stupid. The sounds were nothing alike. It was just his brain playing tricks on him.
How was she coping? Was she getting counseling? Was she afraid of what would happen next? Reggie tried to fight the questions dogging him but gave up long before the elevator hit the lobby.
His private detective had found information about her financial situation. Reggie wasn’t sure how the man had managed it, but he had.
The situation wasn’t good, and this was only going to make things worse for her. Unless someone did something to fix it.
He couldn’t go back and erase what his father had done, no matter how much he wanted to do just that.
But he could use what he did have to make things a little better.
Reggie’s hand slipped into his pocket. There it was.
A thirty-eight-thousand-dollar, three-carrot engagement ring he’d intended to return to the jeweler. Or sell it somewhere else.
He stepped up to the charge nurse’s desk, right next to the ER entrance. The box burned a hole in his palm.
“Can I help you, Mr. Henedy?” a woman whose nametag read Cherise asked.
Reggie pulled in a breath as what he was about to do sank in. Thirty-eight thousand dollars was a lot of money. Money his business could use.
But that woman could use it more.
“I want to leave something for someone upstairs.” He dropped his voice a bit. He didn’t want it broadcast all over the hospital. “And it’s very valuable. Is there some way I can speak with Dr. Holden-Deane for a few moments?”
“I’ll have him paged. If you’d like to have a seat?”
Reggie nodded.
Resolve filled him.
Thirty-eight thousand dollars would go a long way toward paying Izadora MacNamara’s hospital bill, as well as any lost wages she was facing.
It was the least he could do.
But it still didn’t feel like it was enough.