“Unfortunately, we didn’t get anything from Rufus Delaney. He’s still not talking. And the little we got from Ms. Whitaker isn’t really enough to say your husband absolutely knew you had your son and daughter. It’s possible Ms. Whitaker gave the order to Rufus. She may have known where your children were.”
She shuddered. “They almost died.”
“They’re alive and safe. And so are you. We couldn’t have brought Delaney and Ms. Whitaker down without your assistance. So… thank you.”
“I’m glad it’s over.”
Detective Zur nodded. “The danger’s over. I’ll warn you though—the next few months are not going to be easy. We’re going to process your husband. He’ll be charged with attempted murder. If we link him to Delaney, he could be charged with hiring a contract killer. We’re still looking for hard evidence against your husband.”
“You mean he could get off?”
“I’m going to do everything in my power so that doesn’t happen.”
“Thank you.”
The detective smiled. “You can thank me by getting better and taking your family home.”
“That’s what I plan to do.”
Detective Zur stood. “I have to get back to the station. I expect you’ll see Marcus later?”
“I think so. You two go way back, isn’t that right?”
He nodded. “A few years.”
“What was he like before his wife and son died?”
“He was a good guy. Trustworthy. Funny. And a great cook. Of course, that was before he made some wrong choices.”
“The drugs, you mean.”
Detective Zur raised a brow. “Marcus told you about that?”
She nodded. “We had a lot of time to talk. On the phone when I was in the river. He kept me calm.” She stared up at him. “You seem surprised.”
“I am. Astounded, actually.”
“Why?”
“The Marcus Taylor I know has been rather… closed off. He talked to me a bit after the accident. Then he closed right down. Ever since Jane and Ryan died, he’s become more introverted, not so funny.”
“He’s made
The detective watched her, his face brightening. “You like him?”
She blushed. “I, uh…”
“Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”
“I’m still married.”
Detective Zur walked to the door. “You already initiated divorce proceedings, Mrs. Kingston. If you like Marcus, let him know. He’s the kind of guy who’ll wait.”
“Do you think people can change after years of bad choices?”
“In my line of work,” he said, “I see it happen quite often. But some people have to hit rock bottom before they resurface and realize what’s important in life. The hardest part for those people is figuring out exactly where their ‘rock bottom’ is.” He released a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to concern yourself with Marcus. He hit his six years ago.”
“When Jane and Ryan died.”
He nodded. “Things have been shaky since then, but he’s coming around. I can see a difference in him already. And I have a feeling you’ll be better for him than any drug.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
Detective Zur grinned. “Believe me, it is.”
Rebecca glanced at the clock for the millionth time. It was almost midnight and still no Marcus.
She wondered if he’d gone back to the hotel to sleep.
She flicked on the television and wandered through the channels. Nothing interested her, and her eyes drifted to the door.
She thought about Wesley. Was he in a jail cell, cursing because his plans had been blown? Was he raging because she and the kids were still alive?
She gave herself a mental kick for believing his lies.
She prayed Wesley was as cold and miserable as she had been when trapped in the car.
Then she thought about Ella and Colton. She wanted to curl up and cry for them, for what they were about to endure. In a matter of hours they would discover their father had tried to kill them—and their mother. How do children live with that?
The air in the room shifted as though a breeze had wafted in from an open window. But the window was closed.
She had the distinct sensation that someone was leaning over her. And then she heard a soft female voice say, “
Her eyes drifted shut and a sensation of bliss washed over her.
Chapter Forty-Five
Marcus tiptoed into Rebecca’s room, a bouquet of assorted blue flowers in his hand. The only ones left in the hospital flower shop, they’d had a blue balloon attached, announcing the birth of a baby boy. He’d removed the balloon and left it tied to a doorknob.
“Hi,” she said from the bed.
“Hi.” He surveyed the room, then spotted a vase with a wilted single red rose on the windowsill. “Want me to throw this out?”
“Please,” she said with obvious relief.
“These were all they had left downstairs,” he said, motioning to the bouquet.
“Blue flowers are my favorite.”