pushed open the door of the hospital room and her heart squeezed painfully tight in her chest as she saw her sister. Hope was asleep, her petite face stark white and her blond hair a tangled mess.
Grace wanted to bundle her up in the sheet, pick her up and run out the door. Nobody could ever make her believe that Hope had anything to do with William’s murder.
Pulling up a chair next to Hope’s bed, Grace fought against a tremendous amount of guilt. In the past couple of months had she been too absent from Hope’s life? Had there been things she wasn’t aware of, things that had led to this terrible crime?
Stop it, she commanded herself. She was thinking as if Hope was guilty, and she wasn’t. She wasn’t! As soon as Charlie arrived, everything would be okay.
A knot of simmering anger twisted in her stomach. She shouldn’t be alone here, waiting for Hope to wake up. Their mother should be with her, but she’d run from her responsibility and her family and disappeared like a puff of smoke on a windy day. Hope had been far too young to lose her mother. Damn you, Mom, Grace thought.
Hope stirred and her eyes opened. She frowned and looked at Grace in obvious confusion. “Sis?” Her voice was a painful croak.
Grace leaned forward and grabbed Hope’s hand. “I’m here, honey. It’s all right. You’re going to be all right now.”
Hope looked around wildly, as if unsure where she was. Her gaze locked with Grace’s once again, and in the depths of Hope’s eyes Grace saw a whisper of terror. “What happened?”
“You got your stomach pumped. Did you take something, Hope? Some kind of drug?”
Hope’s eyes flashed with annoyance and she rose to a half-sitting position. “I don’t do drugs. Drugs are for losers.” She fell back against the bed and closed her eyes, as if the brief conversation had completely exhausted her.
Grace remained seated next to her, clasping her hand even after she realized Hope had fallen back asleep. If Hope hadn’t taken any drugs, then why had the authorities found her unconscious on her bed when they’d arrived?
Had she been hit over the head? Knocked unconscious by whoever had committed the murder? Surely if she’d had a head injury Dr. Dell would have found it.
Hope slept the sleep of the drugged, not awakening even when a nurse came in to take her vital signs. The nurse didn’t speak to Grace. She simply did her job with stern lips pressed tightly together.
Minutes ticked by with nauseating slowness. Grace checked her watch over and over again, wondering when Charlie would arrive. Hopefully he’d have some answers that would unravel the knot of dread tied tight in her stomach.
She leaned her head back against the chair and thought of Charlie. The moment she’d seen him again, an electric charge had sizzled through her. It had surprised her.
He was as handsome now as he’d been when they’d dated, his dark hair rich and full and his features aristocratically elegant, holding just a hint of danger. She knew those slate-gray eyes of his could narrow with cold intent or stoke a fire so hot a woman felt as if she might combust.
She’d been more than half in love with him when they’d broken up. She’d thought he felt the same way about her, but the redhead in his bed that night had told her different.
On that night she’d hated him more than she’d loved him, and in the past eighteen months her feelings hadn’t changed. She rubbed her fingers across her forehead, thoughts of Charlie Black only increasing her headache.
Maybe he’d come in and tell her that Hope wasn’t in any trouble, didn’t need the expertise of a criminal defense lawyer or a bodyguard. Then she’d go back to the mess that had suddenly become her life and never see Charlie again.
She glanced at her watch and frowned. He was late. He was always late. That was something else she’d always found irritating about him—his inability to be on time for anything.
She didn’t know why she was thinking about him anyway, except that it was far easier to think about Charlie than what had happened.
Somebody murdered William. Somebody murdered William. The words thundered through her brain in perfect rhythm with her pounding headache.
Who would want him dead? He’d been a wealthy man, a generous benefactor to numerous charities. He’d been well liked in the community and loved and respected by the two stepdaughters he’d claimed as his own.
Although he was the CEO of several industrial companies, he’d stopped working full-time a year ago and went in only occasionally for meetings.
He was kind and gentle, and his heart had been broken when Hope and Grace’s mother had left him, left them. Tears burned her eyes again and she struggled to hold them back as she realized she’d never again see his gentle smile, never again feel the touch of his hand on her shoulder.
It was just after seven when the hospital door creaked open and Charlie motioned her out of the room. She got up from the chair and joined him in the hallway, where he took her by the arm and led her away from Ben Taylor.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said when they were far enough down the hallway that Ben couldn’t hear their conversation. His gray eyes were like granite slabs, revealing nothing of his thoughts.
“What?” she asked.
“I have every reason to believe that as soon as Hope is well enough to be released by the doctor, she’s going to be arrested for the murder of your stepfather.”
Grace gasped. “But why? How could anyone think she’s responsible?”
He shifted his gaze and stared at some point just over her head. “Hope wasn’t just found passed out on her bed. Her room had been trashed as if she’d been in a fit of rage.”
“But that doesn’t make her a murderer,” Grace exclaimed. Although it was definitely out of character for Hope to do something like that. Hope had always been a neatnik who loved her room neat and tidy.
Charlie sighed and focused his gaze back on her. The darkness she saw there terrified her. “The real problem is that Hope was found covered in William’s blood—and she had a knife in her hand. It was the murder weapon.”
Charlie watched as the color left Grace’s cheeks and she swayed on her feet. His first impulse was to reach out to her, but before he could follow through, she stiffened and took a step back from him.
She’d never been a needy woman—that was one of the things he’d always admired about her and ultimately one of the things he’d come to hate. That she wasn’t needy—that she had never really needed him.
“So, what do we do now?” Her strong voice gave away nothing of the emotional turmoil she must be feeling.
“Zack West wants to question her tonight. I just saw him in the lobby and he’s chomping at the bit to get to her. Give me a dollar.”
“Excuse me?” She looked at him
