Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

“Yeah. She really came through for me last night. I’d like to call her.”

A brow arched. “Right now we’re having quiet hours. No calls in or out until three.”

“Why can’t I call her?”

“You can in a little bit. We have this time to make sure our patients rest. But as soon as it’s three, I’ll let you call out.”

Amber had always found the world irritating. This policy made no sense to her. But right now it was better to accept this small inconvenience. “Okay.”

“Now, let me get you a fresh IV. You’re skin and bone and it wouldn’t hurt for you to have another bag.”

“No drugs.”

“No drugs. I’ll be back. Can I get you a pudding cup or fruit?”

“A pudding cup would be nice. Thank you.”

She barely closed her eyes when she heard her door open. Thinking it was the nurse, she didn’t bother to look until an odd sensation tingled at the back of her skull. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Standing at the base of her bed was Dalton Marlowe. His hands fisted at his side, his sour face was pulled tight in a frown.

Instead of being afraid, she found herself studying him. The last five years had aged him. The dark hair was now more salt than pepper and the lines around his mouth and eyes had deepened. He had put on just a little weight and his once trim face had softened. He still dressed impeccably. His shirt was starched, Windsor knot tie, and a hand-tailored dark suit.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, refusing to straighten her open gown that showed a sliver of her breast. “Mr. Marlowe.”

He tapped his thumb against his thigh. “I heard you were back in town, but I didn’t quite believe it.”

Brushing back a strand of hair, her face remained blank with no hint of reaction. “What did you use to say about me? I’m a bad penny that just keeps showing up? Well, here I am again.” She shifted, showing more of her breast.

The expensive cologne swirled around him just as it had five years ago. “Why are you back?”

Instead of answering his question, she said, “The cops called me. They opened this can of worms.”

“A call for information is not a reason to come seven hundred miles. You’re here for your own agenda.”

She lifted her chin a fraction to prove to him she wasn’t street trash to be ignored. “Did you hear I was mugged?”

“You sure it was random? You made a lot of enemies in this town.”

“And very intimate friends, too. Did you send someone to rough me up so I would leave town? A stunt like that would be your style. You always liked it rough.”

His cheeks flushed slightly under his salon tan as he tapped an impatient finger against the smooth, Italian leather belt. “You’ve come back to taunt us, haven’t you? You became bored, didn’t you? Real life was too dull, so you came back to Nashville to stir things up until your own demented desires are satisfied.”

Something inside her bristled. From the first day he laid eyes on her, he thought of her as trash. Funny how marrying money could make a man forget humble roots. “Did you also hear I’ve been receiving threatening texts? Did you send those as well?”

Eyes narrowed. “If there were threats, you made them up.”

“The threats were real. But I’m not going to argue with you. I’ve moved on with my life. I’m happy. Places like Nashville and people like you no longer bring me happiness. I was doing fine until the texts began to arrive and then that cop called.”

Her voice seemed to buzz past him like annoying flies. “The cops will figure you out,” he said. “They’ll put it all together. There won’t be a lie standing at the end.”

She studied the man’s face, searching for even the slightest hint of softness. There was a time when she wanted him to like her. How many times did she help his simpleton son with his homework hoping to have this man toss her a kind word? If he could have accepted her, then so would the others.

But he never tossed her anything. He ignored her as if she weren’t deserving of his attention. He and all the kids at that damn private high school didn’t want her in their world. None of them really wanted her beyond her status as either a poster child for the disadvantaged, her SAT scores or her stunning looks. Take your crumbs, Amber. Be grateful we’re allowing you in our world. Mind your manners or we’ll toss you back onto the East Nashville heap where we found you.

Amber was better than all of them. They knew it, but they would never admit it.

Suddenly, she felt very weary. This was an old fight that no longer interested her. She had other plans. The people in the isolated world of the rich didn’t matter. “There is nothing to figure out, Mr. Marlowe. I came back to help the cops solve this case and maybe figure out who’s sending me threatening texts. At least now you know what happened to Mike.”

He flinched as if she had struck him. “What the hell did you do to my boy in those damned woods?”

She smiled innocently. “I didn’t do anything. I was a victim.”

“You’ve been a predator since the day you walked into our lives.”

She studied the tension radiating from his attractive gray eyes. It felt good to know she could still unnerve him. “People might have a different take on all this if they knew more about our relationship.”

He swallowed as if his throat were raw. “You are sick.”

Ah, was that a bit of panic in his voice? “Perhaps, but I see you as the pretender. Your control of your late wife’s money is all that separates you from me. Tell me, what happens to the money now that we know Mike can’t inherit it? Isn’t there some kind of charitable trust? Or did you get your attorneys to break it?”

Another wince on his angled face told her that her words cut him. “The cops are going to keep digging,” Amber said. “You’ll see to that. But if you press them to dig too deep, there’s no telling what you’ll find.”

He gritted his teeth. “You know what happened to Mike, don’t you? He hung on every one of your words. Mike followed you like a puppy . . . worshipped that fucking body of yours.”

She moistened her lips, pulling back her shoulders so that her breasts strained against her hospital gown. “I don’t know what happened to Mike, Mr. Marlowe. My last memory of him is days before we went into the woods. Know what we were doing?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fucking,” she whispered. “We were fucking.”

“You’re a cancer. A goddamned cancer.”

“Mike and I were close. I loved him.” She met his gaze as she took a moment to study him. “He was so sweet to me. We could talk. Never argued. We shared so many secrets. Some were even about you.”

Marlowe’s jaw tightened. “You ever tell him about us?”

She touched her fingertips

to her lips as if she remembered one of Mike’s kisses. “Friends don’t keep secrets. They share everything.”

He leaned toward her and she suspected he would punch her in the face if he could get away with it. Amber fed on his anger and frustration.

“Who do you think killed Bethany and Mike?” she asked.

Fingers clenched into fists.

Her gaze held his in an iron grip. “You had a good reason to kill Bethany.”

His head cocked as if assessing an opponent in a boxing ring. “Why the hell would I want to hurt that damn geek kid, she was harmless.”

“Mike needed the grades to stay on the football team. You and I both know he cheated and we both know Bethany helped him cheat. Without football, he’d have lost any shot at anything but a second-tier college. All your plans for him would have been ruined.”

He tugged at a gold cufflink monogrammed with an M. “After five years of hell, none of that really matters.”

“When Bethany was alive, she was big trouble for you and Mike. She was going to tell unless Mike got her into his inner circle of friends.”

The veins in his neck rose like corded strips of rawhide as he struggled to corral his words. “You’re twisting things, just like you always did.”

“I’m not twisting anything. You hated Bethany. I know that.” Her words raked over his nerves.

“I didn’t even know her.”

“Oh, you knew Bethany Reed. She was a mousy little thing. She was so much like your weak little wife who threw herself down the stairs so she could get away from you.”

He glanced toward the door and when he was sure it was closed he said, “If there is anyone I ever wanted to kill, it was you.”

The words jabbed and sliced. “It would be like you to find new ways to torture me. Sending texts. Stirring up the past when you knew I’d gotten on with my life. I know you missed me.”

“You’re a cruel young woman.”

She leaned forward a fraction. “You left out beautiful, Mr. Marlowe.”

“You’re a bitch.”

She laughed, knowing she was a burr under his skin. “Get out of my room, or I’m calling security.”