Hard Evidence. Susan Peterson

a bed seemed to serve any and all purpose in his life at the time. Knowing him, it probably still did.

      Even with that bitter thought, my mind drifted back to those crazy, hot, passionate nights. I’d lie on my back and suck in great gulps of air from the open skylight above, while his clever hands did wild and wonderful things to my body. And we’d lie there for hours, his powerful limbs entwined with mine, his lips whispering secret words in my ear as I screamed for a release I wanted so badly I could taste it even now.

      My hands shook as I roughly pushed the thoughts aside, fighting to keep the emotions from ripping at my insides and showing on my face.

      I met his gaze, and my anger heated to white when I saw the touch of sympathy sitting in the depths of those exquisite eyes. If there was one thing I didn’t want, it was to have Jack feeling sorry for me. I wanted him on his knees hurting worse than me.

      “Sorry, that wasn’t very diplomatic of me, was it?” he said.

      “Gee, you think?”

      “Come on, Killian, cut me some slack. I said I was sorry. Can we call a truce?”

      “Not in this lifetime.” I tore my eyes away from his.

      For a moment, I questioned if I was being unreasonable. But then rage pulled at me again. He didn’t have any rights, in my book.

      He had destroyed Pop with his testimony, telling the jury and the rest of the world that Charlie had sold important police information to the local crime boss, taking huge kickbacks in return.

      He’d come to Claire’s funeral when she died of cancer a week into Charlie’s trial, but he stayed in the back, aware that he was no longer welcome inside the magic circle of young adults who clustered around Charlie in a show of support and infinite sorrow.

      At one point, Charlie had reached out to him, but Jack was quick enough to catch the warning glares from the rest of us. He disappeared a short time later, never making it to the graveside service.

      “None of the others have mentioned you lately. Have you talked to them?” I was referring to our five foster siblings.

      “The reason he hasn’t mentioned us is that we never see him,” a new voice piped in.

      I turned to see Shawna, one of our former foster sisters, watching us from the doorway. She stood with both hands planted firmly on her narrow hips, a fierce expression of protectiveness stiffening the dark mahogany planes of her proud face. The thick gold ring punched through the center of her lower lip glittered in the muted lights of the room as she glared in Jack’s direction.

      “Jack knows he isn’t welcome around here.”

      “Good to see you too, Shawna.” Jack’s expression showed no reaction to her bristly greeting. “As disagreeable as ever, I see.”

      “You ain’t even seen disagreeable, big brother.” She turned away from him and concentrated on me. “Brian told me you’d arrived. I came down right after work. Couldn’t get away earlier. Another supervisor retired, and I’ve been picking up the slack. Damn hiring freeze.”

      She scowled and then moved over to stand next to me. “How’s he doing?”

      “No change,” I said, leaning down to hug her. She clung to me for a few seconds, her head nestled against my shoulder as if trying to soak in some of my strength. I’d always envied Shawna her petiteness. Without meaning to, she had always managed to make me feel like an Amazon.

      “The docs been in today?” she asked finally, stepping back.

      “Earlier. They didn’t have anything to say. The usual grunts and nods. Which seem to be the typical way of imparting information around this place.”

      Shawna nodded and rearranged the sheet lying across Charlie’s chest. Her nails, long and meticulously painted, showed bloodred against the white linen. “Drake and I are taking the night shift. He told me to tell you to go home and get some sleep. You and Courtney have day duty.”

      I sighed. Did they really think I was going to leave Charlie’s bedside? “I’m fine right here.” I nodded toward the cushioned high-backed chair in one corner of the room. “I’ll catch some Z’s right over there if I get too tired.”

      Shawna shook her head. “They only allow two of us in the room at a time.”

      “Then I’ll sleep out in the waiting room.”

      “You’re not going to do Charlie any good if you’re dead on your feet,” Jack said quietly from the end of the bed.

      I bristled. “No one asked for your input.”

      It was Shawna’s turn to sigh. “Look, as much as I hate to admit it, Jack’s right. You need to keep strong.”

      Jack moved toward the door. “When Pop wakes up, will you at least give me a call?”

      “Sure,” Shawna said.

      I let her do the talking. If I had my way, he’d be the last person I called to tell the good news, but in this case I bowed to Shawna’s diplomatic skills.

      He zipped his jacket, pulling up the collar in preparation for heading outside. His gaze shifted to me. I stiffened.

      “Take care of yourself, Killian.” His tone had a certain softness to it, as if he were trying to connect with me. To reach out and touch the part of me that had once loved him.

      “You, too,” I said curtly.

      He walked out and Shawna shot me a quick look. “Still haven’t gotten over him, have you?”

      I stiffened. “What makes you say that?”

      “The fact that your hostility has an undeniably passionate edge to it.”

      She looked me up and down and shook her head knowingly. “No doubt about it, sistah, you’re still holding a torch for that one.”

      “Boy, are you living in a dream world.”

      I glanced away so she couldn’t read any more of the raw emotions flickering across my face. Shawna was only three years older than me, but she had a tendency to take on the role of the all-knowing older sister, a trait that never ceased to annoy me. Basically, I hated her uncanny ability to read me.

      “Well, he’s gone and that’s all that matters for now.” She picked up a small package on the bedside table and slipped out a premoistened swab. She leaned over the rail to moisten Charlie’s chapped lips around the adhesive tape securing the breathing tube in his mouth.

      “Jack’s been pretty decent about staying out of our way these past few years. I can’t really fault him for wanting to stop by and see Pop now.” She glanced up, her dark eyes wistful. “Pop never hated anyone in his entire life. He didn’t even fault Jack for testifying against him in court. He forgave him—told all of us to forgive him, too.”

      “Guess I’m not as kindhearted as Pop,” I said. “But then, he’s always been soft when it came to dealing with Jack. In fact, he was too kindhearted toward all of us. None of us deserved him. Or Claire.”

      Shawna reached up and touched my shoulder. “Save it, sweetie. He’s gonna pull through this. He’s too strong to give up.” She swallowed her own obvious pain. “Craig Gibson, Pop’s lawyer, stopped by yesterday. Charlie has a health proxy and a will. He appointed you as the executor of his estate and gave you power of attorney.”

      I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Me? Why me?”

      Shawna shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that the suit who stopped by here said for you to get in touch with him as soon as you arrived.”

      She glanced over at the clock hanging over the head of Charlie’s bed. “Too late now, but he wants to see you in his office tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Something to do with Charlie’s will.” She patted my arm. “Now get some rest. You need to be fresh for Pop in the morning.”