Almost Dead (Lizzy Gardner #5)(4)

“The decision was made before the first bullet hit Jared’s chest,” Lizzy said. “The advance directive Jared signed putting me in charge of his care was for exactly this purpose. But Jared’s family has decided to bring the matter to court. They want to keep Jared on feeding tubes and ventilators, everything Jared didn’t want.”

“It doesn’t help that his family and you don’t see eye to eye,” Linda said. “I think it would be in your best interest—”

“Don’t say it,” Lizzy said, cutting her off. “I have too many people as it is telling me how to handle the situation. I’m dealing with things the same way I’ve dealt with everything that’s happened in my life.” She uncrossed her legs and sat up straight. “I take it one day at a time. I get out of bed, get dressed, brush my teeth, and go to work. I can’t say I’m stopping to smell the roses, but I’m here, aren’t I?”

A deafening silence came between them.

“I’ll be fine,” Lizzy added.

“When are you planning on moving back into your house?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?”

“Too many memories.”

“You can’t run from them forever.”

Lizzy looked at the clock on the wall. “I need to get going.” She stood. “I’ll see you next week.” Lizzy pointed a finger at Linda, who still sat on the couch, unmoving, her brow severely puckered. “I’m not holding back,” Lizzy told her. “I will be fine. We’ll all be fine.”





CHAPTER 3

Tonight, Hayley was working with Kitally on the Steven Dow case.

His wife, Mrs. Beverly Dow, had hired Lizzy Gardner Investigations to find out if her husband was cheating. Lizzy didn’t usually take on infidelity cases, but for whatever reason, when Beverly Dow had shown up at the downtown office, Lizzy hadn’t balked. She had merely drawn up a contract, asked the woman to sign on the dotted line, and forgotten all about her.

If Lizzy’s work ethic continued on this way for too long, Hayley knew she would be forced to talk to her about it. But for now, Hayley kept track of every move Lizzy made and did her best to clean up after her.

After watching Mr. Dow on and off for the past two weeks and getting nowhere, Hayley and Kitally decided to do things a little differently tonight.

Hayley sat in her Chevy, slumped down behind the wheel, her gaze set on the club across the street. Kitally was tonight’s bait, and she had been inside the dimly lit place for forty-five minutes already. Lizzy would not be pleased to know what they were up to—their plan to catch Mr. Dow in the act might be considered entrapment by some—but Hayley really didn’t give a shit. The man was a skank. Period. He needed to be taught a lesson.

According to Beverly Dow, at least twice a week, Mr. Dow told his wife that he had to meet a business client. Sometimes he wouldn’t return home until sunrise. Beverly wanted to know what her husband was up to—that meant recordings and pictures, too.

Boredom set in, and Hayley’s thoughts drifted back to Lizzy. She’d shown up at the office every day, in between funerals and hospital visits. If she wasn’t in the office, she was teaching kids self-defense and trying to act as if nothing in her world had changed. She was obviously just going through the motions, and it was difficult to watch, knowing that any moment now she was going to slam into a wall and it was going to hurt bad. Nobody could keep his or her emotions bottled up forever.

But Hayley didn’t think she should be the one to tell Lizzy it might be a good idea to let some of those emotions out instead of hoarding them all inside, pretending everything was just fine. That would be hypocritical—Hayley herself wasn’t exactly in touch with her own feelings, and she was fine with that—so she said nothing.

She’d just arrived at this conclusion when she saw Kitally stumble out of the nightclub. Her body swayed; the long dreadlock hanging down her back did, too. She bumped into the side of the building and had to catch herself. Hayley was about to go after her when she saw Mr. Dow exit the bar, rush forward, and put a hand around Kitally’s waist, leading her away, keeping her from falling on the sidewalk.

Figuring Kitally was putting on a show, Hayley grabbed the camera, zoomed in, and took a couple of pictures. When Kitally nearly toppled completely over, the sleazeball scooped her into his arms, his hands all over her as if he were trying to steady her.

Something was wrong with this picture. Kitally could handle her alcohol and this was no act, which meant Mr. Dow had slipped something into her drink. Shit.

Hayley took another picture, then set her camera on the passenger seat and turned on the engine. When Mr. Dow pulled out onto the road, she was ready to go. She followed his black Mercedes to a stoplight. Although this had been the plan all along, the plan had not included the man slipping something into Kitally’s drink.

Her nerves were jangled. More than anything, she wanted to slam her car into the back of his shiny black luxury car. Instead, she held in her anger, determined not to lose her cool or, more importantly, Kitally.

When the light changed, the Mercedes shot away from her with a screech of wheels.

He was wise to her.

Hayley’s Chevy Impala was a piece of shit, but the tires and the suspension were solid, taking curbs as if they were nothing more than a rough patch of road. He was going close to sixty on a narrow street packed tight with cars parked on both sides. Usually she wouldn’t worry so much about Kitally. She was a tough girl. She could handle herself when she was sober, but not like this.