Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(97)

“I wanted you out of the way for a while.”

“Why? I was going to London. Isn’t that out of the way enough?” Mental head smack. “The girls were for Timothy.”

Royce took a step forward.

Anger stirred fresh behind Hannah’s ribs. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I actually know how to use this gun.” She reached for her cell phone and dialed 911. “Oh, and I quit.”

Two hours later, Hannah sat in a plastic chair in an NYPD chief’s office with a cold cup of coffee cradled in her hands. The police had her recording of her conversation with Royce. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and there was only one person she wanted to talk to. She dialed Brody’s number.



Rain misted Hannah’s face as she stared at the front door of the nursing home.

“Are you all right?” Brody reached around her and opened the door.

Hannah let out the breath she’d been holding. “I don’t know.” Her nerves were as frayed as a worn end of rope.

“It’ll be OK.” Brody put his hand on the small of her back and steered her into the lobby.

Hannah breathed. Her lungs had felt inelastic since the nursing home had called her thirty minutes before to tell her that the Colonel had had difficulty breathing. She’d planned to visit this afternoon but had come immediately instead.

She checked at the reception desk. “How is he?”

The nurse smiled, but her eyes were sad. “His breathing was labored earlier this morning, but he seems a bit better now.”

Hannah swallowed and nearly choked. Brody took her hand, his body heat burning hot against her icy skin. She led him to the acute care wing and paused outside her father’s room. Through the open doorway, she watched a young male medical tech check the Colonel’s vital signs. The young man jotted the readings on a clipboard. Leaving the room, he nodded to them on his way out. Grant was sitting in a chair by the bed. Seeing Hannah and Brody, he joined them in the hall. He and the family had returned home the day before, and he’d been furious when she’d told him everything that had happened while he was away. But his eyes held no anger this morning.

She looked around him into her father’s room. “How is he?”

Grant lifted a hand. “Maybe a little better. Hard to say.”

“Forgive me yet?” she asked.

“No.” Grant gave her a small smile. “But I still love you. I haven’t heard from Mac. Do you know where he is?”

Hannah shook her head. “No. I haven’t heard from him since I picked up the dog at his place on Saturday night.”

Grant’s mouth tightened as he stepped aside so she could enter the room.

Hannah let out a smooth breath. Channeling Grant, she left her expectations at the door. Go with the flow.

Brody took her wet coat and hung it on the back of a chair by the door. Stepping up to the bedside, she took in her father’s continued deterioration. His skin looked tighter, almost translucent. His chest rose with a wheeze and deflated with a shudder. How long could he live like this? His life was nothing but misery. Death would be a kindness for him, but the Colonel would never go gently. It was his nature to scratch and claw for one more breath. His fighting spirit was the one trait dementia couldn’t defeat.

His eyelids fluttered and opened. He blinked between her and Brody a few times. Several seconds passed before he focused on her. His lips moved. No words emerged, but his expression changed. Once recognition took hold, his gaze never left her face, as if Brody weren’t there. On the bed, the Colonel’s fingers curled in a Come here gesture. Hannah reached out and took his hand. Brody moved a chair behind her, and she lowered her body onto the seat. Brody’s hand on her shoulder grounded her.

The Colonel’s eyes closed again. Every breath seemed as if it could be his last. But an hour later, the pattern eased into deep sleep. His hand relaxed and released Hannah’s. She let go.

In the hallway, Brody held her coat up. Hannah slipped her arms into the sleeves.

He put an arm around her. “That was rough.”

“Yes.” She rested her head on his shoulder, grateful for his support.

They passed the nurses’ station, and Hannah asked, “You’ll call me if he gets any worse?” Her chest constricted with the thought of the Colonel dying alone.

“Of course,” the nurse said.

Brody led her out of the building. Hannah lifted her face to the light rain. The mist refreshed her hot skin.

“Do they know how long he has?” Brody asked.

Hannah sniffed. “His body was ready to give up about a year ago.”

“But he won’t let go.”

“He can’t,” she said simply. “It’s not good or bad. It’s simply the way it is.” When the Colonel was ready, he wouldn’t ease into death. He’d march.

Just as she must concede control of her father’s condition, it was also time to accept all the good and bad from her childhood and move on. Hardship had molded her into a resilient person. The training drills and lessons from her childhood were crazy, but without them, would she have survived her encounter with Mick Arnette? Probably not.

“I’m probably never going to be a warm or fuzzy person,” she said.

Brody raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Where did that come from?”