Indivisible Line (28 page)

Muttering an oath, Cade struck her in the head with the butt of the gun and added a hard slap across her face. “You made me miss, you stupid bitch.” His tone was one of a man possessed by inner demons, one hundred percent focused on completing his mission.

Cassandra ended up unconscious in a heap of limbs on the floor, and Greg realized his chances of getting out alive were growing slimmer by the second.
 
His mind raced while he tried to move away from Cade—the sofa wasn’t going to protect him from gunfire.
 

Footsteps advanced, and another shot rang out. Greg only had a brief moment to register Cade’s wild eyes looking down at him before he felt pain radiating in his lower limb. He’d been hit. His eyes traveled down to his injured leg and tried to assess his situation. The darkness made it difficult to discern the damage, but he knew he’d been struck in his right thigh. Greg cried out, feeling the same pain and experiencing the same fear he’d endured in Alaska.

With nothing he could use to fight back, he clutched at his thigh and tried to crawl away on what was now his “good” leg. Greg felt blood gushing from the wound, and more strength seeped out of him with every passing moment. He refused to die now, no matter how loud Death knocked on his door. If the Reaper did manage to claim him right here and now, his one regret would be not telling Sarah how he felt about her.

“I think this time I’ll make sure you’re dead.” Cade’s maniacal laugh rang out, and he walked closer, his footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor with every step.
 

Despite the pain every movement elicited, Greg turned his body around to meet Cade’s gaze with determined resolve. If he were to die, it wouldn’t be running away like a coward. The other man’s expression held no remorse, no pity, and no awareness—just pure hatred.

 
“Why do you hate me so much?” Greg asked through gritted teeth. The question had been nagging at him since Cade’s first attack.

His former best friend smirked and pointed the gun at his head. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t like people who get have everything just handed to them. Money, women—”

Without warning, the door blasted open, and a shot rang out. Cade fell face-first onto the floor, blood oozing from his head. Silence fell around them before Greg could even comprehend what had just happened. His vision blurred, and the next thing he knew, Simon was kneeling next to him, his expression grim.

The sound of sirens blared all around him, and everything moved in slow motion.

“Greg, buddy, how are you doing?” Simon searched his face before turning his attention to Greg’s injured leg. “Damn it! I knew something was wrong when you didn’t return right away. I shouldn’t have listened to you and come sooner.”

“Simon, I’m fine. Check on Cassandra.” Unbearable pain shot through his Greg’s leg, and he bit his lip hard to keep from crying out. Distant sounds of footsteps echoed, and he became aware of voices from people gathering outside the apartment.

“No.” Simon had already started moving, cursing under his breath all the while. He removed his belt and cinched the leather on Greg’s thigh with deft motions.
 

When the binding tightened around his leg, Greg cried in agony. He closed his eyes while the excruciating pain shot through his system like adrenaline. Nausea gripped him, but he opened his eyes and tried to lift his head to look at Cade’s motionless body. His head started to spin, and blackness soon swallowed him with an overwhelming, sick familiarity.

Sarah let herself into the darkened penthouse a little before midnight. There was no telling if Greg had made it home yet, but she doubted it. From the look of things, Greg had been enjoying himself with his wife. They must have gone somewhere and—.

She reined her mind and pushed the vision away. She couldn’t go there. Even so, nothing could stop the little voice from asking,
You think they’re not doing what you’re afraid they are, Sarah? You want Greg for yourself, don’t you?
She wanted to shout her denial, but who was she kidding? The answer had been staring her in the face all along. As much as she’d tried to curb her feelings for Greg, her heart had refused to listen. She’d fallen in love with him.

Sarah tiptoed to her bedroom, making as little noise as possible so as not to wake the whole household. The thing she needed was Matilda’s maternal questioning or another lecture on what a proper lady should do and why she shouldn’t stay out late with a man she didn’t know well.

Had Matilda meant to refer to Greg, too? Because sure as the sky was blue, Sarah didn’t know the guy at all. No matter how much she made herself believe she did, she had no idea what the man was capable of. This evening had left her with so many unanswered questions. Why go out with the woman he’d sworn had broken his heart? Why had he made that large contribution to her tribe? She was certain it had been him—she just hadn’t found the chance to confront him about it yet. Why had he gone to such extremes to pull her out of her life in Los Angeles?
 

As much as she wanted to believe Greg’s assurances, Sarah had a nagging feeling that he was keeping something from her. She’d been living at his house, eating his food, using his provisions, and attending a prestigious medical school with his generous funding. Her acceptance of his proposal had been based solely on the information he had given her. It was her understanding that she would repay him by helping to find answers for his recurrent medical problems that stemmed from her radical blood transfusion and the surgery she’d performed on him.

It had been close to four months, and not once had she been summoned to answer questions from his doctor. She wasn’t as stupid as Greg appeared to think. There was a hidden agenda behind their arrangement, and she’d be damned if she didn’t get to the bottom of things soon.

Removing her clothes, Sarah tossed them into the hamper, grabbed her robe from the closet, and proceeded into the bathroom. She adjusted the water temperature before pulling her hair from its tie. Working her fingers through the tangled strands, she looked at herself long and hard in the mirror.

What had she become? Was she just a rebellious daughter trying to prove herself to the world, as her father had said? Thinking back, if it hadn’t been for Greg, she wouldn’t have been able to stand on her own two feet. Shame crept in when the realization hit her.

Greg’s father had called her a gold digger. The words stung because they held some truth. She had been using him all along. She’d used his generosity to advance in a society that seemed to find her odd and different.

Maybe her father had been right. She should’ve just stayed in Beaver.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder and found the water in the tub had reached a good level. She dipped her toe in, testing the temperature. The water’s warmth invited her in, and she lowered her body into the tub, hoping a long soak would relax her aching muscles. She let her head rest at the edge of the claw foot tub and closed her eyes.

For the next hour, Sarah soaked in the water and let her mind wander. Jeremy had been gracious enough to accept her poor excuse for her selfish behavior. Before they’d parted, she had made it clear to him that they could only ever be friends.

Her heart already belonged to someone else, and she was just not capable of reciprocating Jeremy’s feelings. It was a good thing that he’d taken her explanation like the gentleman he was, accepting her apology with grace.

At least she had taken care of the issue before it could become a full-fledged problem. Leading Jeremy on would have been a big mistake, which could have blown up in her face. Sarah felt a bit better with that matter resolved, but she still had issues she needed to discuss with Greg. Once and for all, she’d find out the truth, and she would do it tonight.
 

She took a quick look at her prune-like skin and decided she’d soaked long enough. After drying herself off, she changed into sweats, grabbed a book, and walked toward the kitchen. She poured a glass of milk and proceeded to the living room, where she planned to wait for Greg’s return. Sarah settled on the bigger of the two sofas and began reading. She hoped Greg would come home soon.
 

Matilda’s frantic and hysterical voice seeped into Sarah’s subconscious before she woke. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was and why. Opening her eyes, she found Matilda shaking her shoulders.

“Sarah . . . Sarah . . . wake up!”

She registered the older woman’s tear-streaked face with deep concern. “What’s wrong?” Sarah sat up, and the book on her lap slid forgotten to the floor. A quick check on the time told her it was now four in the morning.

 
“Get dressed. We’re going to the hospital.”
 

Matilda pulled Sarah to her feet. Still quite a bit disoriented, she almost stumbled.

“What’s going on? Who’s in the hospital?” Sarah braced her hands on the sofa, her instincts telling her to prepare for a shock.

“Greg. He was shot again last night!” Matilda cried and yanked her arm again.

“What?” Sarah’s cry filled the room.
Dotson’Sa . . . why do you let the troubles keep coming?
 

Sarah ran to her room to dress. She was caught in the same nightmare as before—except this time, she wasn’t there to make sure Greg made it out alive.

Chapter 19

During the short cab ride from the penthouse to the hospital, Sarah shivered underneath her light sweater. In her haste to get to Greg, she’d torn out of the house without grabbing a jacket. During the autumn months in New York, a jacket was as necessary as shoes. The only sound during the miserable fifteen-minute ride had been Matilda’s hoarse crying and the steady click of the taxicab’s meter.

Sarah focused on breathing in and out, regulating her heartbeat, and trying to calm her mind. Chanting the words in her head, she repeated,
He’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay.
She tried to stay positive, thinking about all the things that made Greg special. It was a long list.

Matilda wasn’t able to shed light on what had happened, so Sarah was left to guess. She had a strong suspicion that Cassandra was involved somehow. Who else? Cassandra was the last person he’d been with before the shooting. Other than his wife, Sarah was ignorant of any potential suspects. After all, Greg kept most of his personal business private, clamming up when Sarah started asking questions. Come to think of it, she couldn’t blame him. There were things in everyone’s past that they would rather not dwell on.

When the cabbie pulled up outside the ER, Sarah realized she had been in such hurry that she’d left without her purse and her cell phone. She wouldn’t be able to cover the cab fare. In response to her helpless glance, Matilda pulled out several bills from her wallet and paid the driver. Getting out of the cab and hurrying up the steps, they raced to the reception desk to inquire on Greg’s condition. They were relieved to learn that Greg’s surgery had gone well and that they could find him resting in his hospital suite.

Feeding off each other’s remaining strength, the two women barreled through the double glass doors and hopped in an elevator to get to the main wing. Once the elevator opened, they took off again, winding through endless loops and turns in countless corridors before they found Greg’s room. There were two uniformed officers stationed outside, and Sarah’s heart leapt in fear upon seeing them. In her experience, cops came when someone was in trouble for doing something wrong. Was Greg in trouble?

Matilda almost ran past the checkpoint when one of the cops stood in her way, the other one blocking access to Greg’s hospital door. “Ladies, I need your IDs, please, and your relation to Mr. Andrews,” the taller officer said, eyeing each of them with contempt.

In an apparent daze, Matilda pulled out her chunky wallet from her purse and showed the man her identification. “Matilda Rector, Mr. Andrew’s nanny and housekeeper,” she stated in a clear and distinct tone that oozed maternal authority.

“Okay.” The cop nodded and turned to Sarah. “And yours?”

She hesitated. “I was in such a hurry to get here, I forgot my purse. My name’s Sarah Jones. I’m a friend of Greg—Mr. Andrews.” Sarah looked at the officer, her eyes pleading. He must be able to understand that people had a tendency to forget things in moments of extreme stress. Matilda had already slipped in the door, so there was no one to vouch for Sarah.

“I’m sorry. We’re under strict orders to check every single visitor’s credentials.” The man turned away, and Sarah grew frantic.