Chapter 9

 

Thursday

 

“Any change?” Logan asked as he walked into Lena’s room. The two words had replaced any sort of traditional greeting when anyone entered the room, whether they’d been absent for a day or only a few minutes.

“No,” Owen replied softly.

Logan handed him a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, and he mumbled a quick ‘thanks.’ Lena was still in the ICU, but her doctors had seen fit to begin weaning her off of the coma medications the day before. It was still a waiting game, but at least now Owen had the option of staying with her around the clock. Owen had yet to leave the hospital since he’d leapt out of the ambulance the previous Sunday evening, relying on others to supply him with fresh clothing, personal hygiene supplies, and a temporary cell phone. Whether it was due to Mary’s influence or his obvious state of despair, the ICU staff had taken pity on Owen and allowed him to ignore visiting hours. The single visitor rule had been relaxed for Logan as well, for which Owen was grateful. Being left alone with only his thoughts and the continuous beeping of machinery was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity.

“I talked to Valerie a minute ago,” Logan began as he settled into the chair on the opposite side of Lena’s bed. “Apparently, Phelps is harassing the agent in charge of the investigation about releasing Nate’s remains for the funeral. I don’t know what the hell he’s thinking.”

“There can’t be a funeral until Lena is able to be there,” Owen scowled. “And I’d imagine he’s thinking that he wants to get the former boss buried so the employees will fall in line behind him. Things are in flux, and that’s never good for any business. We’re lucky GC is privately owned. Something like this could’ve tanked its stock values.”

“Hmm. Well, Agent Ramsey told him to fuck off, though unfortunately not in so many words. Forensics won’t release the remains until they’ve gotten everything they can from them, and Valerie’s doing what she can to delay it. Lena deserves the opportunity to be there.”

Owen nodded in agreement and fell silent, stifling a growl at the idea of Phelps burying Nate before Lena was even awake. It was bad enough that the man was now working out of Nate’s office and running the company unhindered. Almost unhindered, Owen silently amended. Sean had been sitting in on most of the executive-level meetings at GC, representing Lena’s interests where he could and taking detailed minutes. Phelps had been tolerating his presence with barely-concealed resentment, placating him only in an effort to show his willingness to cooperate. He’d played the role of the recovering victim very well thus far, working long hours in spite of a lingering smoke-induced cough and graciously allowing the authorities liberal access to his ruined home.

Since Lena’s doctors hadn’t been able to give more than a general prediction of when she might wake, Phelps had been able to gain approval for the reading of Nate’s will, regardless of his beneficiary’s absence. Sean had reported back on the details, and as Owen had expected, Phelps was now legally in control of GC until such time as the rightful owner and CEO was able to perform her duties.

Perhaps the only silver lining was that the will lacked any mention of a medical power of attorney for Lena in such an event, which meant the burden of medical decisions fell upon Owen as her fiancé. He’d almost expected Phelps to challenge him on it, but as Sean had said, no one could prove they weren’t actually engaged.

Owen had been carrying the ring in his pocket since he’d purchased it, particularly in light of Nate’s assurance that the right moment to propose would present itself. He briefly considered placing it on Lena’s hand to add support to his claim, but the thought of doing so just felt wrong. As much as he wanted to see his ring on Lena’s delicate finger, he was determined to do it right. He wanted to look into her perfect blue eyes while she smiled her beautiful smile and agreed to be his forever.

He shifted anxiously in the uncomfortable vinyl chair as he watched her, trying to discern any infinitesimal movement behind her eyelids or faint twitch of her fingers. His anxiety had been a near-constant companion since the moment the blast had thrown him to the floor of Phelps’ dining room. In the wake of those first horrible hours in the ER, it had waxed and waned in minute increments, neither receding entirely nor overwhelming him completely.

The lingering effects of smoke inhalation barely registered in the shadow of Lena’s condition, but he had at least allowed Mary to continue his treatment. What little sleep Owen had managed to get in the poorly-padded recliner the nurses had smuggled in for him had been disrupted by nightmares and the routine appearances of various hospital staff. He’d eaten only when someone had forced food into his hands.

“I know I’ve said it before, but I appreciate being able to be in here so much,” Logan said quietly, pulling Owen from his troubled thoughts. He didn’t look at Logan as he replied, instead keeping his eyes fixed on Lena.

"You're family. You belong here,” he said simply. Logan paused a moment, contemplating the younger man's words.

"You really mean that, don't you?"

Owen sighed. They'd been over this already, and he wasn't in the mood to reopen that particular conversation. Not when Lena...

"We’re all she has, Logan,” he replied, shaking his head.

They sat together in silence for another few minutes before Logan claimed his attention again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered in disbelief, adding a curse under his breath. Surprised by the abrupt change in his voice, Owen finally looked away from Lena and followed Logan’s gaze to the glass door.

Cook was stationed outside the door once again, having maintained the rotating schedule with Wyatt, and he was speaking to none other than Jeffrey Phelps. Owen stiffened for a moment before adjusting his chair so that he provided more of a protective buffer between Lena and the newcomer. The door opened a moment later, and Phelps’ expression was one of sympathetic grief as he entered.

“Owen,” Phelps greeted him kindly. He extended his hand, but it fell to his side when he spotted Owen’s steadfast grip on Lena’s fingers. Phelps nodded politely to Logan, who gazed stoically back at him. They’d agreed to keep their suspicions under wraps for a little while longer, but neither could bring himself to put on a show for Phelps. “I heard they started weaning her off the coma meds. Any change thus far?”

“Not yet,” Owen admitted reluctantly.

“But they do expect her to wake up?”

Fucking bastard! Owen fumed inwardly.

“Her prognosis is good. These things just take time. Movies and television make it seem instantaneous, but that’s not actually how it works.” He worked to keep his voice even and to conceal the ire that was pulsing through his veins.

“I see. Poor dear. On the one hand, I hope she recovers quickly. On the other hand, I know she’ll be heartbroken to hear about Nate.” Phelps shook his head sadly, gazing at Lena with an expression of benevolence and pity. Owen’s hands shook imperceptibly.

“She’s strong. She’s a fighter.”

“Certainly. I just wish she weren’t in such a state. It seems cruel to let her suffer like this, unable to even breathe on her own.”

“The doctors expect her to make a full recovery,” Logan bluffed, speaking up when Owen’s features darkened with suppressed anger. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t necessarily true either. At this point, no one knew the full extent of Lena’s prognosis.

Owen took the opportunity to really look at Phelps. The facade that concealed the man’s true nature was an impressive one, but beneath his gentle smiles and Southern charm was a snake, cunning and ruthless. To hear him speak as though it might be better for Lena if she never woke up filled Owen with rage, and it was all he could do not to put his fist into the man’s face.

“Well, I just wanted to check in,” Phelps said graciously. “One of you will be sure to let me know when she wakes, please. Nate was my dearest friend, and I want to make sure Lena has everything she needs.”

“Doubling the guard outside the door would be a good start,” Logan volunteered. “Since the investigation is still ongoing, and we don’t know the nature of the… explosion.”

“Hmm,” Phelps frowned in consideration. “Well, I can see the concern, I suppose. But in the unlikely event that the incident was anything other than a simple gas leak, Lena wouldn’t have been the target. Nate either, for that matter. The incident occurred in my home. Now, I’ve increased my own security for obvious reasons, but between the hospital security, the muscle outside of her room, and the two of you… I’m sure you understand that our staff is spread a bit thin at the moment.”

Neither Logan nor Owen replied with more than a nod, and when their eyes met, an understanding passed covertly between them. Phelps, it seemed, had already written her off as a loss, one way or another. Owen had had enough.

“Thanks for stopping by. I’m sure Lena will appreciate your thoughtfulness when she wakes up.”

Phelps’ eyes narrowed slightly, but his benign smile never faltered. He took his leave quietly, and once he was gone, Logan shrugged his shoulders reflexively, as though literally shaking off the chill that had permeated the room in Phelps’ presence.

“Fucker,” he muttered. “I think it’s time I talked to the FBI about what I saw in that alley. It might’ve been a bomb he bought off that guy. It was small, but so was the blast.”

“Does Valerie know?” Owen asked, his eyes returning to Lena’s sleeping face.

“Valerie knows everything.”

“Then talk to her first. Get her take on the situation. She might know the agent working the case well enough to give you advice about it, but if the guy’s in Phelps’ pocket…”

“I know. Son of a bitch…”

“In the meantime, Lena can’t be left alone, even for a second.”

“You never leave anyway,” Logan pointed out.

“Mary pulls me out to shower and eat, and I can’t be awake all the time. Ideally, I want someone both in the room and outside of it at all times.”

“Agreed. We’ll keep her safe, Owen.”

They both gazed at the bandaged, slumbering woman in the bed and winced with remorse. Although they knew no one could’ve protected Lena from the explosion, their guilt spoke louder than their logic, particularly in Owen’s case. He’d turned the situation over in his mind a hundred times since Sunday evening, wishing he and Lena had refused Phelps’ invitation no matter how much Nate had pressured them to show up. If they hadn’t gone, Nate might never have set foot in Phelps’ study. He might still be alive, and his daughter might not be struggling to wake up from a coma. So many things might have gone differently…

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Owen whispered in Lena’s ear. “Please come back to me.”

 

 

“Cook. A word,” Phelps said brusquely, gesturing for the nervous guard to follow him down the hallway.

“I’ve been instructed to stay just outside the door, s—”

“And who is paying your salary?” Phelps cut him off.

Cook shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting toward the glass door through which he could see Logan and Owen. They appeared to be talking, but as usual, their eyes were on Lena. Cook nodded reluctantly and followed Phelps some twenty feet away from Lena’s room. The hallway was quiet, and the room they now stood next to was dark and deserted. Phelps sidled through the open doorway, pulling Cook into the room as well.

“You haven’t reported in two days.” Phelps’ tone was accusatory, and Cook fidgeted slightly.

“I apologize, sir. There hasn’t been much to report other than Miss Gardner being taken off the meds. They keep the door closed, and I haven’t been privy to anything substantial.”

“Information about her prognosis is considered substantial.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

Phelps rolled his eyes, wishing he’d planted someone more resourceful in Lena’s inner circle, or even more than one person. Seth Wyatt was loyal to Nate and had not warmed to his attempts to build a confidence. That meant there had been a fair bit of information Phelps had missed, regardless of his mole.

“You can make it up to me by getting me into that room. Alone.”

Cook’s insides seemed to freeze as the implication penetrated his nervousness. Phelps had backed him into a corner when he’d referred him to Nate as a second bodyguard for Lena. He’d known precisely how to incentivize Cook for his own means, and Cook’s need for extra cash had been greater than his guilt over betraying Lena’s confidence.

But this was different. Reporting back to Phelps on Lena’s habits and conversations had made him feel like a jerk, but what Phelps was now implying was much worse. Cook would be complicit in a serious crime if he obeyed Phelps’ demands now. He genuinely liked Lena, and although he didn’t know her all that well, he could easily see that she was a good person.

“I’m not sure how I could accomplish that, sir,” Cook hedged, his eyes darting back down the hallway to Lena’s door.

“Figure it out. Preferably while she’s still on a fucking respirator.” Much easier that way, Phelps added silently. “Call me when you’ve come up with something. Tomorrow at the latest, Cook. I’m done fucking around with that little brat.”

“Sir…”

Phelps had no trouble reading the sickened expression on Cook’s face, and he sneered threateningly, pulling his cell from his pocket. He tapped the Photos icon and thrust it toward Cook, whose stomach lurched in horror at the image on the screen. He immediately recognized the two young children as well as the playground near his ex-wife’s home where they frequently played. In the foreground of the photo was a gloved hand fingering the trigger of a handgun. Its silencer gleamed slightly in the afternoon sunlight.

“Remember your obligations, Cook. Your vulnerabilities. I know every single one of them, and if you think I won’t—”

“I understand, sir. I’m on duty tomorrow during the day. I’ll come up with something by the end of my shift,” he stammered.

“You’d better. I wouldn’t mind paying a little visit to your ex and the kiddies on my way home from work tomorrow evening. They’re growing up quite nicely, aren’t they?”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Phelps. I’ll contact you as soon as possible.”

“Good man,” Phelps nodded in grim satisfaction and pocketed his cell.

He made no attempt to avoid knocking into Cook’s shoulder as he passed on his way to the elevator, and Cook felt a chill travel the length of his spine as he watched the older man disappear behind the double doors.

 

 

Friday

 

When Cook showed up the following morning to relieve Wyatt, he asked him to stick around for a few minutes. Cook had been awake nearly all night, sick with anxiety over the threats Phelps had made and the orders he’d given. The man’s intentions were clear; he was going to make sure Lena Gardner never woke up. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to help him do it, Cook thought, steeling himself for the inevitable backlash.

Owen and Logan were in their usual places on either side of Lena’s bed. Logan was absorbed in a text conversation with Valerie, and Owen was still fixated on Lena’s face. Cook noticed that her eyelids were fluttering slightly now and realized there may not have been as much time as Phelps had hoped. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat quietly.

“Sirs, if you don’t mind, there’s something we need to discuss.”

“Is there a problem?” Owen lifted one brow, looking away from Lena only briefly.

“I’m afraid so. I’m uh… I’m going to need you to keep an open mind and please let me say everything before you respond.”

Both men were frowning at him now, confusion and alarm dominating their features.

“Get on with it then,” Logan said warily.

“Yes, sir. As you know, I was assigned to Miss Gardner’s protective detail after the shooting. I didn’t know her prior to that, and I had only been contracted for security work periodically up to that point. But… not for Mr. Gardner. My initial contact at GC was Mr. Phelps.”

Owen felt his muscles tense instinctively and forced himself to remain silent until Cook was finished.

“I believe he recommended me to Mr. Gardner after the shooting, and I’m ashamed to admit that Miss Gardner’s safety wasn’t the only reason I was chosen. Mr. Phelps knew I needed the job very badly for personal reasons related to my family, and…”

“And what?” Logan growled, rising to his feet. “What was it you were doing for him while you were supposed to be protecting Lena?”

Cook glanced cautiously at Owen, who was breathing heavily. The expression on his face was ominous. He had the look of a man trying like hell to control himself, and Cook swallowed convulsively before continuing.

“I was to report back to him with her typical routines and anything I might hear about him or GC in general.”

Owen’s tenuous hold on his temper slipped, and in an instant, he had Cook pinned against the opposite wall. His fist was drawn back, and Cook made no attempt to dodge or block him, but Logan’s iron grip prevented Owen from connecting the blow.

“Alright, come on, man,” Logan grunted, struggling to intervene. “Back off and just breathe, Owen.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! He sold her out to the man who fucking murdered her father and tried to kill her too!” Owen was shouting, and it didn’t take long for Wyatt to appear in the doorway. With his help, Logan was able to pry Owen off of Cook and put some space between them, but Logan didn’t back away from Cook.

“Keep talking. Why are you telling us this now?” Logan demanded.

“I’m sorry. I truly am. I didn’t have a choice. He’s threatening my family. My kids.” Wyatt looked confused, but Logan and Owen both grew a bit calmer as Cook went on. “I didn’t realize why he wanted the information or what he would do with it.”

“You said something about money. So, which way was it? He paid you off or he threatened you?” Owen snarled.

“He knew I needed money for my kids. One of them has a chronic health issue, and my insurance doesn’t cover everything. My ex-wife can’t afford it either, and the extra money was going toward the medical bills. The threat came yesterday,” Cook explained shakily. “He wanted me to do something else, and he could tell I didn’t want to. So, he showed me a picture on his cell phone of some thug with a gun watching my kids at the park.”

“And what was it he wanted you to do?”

“He… he wants me to get him into this room. Alone.”

“Son of a bitch!” Owen shouted, pushing against Logan who was once again blocking his path to Cook.

“That’s enough! Owen, you’ve got to calm down! The nurses will throw all of us out. Now shut up!”

“He wants to kill her! Third time’s the charm, right, Cook?”

“He’s not going to get a chance!” Logan shouted over him, shaking his shoulders a little. Owen stopped struggling, but his expression was murderously enraged. “Stop and think for a second, dammit. Cook didn’t have to come clean with us, but he did. He hasn’t hurt Lena—”

“How do we know that something he told Phelps didn’t set all of this shit in motion?”

Logan wasn’t sure how to answer that and looked back at Cook.

“Well? Is that what happened?”

“I don’t know, sir. I wasn’t aware that he was behind any of it, and I still can’t say for sure. He’s deliberately vague about almost everything,” Cook answered quickly. “I didn’t realize you all suspected him of anything because I never really heard anyone talk about him.”

“And what did you tell him yesterday when he told you to get him into this room?” Owen growled. Cook shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

“I told him I’d come up with a plan and call him after my shift today.”

Logan felt Owen shake with renewed anger, but to his surprise, Owen made no further attempt to introduce the errant bodyguard to his right hook. The room was silent for a few moments while everyone digested the information.

It was clear now that Phelps was more than willing to commit murder to achieve his goals, even if it meant doing the job himself. He’d most likely hired the hit, as they’d suspected, and there was a very good possibility he’d gone so far as to plant a bomb in his own house.

“He did it,” Owen said with dark certainty. “He bought a bomb off a guy in an alley and planted it in his own study. Then, he baited Nate and Lena into an argument with each other and told them exactly where they could go to talk it out in private. He knew exactly what was going to happen.”

“Then what was the trigger? How could he have been sure it would work?” Logan asked, starting to pace the room now that Owen no longer seemed motivated to beat Cook to a pulp. Owen was silent as the chain of events from Sunday evening replayed in his mind.

“His cell phone. He’d just gotten back from that business trip with his daughter, and he said his emails were backed up because he’d only been reading the urgent ones. He was on his phone almost as soon as they were out of the room.”

“I’d be willing to bet that business trip was bullshit. It’s a good alibi. Makes it look like the bomb must’ve been planted while he was out of the country, but even if it was, he could’ve easily paid someone to do it.”

“Sirs, if I may,” Wyatt interrupted. His tone was even, but his expression was a shade less composed than usual. “This can be used to our advantage. If Phelps is under the impression that Cook is an asset, then it might be possible to obtain the evidence the authorities need to prosecute him. He needs to talk to Agent Ramsey immediately.”

“He’s right,” Logan agreed, looking at Cook sternly. “You’re going to make this up to Lena by testifying against Phelps. You’re going to let the FBI protect your family, and you’re going to help them get whatever evidence the need on this bastard.”

“They can keep my family safe? Even from someone like Phelps?”

“They’re the best chance you’ve got. You owe her this.” They exchanged a long look, but Cook eventually nodded his assent, shame and remorse coloring his expression.

The tension hovered in the room like an oppressive fog, but it was broken unexpectedly by a gagging, choking sound. Four sets of eyes darted toward the bed where Lena was thrashing against the sheets, her hands tugging weakly at the endotracheal tube.

“Get a doctor in here now!” Owen shouted, and Wyatt vanished swiftly. “Baby! Lena, calm down! It’s alright. I’m right here. You’re okay!”

Lena’s eyes practically screamed for help, but her voice was useless. The heart monitor beeped erratically in time with her anxious pulse, and Owen had to catch hold of her hands to stop her from hurting herself.

“Where’s the damn doctor?!”

Logan, Wyatt, and Cook scooted out of the way, and the room became a flurry of activity as multiple doctors and nurses poured through the doorway, forcing Owen away from the bed. One of them calmly explained to Lena that they would need to extubate her so she could breathe freely, and Owen felt relief flood his system when she finally stopped struggling to pull the tube out herself. He forced himself to stay back, peeking around the numerous bodies for a glimpse of her, but his self-control evaporated the moment he heard her weak, scratchy voice.

“Owen.”