“He’s the one who poisoned the coffee?”
“He sure is. He’s already handed over the substance—some chemical used for industrial pest management—which I took to Dr. Howell. After looking at a series of photos, Harry identified your brother as the man who hired him to kill you. He was supposed to wait until later this week, but he wanted to head back to New York before the first of the winter storms, so he went to work a little early.”
Jonathan didn’t know what to say. While he was grateful that the doctors could now figure out how to make Cynthia better, he couldn’t absorb the fact that David had actually hired someone to kill him. Hearing it from his brother was one thing, but having a detective fill him in on the details was another.
He stood in the hallway waiting to feel something—anger, rage, frustration. But there was only cold emptiness. He’d always known that his brother had resented his presence. David had longed to be the only Steele son. But murder was a hell of a way to realize his dream.
“I guess he figured embezzling wasn’t enough,” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel. “I appreciate all your hard work on this, Jack.”
“It wasn’t just me,” the detective said. “Once we knew the poison came from the coffee, we had a place to start. Tracking down Harry after that was just a matter of following leads.” He hesitated. “There’s more. The good news for you is David hired Harry directly, so you don’t have to worry about an assassin lurking in your future.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“David and Lisa were involved with some pretty dangerous people. Embezzling from Steele Enterprises was the least of it. I’m not at liberty to go into details, but the FBI is involved. In fact, they’re going to want to talk to you in the next day or so.”
“I’ll talk to them whenever they want,” Jonathan said, wondering what David had been up to. Obviously trying to destroy Steele Enterprises hadn’t been enough. If he’d been willing to kill his own half brother, then he would be capable of a lot of other criminal activities.
“Are those dangerous people the reason David and his wife were killed?” he asked.
“We can’t know for sure,” Stryker told him, “but it makes sense. I have a feeling that this mess isn’t going to be cleaned up for a while.”
Jonathan thanked the man for his information, then returned to the waiting area. Betsy Morgan gazed at him with hopeful eyes.
“That was the police,” he said. “They’ve located the poison and now the doctors will have a clear idea about what to do for an antidote.”
“Thank you for telling me.” She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “You must be exhausted,” she said. “You don’t have to stay here with us.”
He glanced from her to her three kids, huddled together, united by fear of losing their older sister. He might not be much, but from what he could tell, he was all they had.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he told Betsy. “Not until Cynthia is out of danger.
They all gathered around Cynthia’s bed and waited. Even Detective Stryker lingered in the hallway. It was Monday afternoon. Cynthia had been unconscious for thirty-six hours, although in the past few hours she’d showed signs of coming to.
Jonathan stayed near the back of the room. He felt like an interloper at this very private family event. But every time he tried to leave, Betsy dragged him back.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said when he once again inched toward the door. “You stuck with us through the last couple of days. The least we can do is let you be here when she wakes up.”
“Mommy, look!”
One of the twins cried out as Cynthia tossed her head and muttered under her breath.
Betsy was at her side in an instant. She took her daughter’s hand. “Come on, honey. Wake up. You have us all worried and we just want to make sure that you’re feeling better. Then you can sleep some more. Come on, Cynthia. Wake up.”
Jenny and the two boys stood pressed against one side of the bed while Betsy stood guard on the other. Jonathan leaned against the wall by the door and Stryker made calls on his cell phone from the hallway.
“Mom?”
He looked up in time to see Cynthia’s eyelids flutter then open. Betsy beamed at her oldest, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying?” Cynthia asked, then turned to her right and saw Jenny and the boys. “Hey, what are you three doing here?” She blinked. “What am I doing here?”
“You’ve been sick,” her mother said as she stroked her daughter’s face. “But you’re going to be fine and that’s what matters.”
Cynthia shifted slightly on the bed. “Sick? I guess I don’t feel great, but it’s not so bad. My stomach hurts, though. I remember…” Her voice trailed off. “I was at the party and talking to Jonathan Steele. His brother died. I wanted to make sure he was all right before I came home and…”
Her gaze moved around the room and settled on him. Her eyes widened. “Is that really you?”
He pushed away from the wall and leaned against the foot of her bed. “Last time I checked.”
She gave him a weak smile. “What are you doing here?”
He jerked his head toward her family. “They’ve been really worried about you. I stayed because I thought maybe you really were trying to turn into a pumpkin.”
His joke earned him a faint giggle.
He stepped back to let the others have more time with her. Now that she was awake and obviously feeling better he told himself it was time to leave. After all, she would want to be with her family, not some stranger she’d just met.
But it was more difficult to go than he’d thought. Something about the people clustered together around the bed called to him. He wanted to stand close and be a part of the moment. Which was ten kinds of crazy. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anyone.
He glanced once more at the bed, taking in Jenny’s big smile and Cynthia’s delicate features. She was a little pale, but otherwise as pretty as she’d been the night he’d met her. A lot had happened since then.
“Everybody happy?” Stryker asked from the doorway.
“Looks that way.” Jonathan stepped out into the hall to join the detective. “She’s awake, which Dr. Howell said was the next step in her recovery. He’ll check on her tonight. She might be released in the morning.”
“Then we’re down to the final details,” Stryker told him. “You’ll be hearing from protective services this evening. They’ll want to get things going as quickly as possible.”
Jonathan stared at the man. “What are you talking about?”
“The baby.”
Jonathan heard the word, but it didn’t make any sense. “What baby?”
“David and Lisa’s son. Your nephew.”
Stryker kept talking but Jonathan wasn’t listening. A baby? He vaguely remembered David talking about Lisa being pregnant. He’d received a notification of the birth, along with a letter requesting a gift, but nothing else. He and David didn’t spend much time together so he’d never actually seen his nephew.
“He’s been in a temporary foster home for the last couple of days,” the detective was saying, “but you’re welcome to take custody anytime you’d like. As far as we can tell, you’re his only living relative.”
“There has