Chapter Forty Her

Chapter Forty Her

Present Day

“I was serious. We need to talk about hiring a bodyguard for you.”

The detective left and Mom ventured upstairs to look at the bedroom wall again. I expected Elias to launch into a “be more

careful around Detective Sessions” lecture. Not this.

“Are you worried if something happens to me your bill won’t get paid? Because you’re the estate guy. I bet you can pay yourself.”

Elias tensed. “I don’t want you to get hurt and it’s starting to feel like a distinct possibility.”

Unexpected. Interesting. Genuine care for my well-being. Almost dad-like. Not the kind of thing I was used to at all. “You

believe me about the camera and the tree?”

“Of course.”

Not of course . I expected doubt. Pushback. Support scared the hell out of me because what did it mean? What would he demand in return?

Sarcasm stood as my usual go-to move in situations like this. Hide behind a thick wall of pretend indifference and barbed responses. I’d been taught not to show panic and punished for the one time I gave in to fear. That didn’t leave a lot of healthy responses to counter danger.

But a curated response failed me. “I think the attacker was a man.”

Not sure why I said it, but it was true. The detective barely asked. It might not be a bad idea for someone to know in case

this nightmare scenario kept happening.

“Wyatt?”

“The body size was wrong.” I understood Elias’s question but couldn’t see that answer. Wyatt personified outraged young man syndrome every time he stopped by the house, but he seemed equal parts confused and pissed. Still spouting the rah-rah party

line about his dad and painting me as the homewrecker, which to Wyatt I was, but also struggling to make what he was told

about me line up with what he saw.

I didn’t know the kid and he might have learned diversion and lying tactics at his father’s knee. He might be a rabid misogynist

and all-around jackass. All possible. But under all the bluster Wyatt could just be a kid who’d been lied to and bullied in

his own house and never taught any skills to deal with real world issues.

Another Dougherty family victim.

“That brings me back to the bodyguard idea,” Elias said.

As usual, there was something Elias wasn’t saying as he said something. I could hear the blank spaces. “Why?”

He studied me for a few seconds before speaking. “My investigator located August Christopher, the doctor implicated in Ben

Cullen’s surgery death.”

The idea of Elias having an investigator on speed dial started my nerves spinning. “And?”

“August didn’t leave the area. He doesn’t have another job. It looks like he’s been staying on property owned by his great-aunt in Fishkill, about an hour away.”

So many questions. “Looks like?”

“My investigator hasn’t seen him, but his backpack was there. His car is hidden under a tarp in an outbuilding.”

I shifted in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position in case bad news came next. “I feel like we’re playing a

strange game where I have to guess context and facts from your clues.”

“The investigator is still working. There are some limits on what he can do, but he was able to track a vehicle that was parked

on the Fishkill property earlier. Not August’s car but another one registered to the great-aunt. That car has been in Rye.

In your neighborhood.”

“Your guy followed August?” And August was stalking me? That didn’t make any sense. “How does August even know to come after

me?”

“We’ll ask him when we grab him, but now you know why I want someone with you at all times.”

A mix of stray and fragmented memories bombarded my brain. I mentally searched for what this August guy looked like then gave

up. Wading through every thought and every fear, I landed on an unrelated question. That seemed safer. “Did you have this

investigator look into my past? I assume Richmond ordered that.”

Elias just sat there.

So, yes. Not a surprise. I suspected it. I’d lived my entire life creating as little footprint as possible, which I hoped made things harder. Until recently, I didn’t have a bank account. I paid for things in cash and didn’t own anything. I lived my life at a sprint to make it harder for Mom to corner me. Those skills happened to hide the pieces of my life Richmond likely hoped to latch on to before we got married.

“Much to Richmond’s annoyance, the investigator had some difficulty finding out the particulars about your past.” Elias reached

for his coffee mug then abandoned the move, letting his hand drop on the table. “He couldn’t find a birth certificate to match

Lance, the last name you used before Dougherty, but I stopped the work when Richmond died.”

“Wouldn’t it have been smarter to ramp up the surveillance, or whatever you were doing, in case I was a killer?”

“Richmond wanted to know who you were and why you were targeting him. Once I took over your representation I figured it was

better that I not know.” Elias smiled for the first time since I woke up after the attack. “Clients don’t appreciate my looking

into their backgrounds.”

“Funny how that works.” There wasn’t anything amusing about any of this, but I was trying to hold it together.

Elias ran right over that. “Now that you know August is in the area be extra vigilant.”

“No more jaunts to the mailbox. Got it.”

Elias glanced into the hall. “Your mother. What do I need to know?”

I appreciated the expert lawyering that went into that innocuous question. I wasn’t in the mood to watch my words, so I didn’t

try. The only concession I made to her being in the house was to lower my voice to a soft whisper. “Don’t let the pretty face

fool you.”

“I can tell she’s difficult.”

“Toxic.” And she was fine with turning me into roadkill.

He made a noise that sounded like humming. “Do you trust her? Will she protect you if this all goes to hell?”

He didn’t write me off as dramatic. Another new sensation. “No.”

“Any chance she attacked you at the mailbox? She was in this house.”

“No.” But the question had moved in and out of my head over the last hour. I wanted to believe no. The direction of the attack

was wrong. She weighed less than I did. Unless she’d attended expert-level self-defense training she wouldn’t have been able

to keep me from seeing her face. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she used my money to hire someone to keep me in line.

Elias sat back in his chair. “Seems like a lot of people want to hurt you.”

“Weird, right? I’m lovely.”

He picked up his mug again. “You’re a survivor.”

For days, sometimes weeks, I pretended to be. “I’m an escapee.”

The mug stopped halfway to his mouth. “Is there a difference?”

A huge and, for me, insurmountable one. “I didn’t survive. I ran. The problem with running is it’s not permanent. Dodging

and hiding become your whole existence because the escape is never final. The pain finds you and dumps you back in that dark

place until you build enough resilience to run again.”

Elias looked worried now. “That’s how you view your life? Yourself?”

“That’s who and what I am.” I didn’t see that changing.