Chapter 11
COLE
The last twenty-four hours have been a roller coaster from beginning to end: cops, ambulances, crime labs, interviews.
statements, public relations damage control through our family’s attorneys and Morgan Enterprises’ PR department, framing this as an individual attack on a wedding guest, so as not to tank Willow’s agency for good.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask Sheila.
She’s in the kitchen, obsessively wiping down every surface after having fired the entire staff—except Ian. He’s been with our family for too long.
“Upstairs, resting. He didn’t take any of this well, at all. The doctor recommended bed rest and sedatives for the rest of the week,” she says, spraying another counter before wiping it with a dry paper towel.
“And Terrence and Katrina?”
“Off on their honeymoon, as far away from here as possible,” Sheila replies.
“I’ve got a mountain of emails and text messages to answer about yesterday, but this is the only thing I can do.
” She pauses and turns around to face me as I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a seat at the breakfast table. “How are Jamie and Willow holding up?”
I lift an eyebrow at her, trying to figure out what’s going through her head.
She scoffs and turns away. “Forgive me for caring.”
“I’m just surprised.”
“Well, don’t be. I may not be your favorite person, Cole, but I don’t exactly condone attempted murder, especially not at my son’s wedding. Whoever did that nearly ruined the best day of his life. It’s unforgivable.”
She shudders and shakes her head as if to erase the memory altogether, then goes on wiping another counter down until it’s sparkling.
The citrus smell of the disinfectant spray stings my nose, but I try to ignore it.
My blood is still boiling. I still see a potential killer in almost everyone I meet.
Somebody tried to kill Willow.
My woman. Our woman. And I won’t rest until I figure out who the fucker is. They’d better pray the cops find them first, though.
“That whole incident must’ve damaged her business image, as well,” Sheila adds after a long and heavy pause. “How is she, Cole? Talk to me.”
“Willow is fine, Sheila. You don’t have to worry about her. We’ve got our PR teams out there in the media, doing a hell of a lot of damage control. The authorities are doing their jobs, too. No one died; that’s what matters.”
“And Jamie?”
“He’s at home already. Willow’s with him. His ex came back to help him, as well,” I reply. “The cops are still looking for one of the waiters who worked the wedding, though.”
Sheila stops and turns around again, this time with a deep frown. “What are you talking about?”
“They’re interviewing every member of the staff from the manor and the catering company,” I say, “including the ones you fired yesterday. There’s one guy they can’t account for, Brett Harvey… Ever heard the name?”
“No, why would I have?” Sheila seems just as confused. “Does Willow know the guy? She’s the one who hired the catering company. All I did was go over the menus with Katrina. I barely said two words to the serving staff yesterday.”
“She knows even less than you, at this point.”
She sighs deeply, and I see the defeated slump of her shoulders. It’s uncharacteristic for a woman like Sheila. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s almost as scared as Willow about what happened.
“They could’ve poisoned any one of us,” Sheila says, staring at her high-heeled shoes.
Her entire outfit screams middle-aged beauty queen, yet here she stands, spray bottle and paper towel in her hands, wiping down a kitchen after a rash firing decision.
“Me. You. My son… God, they could’ve put strychnine on my son’s plate! ”
“Or Katrina’s,” I add. “But they didn’t, Sheila, this was targeted. They went after Willow specifically.”
“Yet another reason I’m glad Terrence was done with her.”
I give her a hard look. “Really, Sheila?”
“You should be careful, too,” she insists. “You and your brothers. I mean, who knows what kind of skeletons she’s got in her closet. Someone went to the trouble of tarnishing my son’s wedding to kill her, okay? That’s just… That’s sick!” She quivers and breaks down crying.
I don’t remember ever seeing her like this before. For Sheila, composure is everything. She’d have given the late Queen of England a run for her money, any time, any day. But the Sheila I’m watching now is scared, shaking, sobbing like a little girl. I actually feel sorry for her.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say, rising from my seat. I’m about to go over and pat her shoulder for some form of comfort, but she moves closer first.
She wraps her arms around my waist, and I hear the clatter of the spray bottle as it hits the floor. “Just hold me, Cole.”
“Sheila—”
“Don’t you miss this?”
The question slides in like a poisonous snake, the kind of snake that slithers into your garden, and you don’t even know it’s there, until its jaws snap open and venom drips from its fangs as it’s about to bite you.
I push her away, recoiling from her touch. “Don’t,” I tell her.
“You do miss it,” she scoffs, a bitter smile stretching over her glossy lips. “You can lie about it all you want, Cole. No one knows you better than me.”
“If you really knew me, Sheila, you would’ve never tried this,” I say, my tone cold and heavy. “Just tell Dad I stopped by. Another detective will be by later today to take some follow-up statements. Ian’s already been made aware.”
“Ian…” Sheila shakes her head.
“Fuss all you want, but be thankful Dad wouldn’t let you fire him. Ian’s in charge of hiring a new team for this place. The least you can do is help him vet the resumes. Thornwood Manor can’t stay unattended just because you freaked out after yesterday.”
“I had every reason to freak out!” she snaps, fury burning green in her eyes.
“And now it’s time to get your shit together. As much as I hate to admit it, my father needs you.”
Before she can say anything else, I storm out of the kitchen.
Rage burns red-hot in my throat as I head to the front door, my footsteps echoing through the foyer.
I walk past the Christmas tree with its twinkling lights, my stomach turned inside out.
Even now, Sheila won’t miss an opportunity to get close again.
Too close.
If I could put a continent between her and me, I would. But Willow needs me, she needs us, and that’s about the only thing I can think about, the only thing that keeps me sane and civil.