Wasted (Windy City Westons #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“What do you want?”

Victoria Weston’s smile slipped away at Jamica Trent’s unfriendly greeting.

So much for the hope that this home health visit would entail less drama than Victoria’s initial evaluation visit. She hadn’t even made it inside the house out of the freezing cold yet. And might not anytime soon with the way Jamica held the door halfway open and blocked it with her body.

But as Victoria took in the weariness around Jamica’s angry eyes and the tears on her one-year-old baby’s dark cheeks as the boy slid down her hip, compassion replaced any irritation. “I’m here to see your mother for physical therapy.”

“You ain’t the therapist.” Jamica surveyed Victoria as if she was a solicitor or con artist. “She’s a short, chubby chick.”

Not the kindest way to describe Ginny Lenton.

Lord, please give me patience and compassion. After repeating the same request she had prayed when she’d approached the Trents’ house, Victoria forced a smile. “I believe you’re thinking of Ginny, my PTA.”

Jamica’s eyes narrowed. “PTA?”

“My assistant.”

“Jamica!”

Victoria nearly closed her eyes in relief, although she could have done without the sharpness in Delilah Trent’s tone.

“Let the woman inside for Pete’s sake! You want me laid up forever? Don’t think so, the way you been carrying on.”

Victoria held back a smile. Delilah evidently still had as much lively spirit as the day they’d first met.

Jamica rolled her eyes and left the door to hang open on its own.

Deducing that was an invitation to enter, Victoria stepped inside, switching her therapy equipment bag to her left hand so she could close the door with her right. Her gaze jumped ahead to find Delilah.

The sixty-two-year-old patient sat up with both legs extended in front of her on the brown sofa in the living room. A television blared across from her against the far wall.

The path to reach Delilah was littered with clothing, toys, empty soda cans, and boxes. All potential fall hazards.

Victoria would evidently need to discuss fall prevention again, though Ginny had said she’d already been emphasizing the problem at each of her visits. “Hello, Mrs. Trent.”

The woman waved a dismissive hand as Victoria picked her way across the living room. “Told you to call me Delilah last time.”

“Of course.” Victoria hadn’t forgotten, but since she had only met Delilah one other time at the initial evaluation appointment, she didn’t want to presume the invitation to be informal still held. “It’s good to see you, Delilah.” Victoria smiled as she reached the sofa. “How are you feeling?”

Delilah harrumphed. “Depends on how much Jamica’s been gettin’ on my nerves.”

Victoria laid a disposable pad under her bag before setting it on the nearby wooden chair that looked like it had once been part of a dining set.

“Family dynamics can be tricky at times.” She retrieved a pair of nitrile gloves from the outer pocket of her bag and pulled them on.

“Did Ginny tell you what we’ll be doing at my visit today? ”

“Seein’ if I pass the test, I guess.” Delilah chuckled.

Victoria smiled again. “No test, I promise. We’re only going to assess how you’re doing and determine if we need to make any adjustments to your exercise and treatment program. I’ll go over your meds with you, too, and make sure everything is good there.”

Delilah shrugged one shoulder under her pink cable-knit sweater. “It’s all the same.”

“Good. Then there shouldn’t be any surprises.

” Victoria gently drew up Delilah’s loose cotton pant leg until she could see the dressing covering the incision.

Thankfully, Dr. Tennison had agreed with Victoria’s recommendation that Delilah keep the wound covered longer than normal due to the questionable sanitation of her living conditions.

“How do you feel about your progress since your knee replacement?”

A snort from behind Victoria prompted her to look over her shoulder.

Jamica stood about eight feet away with her baby, glaring at her mother. “I can tell you. She just lays there and says she can’t do nothin’. And she moanin’ and groanin’ all the time.”

“Don’t you tell them lies, girl.” Delilah’s dark eyes flashed as she craned her neck to see Jamica past Victoria. “And you be polite now. We got company.”

“She ain’t company. She a therapist. And why you need her anyway? I thought the surgery supposed to fix you. Ain’t you supposed to go to therapy like everybody else? You don’t gotta bring a bunch of strangers in here.”

Victoria straightened and stepped to the side so Delilah could see her daughter. Better not to try to check the incision in the middle of an argument.

“Why you so edgy?” Delilah’s eyes narrowed at Jamica.

The girl tried for a shrug, but the obvious tension in her shoulders wouldn’t cooperate enough to convince anyone of nonchalance.

The notes of Chopin’s Nocturne No. 9 broke through the tension. Victoria’s ringtone. “Excuse me.” She peeled off her glove and grabbed her phone from another pocket in her bag. She’d have to thank the caller who had such perfect timing.

Relief slid through her as she stepped out of the line of fire and glanced at the caller ID.

CareFull Home Health.

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Victoria Weston.”

Delilah and Jamica restarted their verbal sparring before Victoria could clearly hear the voice on the other end of the line.

She covered her left ear with her fingers. “Ginny?”

“Hey, yeah. What’s with all the noise?”

“I’m at the Trents’.”

“Oh, gotcha. At it again. At least you know I wasn’t making it up.”

“I was aware of that from my first visit.” Victoria chose her words carefully, though with the shouting match going on, it was doubtful Jamica or Delilah would hear a word she said.

“Yeah. They sound pretty heated this time. You good alone there?”

“I believe so.” Though Victoria wouldn’t mind wrapping up the visit as soon as possible. “What did you need?”

“Oh, Dr. Tennison’s office called with a question about—”

A slam cracked through the house.

Victoria jerked to see the front door bounce back from where it must have been smacked into the wall.

A tall man in a dark jacket stood in the doorway, a red bandana layered under a black winter hat on his head and fury twisting his features.

Light glinted off something in his hand.

Was that—

The long, silver blade left no doubt. He was holding a knife.