Poughkeepsie (53 page)

“What happened?” Livia asked a little sharply. But she knew before her father told her.

“You got a lot going on here. We’ll talk about it later,” he said, backing away.

“Just tell me, Dad.” She gave him a pointed stare.

“Chris was murdered right in his hospital room. Beckett Taylor is wanted for questioning.”

Livia closed her eyes.
Beckett.

“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” Livia finally said. “I damn near did it myself. How are you so sure it wasn’t me?” Livia watched as her father smirked then looked solemn.

“The way Chris went? You could never do that—ever.” He shuddered.

Livia did feel sorry for Chris’s family—for the beautiful Mrs. Grandma. But she couldn’t muster any real regret for Chris’s demise.

Susan rolled a cart full of used linens past father and daughter. “Hey, Princess Charming, Sleeping Handsome is all yours.”

Livia was grateful. Her hand had started to ache, missing the tingle Blake’s skin provided. Her dad held his arms out for a hug, a new custom he’d adopted the night Blake was shot. Livia hugged him and returned to Blake’s side, the door closing softly behind her.

She arranged Blake’s hair so it looked more like it was supposed to, then pulled the now-familiar recliner over and held his hand. She’d put on her fresh clothes later. She focused on her favorite machine in the room: the one that kept track of Blake’s heartbeat. With slow breaths and concentration, Livia could make her heart beat in tandem with his.

Beckett sat in the hospital parking lot in a Lincoln he’d commandeered from one of his douchebags. Its windows were so black the car looked like a Matchbox toy. Behind them, Beckett’s eyes fixed on what he knew was Blake’s window. Whitebread was in there, waiting like the fucking pillar of strength she was. That little brunette had out-couraged pretty much every damn person he’d ever met—exactly what Blake needed.

Beckett’s gaze fell on the discarded scalpel on the floor of the car. It was covered in blood. He sat here at the scene of the crime like a first-time pussy, with the goddamn weapon right next to him.

When Eve had appeared at the hospital to tell him she’d killed the other assholes involved, Beckett had been relieved. And she’d been ready to finish the job. Eve wanted to eliminate Chris and keep Beckett’s hands clean. But Beckett wanted his hands dirty. He wanted to avenge his brother. Almost equal was his desire to protect sweet Whitebread. Eve was not pleased, but there was nothing she could do. She’d left to hide the corpses she’d created.

As he had strolled the hospital and broken into the cafeteria to get food for his people upstairs, Beckett had formed the weak outline of a plan. He knew he owned a few beat cops. Mouse always made sure to keep a selection on the payroll—at times it was truly the only way to stay out of jail.

Mouse.
Beckett put his grief away.

He’d fed his people, and Livia had even convinced him to pray. But Beckett’s prayer had nothing to do with Cole’s mumbo jumbo and all the “ths” at the end of every other damn word. Beckett wanted one simple thing. A shot. A chance to kill the fuck out of Chris.

The next day they’d sent Kyle home, so Cole went back to his church and Livia followed Blake to his new room. Beckett said goodbye as if he were heading out, but instead did some stalking while flirting with the nurses. Over the next twenty-four hours, Beckett figured out their schedule, and he also scoped out Chris’s room—just one cop sitting outside his door.
Guess they aren’t afraid of a double-kneecapped bitch running away.

When he spied O’Malley, one of the cops on his take, starting a shift in front of the bastard’s door the next day, Beckett grabbed the first weapon he could lay his hands on. He found a packet of shiny tools for surgery and ripped it open. The scalpel’s blade was sharp and very small.
Perfect.

“Hey, O’Malley!” Beckett sauntered up to the uniformed officer.

They shook hands like friends, but the cop’s eyes clearly said,
What the hell?

Beckett’s big smile never left his face as he issued orders. “Go get coffee for an hour. Then you can come back.”

O’Malley’s mouth opened, but nothing ever came out. He put his head down and walked quickly down the hall.

Beckett slipped into the room and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Chris had cartoons on the TV like a dickless woman. He snored with his mouth open. Guaranteed, his IV was chock full of pain meds.

Beckett stood looming over Chris, letting the image of his brother’s chest being shocked in the night fill his mind. At his core, Beckett was a killer; no one could find mercy in him now.

A cracking punch on the bruise on Chris’s face was the patient’s good morning kiss. Chris woke, shaking like he was having a seizure. Beckett plunged the scalpel into Chris’s neck, slicing his vocal cords to keep him silent. After yanking the IV from Chris’s arm, Beckett let him know why he was visiting.

“Hey, fuck-a-doodle-doo! You soggy-ass pussy. You shot my brother in the back. Know what that means? You’re gonna die, bitch.” Beckett didn’t put on gloves; he wanted to feel the warm, sticky blood. “Let’s get started. Eye for an eye, they always say.” Beckett began carving as Chris’s mouth formed the circle of a noiseless scream.

Beckett looked away from the instrument on the floor of the Lincoln. Chris had died a horrific death, even by Beckett’s standards.

But his death didn’t give Beckett the peace he craved. Until Blake woke up and talked like a normal motherfucker, Beckett was going to want to puke. All the doctors and nurses assigned to Blake had that sad look in their eyes, like they were treating a damn dead dog or something. And he knew those bastards had seen shit like this before.

He guessed that was why he’d committed Chris’s murder like an amateur. Like a butt-munching serial jack-off. He’d left more DNA, proof, and motive in his wake than he could shake his dick at.

Eve was going to kill him.

And now he was back at the scene of the crime. His ass was getting stupider by the second. But he had to see Blake and bask in all the hope Whitebread tossed around like confetti.

“Fuck it, here I go.” Beckett squared his shoulders, walked in the front door, and continued on to Blake’s room without incident. He found Whitebread curled up in the chair like a cat, her hand touching Blake’s. She was sleeping, and Beckett had almost turned tail to leave her in peace when Blake’s eyes snapped open.

“The fuck!?” Beckett ran to Blake’s side as his brother’s face registered the room in panic.

Whitebread popped up and was almost nose-to-nose with Blake immediately. Beckett leaned around her and held his brother’s flailing arms.

Livia spoke in a soft, urgent voice. “Blake? They have you on a ventilator; this thing in your mouth needs to be removed by the doctor. Just calm down. Look, I’m here. I’m here. See? It’s okay. Just try to be calm.”

Whitebread stroked Blake’s cheek.

Beckett held his breath.
Is this flailing, panicked dude the new Blake?

43

A Real Human Heart

L
IVIA
H
AD
B
EEN
T
HINKING
about this moment since Blake came out of surgery. She’d talked herself through all the possibilities for when he woke up: he might be confused, and the ventilator sure as hell would freak him out. But now, sitting almost on top of him and holding his alert, scared face was enough to make her cry. His vibrant green eyes looked everywhere but at her.

“Beckett, go get a nurse or a doctor,” she said as calmly as possible. She sensed Beckett’s reluctance. “Let go of his arms. It’s okay.” Livia felt the bed react as Beckett removed his huge body.

Blake’s hands covered hers. She could see the trapped feeling in his wild eyes.

“I’m so happy to see you. I love you so much. Thank you for waking up,” Livia spoke quickly but calmly, trying to capture Blake’s attention.

Finally, his eyes locked on hers, and she gave him a huge, teary-eyed smile. She couldn’t tell if he counted because his lips were stretched around the appliance that had kept him breathing.
Be in there, Blake. Please. Please, God.

Livia turned to see Beckett run back into the room literally carrying a nurse. Nurse Kim, to be exact. He set her down, pointed at Blake, and shouted, “See!?”

“Our boy’s awake,” Kim said simply, not even acknowledging her strange entry. “Hey, Blake. Good morning.”

She kept a happy banter going as she efficiently checked the machines surrounding her patient. Susan arrived within seconds, and the nurses slipped into easy conversation. They seemed to be demonstrating for Blake how relaxed they were.

“Blake, glad to see you awake. Good timing—we were prepping to wean you off of the vent to see how your lungs are doing. Would you like to try that now?” Susan waited with a gentle smile.

Livia sat frozen. She hadn’t asked Blake a direct question yet. This simple yes-or-no answer would tell everyone in the room a million things.
Can he understand words? Will he be okay? Is Blake still here?

He looked perplexed and strained against the tube in his throat.

Livia centered her energy again.
You can do this.

Blake nodded once, then twice, then three times. Yes, he wanted the tube out.

He understands!

Beckett scooped Livia off the bed and twirled her. The nurses filled the space she emptied.

“You did it, Whitebread! You saved him. You’re amazing. My brother. My brother.” His voice breaking, Beckett set her back on her feet and hugged her.

When she saw Blake staring at her over Beckett’s shoulder, Livia stumbled a bit. His gaze was so intense. So Blake. Beckett kept her steady. She could feel his whole body smiling.

They both stayed through the meticulous process of removing the ventilator. Blake’s first breaths on his own were gentle and sure, thanks to Kim and Susan’s expertise. He coughed when he was supposed to, following yet another command, and Livia’s heart soared. Finally, when they asked him to speak, he found her gray eyes.

His voice was husky and raspy, but his words were clear. “Livia. You love me.”

Beckett let her go as she climbed back onto Blake’s bed. Blake moved slowly, but he seemed determined and winced only a little as he reached for her shoulders and pulled Livia against his chest. She wanted to say something, but her sobs took those words from her.

His raspy voice moved her hair with his precious, perfect words. “You’re here. With me.”

Livia grabbed a fistful of his hospital gown. The strength that had sustained her dissolved into gratitude. To see his light, his face, everything that was Blake again brought relief like she’d never known. He rubbed her back as her body shook with sobs.

After surveying the scene for another moment, Susan and Kim stepped into the hall and hovered just outside the door. Beckett held up his fist, and Blake paused his rubbing to salute by grabbing Beckett’s arm. Her sobs quieting, Livia turned to watch as the brothers said nothing but nodded solemnly at one another, which said everything. Beckett then turned to exit through the open door.

As he stepped into the hallway, Susan looked Beckett up and down. “Livia’s dad told me to watch for you and give him a call if you turned up.”

Beckett froze. His hands gripped the doorframe where he stood.

“So, as soon as I’m sure Blake is on the mend, I’m going to make that call,” Susan continued. “It should be within the next ten minutes.” She finished her speech with a pointed look.

Beckett’s smile filled his voice. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us, just go,” Kim replied. “We don’t approve of what you might have done.”

Beckett kissed each woman’s cheek and said, “Ladies, I was saying thank you for taking such beautiful care of my brother. You’re angels. Selfless, beautiful fucking angels. I’ll get out of your hair.” After the briefest of looks back into Blake’s hospital room, Beckett disappeared down the hall.

Livia closed her eyes to steady herself for a moment. Her sobs had subsided into small, rhythmic sniffles. When she opened her eyes, she was ready. She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ear. She filled a cup of water and added the straw. The cup was steady in her hand as he took a few sips.