The Bodyguard. Lena Diaz
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there was anything wrong. Without her, I would never have figured out how to escape.”
“How long was the abuse going on?” Alex asked.
Her face went pale. “Years.”
“Then why now? After all that time, what made you decide it was time to leave?”
“The baby,” she whispered. “As soon as I realized I was pregnant, I decided I had to figure out a way to get out of there. I couldn’t risk bringing up a child in that environment. I may have been weak and a coward when it came to myself, but I couldn’t do that to a child. I started making plans that same day.” She closed her eyes. “But before everything was finalized, Richard...taught me one of his...lessons. The cramping, the bleeding...I knew I’d lost the baby. I was so ashamed. I couldn’t allow myself to risk getting pregnant again, risk the life of another child.”
Luke took her hand in his. “Stop talking like that. You aren’t weak, or a coward. You were in an untenable situation. I understand the cycle of abuse. I’ve seen it over and over. It’s not easy to get out. Your abuser plays a mind game on you, slowly wearing you down until one day you don’t even know how you got in the place where you’re at. It’s not your fault. None of this. It’s Richard Ashton’s fault. And you didn’t kill your child. He did.”
Unshed tears made her eyes bright. She gave him a watery smile. “Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand in answer.
Alex frowned. “I’m sure Miss Harrison has filed your husband’s will with the courts by now, but I’m new to this case and don’t have the particulars. Can you give me a summary? Who are Mr. Ashton’s beneficiaries?”
“His brothers and me.”
“Split equally?”
“No. For some reason, Richard decided to leave me the bulk of the estate. He left five million to each of his brothers, but everything else goes to me.”
“Did he get along with his brothers?”
“More with Daniel than Grant, but he fought with both of them off and on over the years. Daniel hasn’t been to the house in quite some time, but I don’t know if he and Richard were fighting or not. Grant comes over more often, but his visits usually end in some kind of argument. He and Richard seem to have...issues. They came to blows on occasion. Richard was definitely the type to hold a grudge, so maybe that explains why he didn’t leave much—relative to the entire estate, of course—to Grant. But I thought Richard and Daniel had a better relationship overall. I don’t understand why he left Daniel so little.”
“Forgive me,” Alex said, “but I have to ask because you can bet the police will. If you’d divorced, was there an agreement in place about what you would have received?”
“Yes. Two hundred thousand dollars a year, for life. I was never worried about the money. Trust me, that kind of money would have been plenty.”
“A jury might feel differently. That’s a drastic change in lifestyle for someone who’s used to being in a mansion, married to a billionaire.” He shrugged. “Those are the facts. We’ll just have to deal with them.”
Luke leaned forward in his chair. “Let’s get back to the plan for how to keep her safe until the killer is caught. I’m all for assuming she’s as much a target as her husband. I’d rather be too cautious than to let down my guard. First thing to consider—what do we do about the funeral for Mr. Ashton?”
Chapter Five
It nearly killed Luke being outside Caroline’s inner circle, relying on Alex’s instincts that she’d be safe with her usual bodyguards, at least for now. But he did as Alex had suggested. The plan the defense lawyer had put in place seemed solid. And Alex had hired a private investigator to dig into everything on the side to bolster Caroline’s defense, if that became necessary, and also to try to find out the identity of the killer.
The investigator was also digging into Leslie Harrison’s past to see if she had anything to gain by either framing Caroline, or by having her killed along with Richard if Caroline had arrived at the cottage when Leslie expected her to that day.
Luke watched the hospital entrance from his 1997 Ford Thunderbird parked between two tall SUVs that made it less likely anyone would notice him. Not that they would anyway. Few people stopped to admire his olive-green, beat-up car, which was exactly how he wanted it. This was his work car, built like a tank, dented and scratched from run-ins when the people he was protecting his clients from decided to come after him instead. He even had several spare tires in the trunk instead of the traditional “one,” prepared for the next time someone decided to slash his tires.
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