Cinderella For A Night. Susan Mallery
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She stood up and paced to the far end of the room. Once there, she turned to face him. “I don’t mean to presume, but do you have any family to help you out?”
“Help me with what?”
She folded her arms over her chest. In her ball gown and tiara she should have looked foolish. Instead he found himself thinking that she was lovely and still looked too innocent for the likes of him.
She cleared her throat. “With the arrangements. I’m only asking because, well, you’re the kind of person who is known in the community. There have been a lot of articles about you in the newspaper and none of them has mentioned family, so I thought if you were alone, if there wasn’t someone to help, I would be happy to do that. Not that I’m trying to butt in or anything.”
She spoke quickly, as if she felt she had to get all the words out before he stopped her. Her posture was faintly defensive, yet he was the one wondering what she wanted from him.
When he didn’t speak, she drew in a breath. “There’s the funeral, then your brother’s things to go through. I don’t mean legal papers or a will, but rooms and closets. I remember how hard that was for my mom. I took care of it for her.”
“I hadn’t thought of any of it,” he said truthfully. A funeral. He would have to see about that. It would be expected. And perhaps for Lisa as well. As far as he could remember, she didn’t have any family, either. “Hell.”
She was at his side in a minute. She lightly touched his arm and gazed at him with sympathetic concern. “I’m so sorry.”
Her words and her barely there physical contact were all meant to comfort. Oddly enough, he felt comforted. He almost reached out to pull her close when the door opened and Stryker walked into the room.
“I’ve got some news,” the detective said, then stopped when he saw Cynthia.
“I’ll go wait outside,” she said instantly.
Jonathan surprised them all, including himself, when he shook his head. “You can stay.”
Stryker raised his eyebrows but didn’t otherwise comment. “All right. We’ve checked out the tickets to Rio. They’re one-way only, paid in cash. No hotel reservations, but an address of a private villa. We’re looking into that. Probably arranged through friends or a real estate agent who specializes in renting to those who wish to disappear. They left money in their joint checking account, but several large transfers have come through in the past month.”
Jonathan frowned. “As if they were cashing out other accounts? Funneling funds into one central bank, then removing them?”
“Exactly. It’s going to take us a few days to trace everything back to its source.”
“What about—”
But a soft cry interrupted his question. While he and Stryker had been talking, Cynthia had moved to the side of the room. Now she leaned against the wall and clutched her stomach. All the color had faded from her face, leaving her skin faintly gray.
Jonathan hurried toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she gasped. “It hurts. One minute I was feeling fine and the next—” She moaned and dropped to her knees.
“Call an ambulance,” Jonathan instructed.
“Already on it.”
He heard Stryker speaking into his cell phone. Cynthia huddled on the floor. When he tried to move close to her, she cried out again. A sense of helplessness filled him.
“What can I do?” he asked.
She raised her head to look at him. Pain glazed her eyes. She opened her mouth, either to say something or cry out again. Instead she sucked in a breath and fainted. Jonathan caught her as she fell. He pulled her close and stroked her damp face.
First his brother and Lisa, now Cynthia.
“The ambulance is on its way,” Stryker said, crouching next to them. “How’s she doing?”
“She collapsed. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I have a bad feeling it has something to do with everything going on here tonight.”
He looked at the detective and knew the other man shared his sense of dread about the situation. The hell of it was there was nothing either of them could do except stay with Cynthia and wait for help to arrive.
Chapter 3
“There has to be something you can do,” Jonathan insisted, even as he knew that losing his temper wasn’t going to make the situation any better.
“Right now our goal is to keep her stable while we wait for test results,” Dr. Noah Howell said calmly. “Once we know what is causing the problem, we can start treatment. Until we’re sure, we’re at risk of doing the wrong thing by acting without knowing what’s really wrong with her.”
Jonathan had never felt more frustrated in his life. He’d spent the last several hours dealing with situations he couldn’t control and now he was faced with one more. He knew if he could just do something, he would feel better. But he wasn’t a cop and he wasn’t a doctor. He hated feeling like this.
“Is she still unconscious?” he asked.
Dr. Howell nodded. “However, under the circumstances, that’s not surprising.”
It might not be surprising, Jonathan thought grimly, but it also wasn’t very good. Since fainting at the hotel, Cynthia had not regained consciousness. He’d accompanied her to the hospital where Noah Howell had examined her. For reasons that weren’t clear to anyone, her entire body was in the process of shutting down. If they didn’t figure out what was wrong soon, she was going to die.
A sense of powerlessness filled him. What was the point of being one of the richest men in Colorado if he couldn’t save Cynthia’s life?
“I have to get back to her,” Dr. Howell said. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change.”
“What about when you get the test results?”
Noah’s blue eyes regarded him steadily. “I know you’re concerned about Ms. Morgan. We’re doing everything we can to save her. I’ll be sure to keep you informed of her condition and any test results. If you or the detective come up with anything from your end, let me know.”
Jonathan sank into one of the green plastic chairs that filled the small waiting room and swore under his breath.
“Hell of a day,” Stryker said sympathetically. “First your brother and his wife, and now this.”
Jonathan nodded, then leaned his head against the white wall. “I hate hospitals,” he said, taking in the nondescript linoleum flooring and the television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. It was on but mercifully silent.
Noises filtered in from beyond the confines of the waiting area. The squeak of soft-soled shoes, the clank of a piece of equipment being moved. He could smell the lingering scent of antiseptic and the previous evening’s dinner. It was nearly two in the morning and the waiting room was deserted. There was still chaos downstairs in the emergency room—people being treated in the aftermath of the hotel blackout and the subsequent panic. But up here was relative peace. At least he didn’t have to worry about making small talk with anyone. Except Stryker.
He glanced at the detective. “I don’t think you’re waiting with me because you’re concerned about Cynthia Morgan.”
“I wouldn’t mind knowing she’s okay,” Stryker told him. “But I’m here because I need to ask you some questions.”
Jonathan rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if he could erase the weariness that filled him. “It feels like it should be some time next week,” he said. “Instead of just early Sunday.” He drew in a deep breath and figured there was