"Come on. I'll bet you haven't eaten, either."
His voice was too enticing. My resolve was crumbling.
But there was no way I'd allow myself to be one of a long line of women he used for his own gratification and pleasure. He'd feed me, take me home, and forget I existed by morning. I didn't want him to pretend to be Prince Charming; everyone knew what really lay beneath, and I was no exception.
Licking my stiff, dry lips, I replied, "I'm fine."
Belying my claim, my heart palpitated heavily, painfully. I'd actually turned down Burke Gallagher, notorious mobster and my high-school crush. The nation’s most-wanted man in more ways than one.
With no expression on his face, he moved out of my way and into the waiting area. The door closed in my face, but I just stood there. The tears I'd held back finally broke free and slid down my cheeks.
We weren't part of the same world. I could never be enough for him, and I knew he was aware of that. Offering to help the helpless in expectation of something I couldn't provide would only disappoint us both in the end.
At least, that's what I told myself as the elevator returned for me and I made my escape.
3
Kinsley
Images of Burke beckoning me to join him in his limo plagued my dreams until I couldn't sleep. Each time I agreed to take his hand, he pulled me into a deep abyss where I fell endlessly. Then I'd struggle to wake, out of breath and positive I'd made the right choice in turning down his invitation.
And yet, when I woke for the final time before the sun rose, I climbed out of bed with a sense of disappointment. My life was one of isolation, and he'd offered me something more than the loneliness and routine to which I'd become accustomed. Even for a brief moment, it might have been worth it. But he would have smothered me in the end, trying to turn me into someone I couldn't be in order to conform to his lifestyle. I wasn't built to be a casual fling, nor was I the type to hang on the arm of a mob boss.
That thought had me snorting out loud, knowing he would never want me anyway.
Shaking my head clear of any further thoughts of Burke, I made my way down the stairs for coffee. Before leaving the house, I would have to shower, dress, and pack for my mother. Wondering how Dad would be when I arrived, I mentally checked off a list as I completed my tasks.
It was rare for Dad to come across gunfire in our small town—even as a beat cop—much less a crime as serious as attempted murder. Though I didn't have the full story, it appeared he'd pulled someone over with expired, out-of-state plates, and they'd fired a weapon when he approached.
I dropped the shirt I held. It was impossible not to draw a line from Burke and his men being in town to my father getting shot during a routine traffic stop. Maybe that was why Burke was so solicitous in the hospital; he felt guilty. I couldn't decide if it was awful of me to make that leap, or if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I'd just have to ask him, that was all. I could do that; march up to him the first time I saw him and point-blank ask if one of his men or a rival family had shot Officer Thomas Hawthorne. He could be the indirect reason my father had gone through hours of surgery and was still recovering.
With a full head of steam, I threw the bags into the passenger side of my car and made my way to the hospital. Spotting several cruisers in the parking lot made it easy to assume Dad's coworkers had come to check on him. It was just after seven, so they'd be heading in to work soon.
Thankfully, the overnight person was behind the reception desk instead of Emma, so I continued on my way to the elevator without stopping. I felt different than the day before; certainly less worried about Dad's health. Undeniably, I was also exhausted and running on caffeine, but for once, I couldn't wait to run into Burke so I could confront him.
There were officers in the waiting area just past the elevator, who I acknowledged with a wave, but no Burke. It figured I was raring to go, and he wasn't there. Tamping down on the need to wait for him and ask if he was involved, I went down the hall to my father's room.
He was awake, sitting up in bed while Mom helped him with the bowl of white mush in front of him. Too late, I realized I hadn't eaten anything before leaving the house.
"Hi, Dad." I moved over to him and kissed his cheek, then rounded the bed to put my mother's bag down. "Here's some clothes, Mom, and I brought some snacks."
"You're here early," she commented.
Shrugging, I replied, "Couldn't sleep."
"I couldn't either. That chair is not very comfortable."
Glancing at the maroon pleather recliner, I agreed it didn't look very comfortable. "Has the doctor been by yet?"
Dad coughed and pushed away the spoon Mom offered. "Hopefully, he'll be here soon to discharge me. This food is inedible."
"Dad, it's for the best that you don't upset your stomach after the anesthesia."
He glared at me and wiped his mustache with a napkin. "Doesn't mean they have to poison me."
It would be a long day.
