She really shouldn’t have told people that. A young woman—she was thirty back then—telling near strangers that she lived alone? Practically inviting someone with nefarious intentions to hurt her?
But she brushed off my gruff warnings with another of her sunny smiles.“My apartment building has good security,”she assured me,“and I trust my patients. None of them would ever want to hurt me.”
I sincerely doubt the security at her apartment building is even close to adequate. And it wouldn’t be hard for someone to follow her home, find a way inside the building, and attack her.
Someone attacking Bea? That, unfortunately, could happen. But Beakillingsomeone? When she’s dedicated her life to helping people heal?
“Indy.” Eden’s worried voice pulls me back to the present. “Is everything okay?”
Dragging my attention away from the article, I look up to find five sets of eyes regarding me with concern.
“Did something happen?” Rafe asks.
“What?” I give myself a quick mental shaking. “Why would you ask?”
“Because you look like you just saw a ghost,” Eden replies. “And you’ve been staring at your phone for the last two minutes without saying a word.”
A quick glance around the table shows my new teammates sitting at attention, their postures stiff and a wariness to their expressions.
“Is it one of the guys?” Rafe digs around in his pocket, but comes up empty. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I left my phone at the house.” Alarm flickers in his eyes. “Is it Walker? Chris? Fox?—”
I shake my head. “No. It doesn’t have anything to do with them. It’s something different.”
Eden frowns. “What, then? Because whatever it is, it doesn’t seem good.” She pauses. “Unless… I’m sorry. Am I pushing? It’s probably none of my business. You just looked?—”
“It was a text from a guy I met in DC. At the hospital. He sent me an article and… Shit. I just can’t believe it.”
“Can’t believe what?”
Everyone at the table leans forward.
I glance back down at my phone. “The physical therapist I used to see.”
“Bea?” Eden asks. “I remember meeting her. She was so nice.”
Something large and heavy lodges in my chest. “Yeah. Bea.” After a beat, I elaborate, “Beatrix. She was my PT at the VA hospital. And apparently, she’s being accused of murder. That’s why John sent me the article. He couldn’t believe it. And… shit. I can’t believe it, either.”
Tyler whips out his phone and starts tapping away at the screen. Without looking up, he fires off questions. “What happened? What’s her name? When did the crime occur?”
“Her name is Beatrix Howe,” I tell him. “It looks like it happened”—I skim the beginning of the article again—“yesterday, around 6 PM Eastern. There aren’t many details, but it says the victim was killed in a knife attack. Another PT at the hospital.”
“Why can’t you believe it?” Ace asks. “People do crazy things. We all know that.”
“You don’t understand. Bea… she’s probably the nicest person I’ve ever met.” I shoot Eden an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Eeen. But you know you can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”
Eden waves off my apology. “Bea was really nice when I met her. Super nice. She didn’t even get upset when Indy was being a jerk to her.”
Webb throws me a puzzled look. “You were a jerk to her?”
Guilt settles heavy over my shoulders. “I was,” I admit. “Back then… I wasn’t in a great place. And I hated therapy. It reminded me of everything I’d lost. Sometimes I took it out on Bea, even though she was the last person to deserve it.”
“I get it,” Tyler says, glancing up from his phone. And I’m sure he does, given that Tyler lost part of his leg less than two years prior to my injury. “So you don’t think she did it? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know.” I look at the article again, this time focusing on the photo of Bea. “I just can’t see it. Not her. And it says she killed another PT. If it were self-defense, that would be one thing. But to kill a coworker in cold blood, like they’re implying…”
“Maybe it’s a mixup,” Eden suggests. “Mistaken identity.”
“The evidence is pretty conclusive.” Tyler meets my gaze across the table. “I just accessed the police records.”
