“I don’t think it’s fair—” Randy protested.
Providence held up her hand. “Hold on. She’s turned a corner, but she’s very weak. Visitors are restricted to family, and one at a time.”
“How ‘bout tonight?” Lizzie asked.
“Randy can, and if she continues to improve, you can go next.”
This time, when they exchanged glances, Lizzie nodded. “That’ll work,” Randy replied.
“Megan is there now,” Providence said.
“And the gay wife?” Randy asked.
Providence pursed her lips. She wanted to slap him, hard. “Leigh said that Lizzie can visit Mom tomorrow. She’ll wait to see her.”
“That’s nice,” Lizzie remarked.
“I’ll take Dad to the cafeteria before you get there, so you can have some alone time with Mom,” Providence said.
“Good, because I don’t want to have to deal with him,” Randy replied.
What an ass wipe.
“Come by at nine.” Providence jotted down the room number and left, mumbling a string of obscenities under her breath as she drove away.
At eight thirty, the stage was set. Once an adversary, Detective Beeker was now their biggest ally. Staff and patients on the floor had been temporarily relocated for their safety. The hospital room light had been turned off, but the light in the corridor was sufficient for the security cams to work.
Providence, posing as her dying mother, lay in the hospital bed, her Kevlar vest and street clothes concealed by a hospital gown. The IV bag was bedside. The drainage line had been taped to her arm, lying beneath the blanket, the needle removed. Dakota waited in the dark bathroom, behind the partially opened door, and Detective Beeker stood at the foot of the bed, acting as Heather Sharpe’s doctor. Four plain-clothes police officers, posing as patients, were in the hallway or milling around the nurses’ station.
Providence had pulled the sheet up so that it covered most of her face and she’d worn a salt and pepper wig. She didn’t care that she was overheating from the Kevlar vest. All that mattered was catching her brother attempting to murder their mom.
And she believed, if given the chance, he’d do it.
Everyone was in position. All they needed was their star villain.
At nine fifteen, Randy sauntered into the room.
“Mrs. Sharpe,” Beeker began, “you need to take it easy or I won’t permit any more visitors.” Beeker turned to Randy. “Hello, are you family?”
“I’m her son.”
“Your mom is very weak,” said Beeker.
“I won’t stay long.”
“Please limit your visit to ten minutes.”
“Sure thing, doc,” Randy said as the detective left the room.
It was up to Providence. She’d worked dozens of assignments over the years, but none more important than this one. Failure was not an option.
“Hi, Mom.” Randy pulled a chair over. “Sounds like you’re doing better.”
Providence offered a soft moan.
“We’re taking good care of the house. Lizzie and I moved into the master bedroom. But just as soon as you guys come home, we’re back in the guest room.”
Providence let out a garbled sound.
