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“He wants to trump all of us. What better way to get the last laugh than by taking you to bed?” As though the thought of that caused him grief, he sighed and closed his eyes. Several moments ticked by before he reopened them. “Talk to the detective.”
“Dale Moody?”
“Start with him. I watched him during Strickland’s trial. He was a troubled man. Find out why.” He squeezed her hand again. “Will you do this for me?”
She made him the only promise she could. “I’ll do my best.”
“You always have.” He reached up and touched her cheek with fingers the color and texture of parchment. “You always strived to please. You wanted everyone to be happy. I think you even married a man you didn’t love only because you knew Olivia and I approved of him.”
“Water under the bridge, Daddy.”
“Don’t let me off the hook so easily. I didn’t consider your happiness nearly as often as you considered mine. You sort of got obscured by the tragedy of Susan, which preoccupied Olivia and me through Strickland’s trial. Then we became so wrapped up in rebuilding our lives, I fear we viewed the big picture, and didn’t pay enough attention to what was right in front of us.”
“Daddy, I never felt obscured or overlooked. I swear. I was shy. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.” She patted his hand. “You were there anytime I needed you, and I always knew you loved me.”
She wanted to throw herself over him, to hold on tight, and beg him not to leave her. When he was gone, she wouldn’t have any blood relatives left, and knowing that filled her with despair and a terrifying sense of finality.
But she wouldn’t add a display of childish fears and sorrow to his own suffering. He wasn’t choosing to die. He didn’t want to leave Olivia, or her, or life itself. The best demonstration of her love would be to make his passing as peaceful as possible.
“If I do this,” she said softly, “I can’t stay here with you.”
“I want you here. But it’s more important to me that you find out if they punished the right man, and you haven’t got much time.”
By way of a pledge, she kissed his forehead again. “I understand, Daddy. You want peace. You need to know.”
He held her near him for a moment longer and whispered, “So do you.”
Dent took a bite of his jalapeño and Jack cheese omelet and washed it down with a sip of coffee. “Do you plan on telling me, or what?”
Seated across from him, Bellamy situated the paper napkin in her lap and used her fork to rearrange the food on her plate, which he noticed she’d barely touched. Throughout the meal, she’d avoided making eye contact with him, and the tension in the IHOP booth was palpable. He’d decided to address it.
“Tell you what?” she asked.
“Why you’re giving me the silent treatment. On the flight home, you said no more than three words.”
“The headset was uncomfortable.”
“It didn’t seem to bother you on the flight down.”
“Well, it was hurting my ears on the flight back. Besides, I didn’t want to distract you. It was an unfamiliar cockpit, remember?”
“Thanks. I appreciate the safety precaution. But since we landed, in fact since we left the hospital in Houston, you’ve been noticeably incommunicado. Of course, I’m merely your chauffeur.” The remark finally earned him eye contact.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Figure it out.”
“You volunteered to fly me down there, Dent.”
“No I didn’t. Gall volunteered me.”
“You didn’t have to agree to it.”
“But I did. Gladly. Which begs the question of why you treated me like a leper once we got there.”
Her face turned bright pink, indicating to him that she knew exactly why he was a bit hacked. She’d emerged from the ICU looking wounded and miserable, and, when he’d pushed himself away from the wall of the corridor where he’d been waiting, she’d walked straight to him.
By instinct, his arms had closed around her to provide a comforting hug, but when he touched her, she’d gone as rigid as a two-by-four. He’d dropped his arms, and she’d left him to join Olivia, who was standing nearby quietly weeping into a tissue. Since leaving that ICU, Bellamy had kept her distance.
