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"There was an open suitcase in the room, so it doesn't appear that he's left town."
I straightened. "Well, my father didn't try to run me over. He wasn't driving that car."
"You're absolutely sure about that?"
"He's my dad," I said, my stomach churning. "Of course, I'm sure. He would never hurt me. He would never hurt my mother. It's someone else." I felt almost desperate to convince him.
"We're not just focused on your father," the inspector reassured me. "But we need to talk to him. You still haven't heard from him?"
I gave a negative shake of my head, then said, "What about my stepmother? Did she tell you anything she didn't tell me?"
"No. She said she'd only speak to me with her lawyer on the call. We've set that up for later today. In the meantime, I've asked patrol to keep an eye on your mother's house. I'll have security escort you to your car when you're ready to leave, but you should watch your back. And you might want to consider leaving the city."
"I'll think about it," I murmured.
"Security will be waiting for you when you're discharged."
"Thank you."
The nurse returned a few minutes later. I signed the release forms and then left the ER with a security guard by my side as I made my way to my car. I didn't take a full breath until I was locked in and driving out of the lot.
It felt marginally better to be back in control. But now what?
I didn't know where to go, what to do. I needed to talk to someone, and the only person I could think of was Kade. I pulled over and called him. He didn't answer his phone. He was probably still at the gallery. I went on the internet and searched for an upcoming show by artist Kade Beckham. I found the name of the gallery and then started the car.
The gallery was only a couple of miles away, and with each passing minute, I questioned what I was doing. Kade was working. I had no right to interrupt that. But I couldn't seem to make myself turn around.
When I arrived at the gallery, I parked in the adjacent lot and then walked toward the front door. On the window was a flyer for Kade's show that would be starting in two weeks, with a special preview in a week. There were samples of his work on the flyer and a short bio about his incredible rise in the art world. This was going to be a big deal for him, and I really didn't need to get in his way.
I was about to turn around when the door opened and Kade walked out.
"Brynn," he said in surprise. "I thought that was you. What are you doing here?"
"I'm not entirely sure," I admitted. "I called you, but you didn't answer."
"Sorry. I was in a meeting with the owner." His gaze narrowed. "What happened?"
His concern brought tears to my eyes. I furiously blinked them away. "I shouldn't have come."
"Hold on," he said, moving closer to me. "What's going on? And don't say nothing."
"Someone tried to run me down when I was leaving the hospital. I'm okay. I just didn't know where to go, what to do next. I shouldn't be here. You're busy."
"Someone tried to run you down?" His gaze swept the street. "Come in. Let's talk inside."
"I don't want to bother you. We can talk later."
"It's fine. I was about to take a break, anyway."
He ushered me into the gallery. There were a few people perusing the main showroom, but Kade moved past them, taking me into a large workroom where I could see multiple pieces, one of which had been in his apartment the night before.
"This is what you were working on last night," I said, looking at the sculpture that was a mix of bottles, caps, and wire, with crushed pieces of glass glued to wood. "You got so much done." I paused. "But I don't really know what it is."
"What does it feel like?"
"It feels like someone smashed up a bar in anger."
"What does it make you want to do?"
