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“Was it or wasn’t it?” I ask.
“To be determined,” he says. “But I’m not going anywhere until we know.”
“Find that man who was in his room,” Harper states. “Find him and you’ll be the hero we all need and want right now.”
He studies Harper for several long beats and then looks at me. “I’m waiting on a copy of his will. I’m thinking it’s going to be an interesting read.” He releases the doors and steps away.
The will is certainly not in my favor. Should Isaac die, I’d inherit, that is, if there isn’t another living sibling, and my gut says there was but no longer is.
Based on present circumstances, I’d venture to say that Isaac would have gotten rid of anyone who could take his inheritance, but I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Harper. I need to see the wording in the will on her trust fund. As it stands, it might well look as if she’s the one who directly benefits from my father’s death, outside of Isaac.
“Fucktard,” Savage growls as we begin to move.
None of us look at each other or speak as we ride the short few floors to the ICU level, all of us aware of the cameras recording us, but there’s more. There’s silence riddled with a mix of anger and consternation. For me, there’s a whole lot of fucking numbers.
The elevator dings and Savage breaks the silence. “Jesse is waiting for us on our floor. Obviously one of ours.”
I give him a barely perceivable nod and we exit the car to meet Jesse, a tall man with dark, curly hair. The greeting is short and wemove past the elevators, toward the waiting area. We’ve just passed a hallway when Harper tugs my hand and steps in front of me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I told them about the water.”
I eye Savage over her shoulder and he gets the message. He walks away.
My hands come down on her shoulders and I walk her backward into the vacant hallway we were about to pass and press her to the wall. “I know you were emotional.”
“I was and protective and I screwed up. In my mind, I needed that detective to know that you’re the good brother, not the bad one.”
Protective.
She’s protecting me.Fuck.It’s hard to be angry when she frames it that way. She protects who she loves. Even staying with the Kingstons was about protecting both her mother and her father’s legacy.
I’m just not sure who looks better in the scenario he painted. The crazy first born or the abused angry half-brother. I’m fairly certain I look like a damn good suspect right about now.
Chapter one hundred three
Eric
Harper and I approach the ICU nurse’s station to be greeted by a new face, a woman I estimate to be around thirty, wearing scrubs, her brunette hair pulled to her nape. “Can I help you?” she asks.
“Kingston,” I say. “How is he?”
“And you are?” she asks, her lips pursing prudishly.
“His son,” Harper states as if she knows I can’t stomach those necessary words. God, I fucking love this woman.
The nurse frowns. “I just met his son and—”
“I’m the other one,” I say. “How is he?”
“You don’t look like your brother.”
“Thank the fuck for that,” I murmur.
“They’re half-brothers,” Harper quickly chimes in. “Call someone if you need to. We need an update.”
I offer her a deadpan stare and while she hesitates, she gives us the information. “He’s improved this morning. We moved him to a private suite one floor up.”
In a suite, where he will be easier to get to for me and everyone else, I think.
“Define improved?”
