Cut to the Chase (26 page)

I
t had been thirty-two minutes since her last mad dash to the bathroom. Her morning sickness had stretched well past the morning hours, though her bouts of vomiting were less violent now. Being a woman and an aspiring doctor, Erin knew that this particular pregnancy symptom was common. But common or not, it was still a real pain in the ass.

Erin stretched out in the hospital cot and glanced at the book her brother had left her that morning while she slept. Again, she chuckled over the book's title,
Pregnant with Twins! What the #$%! Do We Do Now?

Erin didn't know where he found that book, but it was absolutely perfect. Finding out she was pregnant was a shock in itself. But twins? Well, that was just incredible…and so very wonderful. She looked over at the father of her children, who was sleeping peacefully in the bed beside her, and smiled. Erin couldn't believe that she'd had doubts over how he would feel about being a father, that he would think she had tricked him into all of this. It brought her such joy when she remembered just how happy he had been, how enthralled he was as he stared at the monitor and watched those two flickers of light for the first time. He had been mesmerized, as was she, by their babies' heartbeats.

Erin looked from Chase to the flawless diamond on her left hand. The platinum, diamond-encrusted band with the oval-shaped solitaire fit perfectly, and she was overwhelmed by the fact that this ring had been worn by his mother, a woman he had cherished. Erin was honored to wear his mother's ring and pleased beyond belief to learn that he hadn't given it to Gabrielle. Erin was human, after all, and though Gabrielle was dead, there were moments when she wondered why Chase not only carried on a relationship with someone like Gabrielle, but had been content to have a family with her.

Erin pushed that thought aside and refocused her attention on more pleasant things. Like the handwritten inscription on the book's jacket:

Sweet, loving, and overbearing. Erin couldn't imagine a better brother. And right on cue, Paul, Mia and Andrew appeared in the doorway of Chase's hospital room. But the smile she had been wearing as she read Paul's inscription faded when she saw her brother's and Mia's worried expressions.

“What's wrong?” Erin asked.

Paul closed the door behind them. Something had happened. The nausea she had been fighting all day raged on, and she suddenly felt cool and clammy.

“What happened?” Erin looked from Mia to Paul, pleading for one of them to answer her.

“We found him, Erin,” Mia said.

Erin had waited so long to hear those words. She sat there in stunned silence, only coming to when she heard Chase rustling next to her.

Garbled but coherent, Chase asked, “What…what's going on?” With his good arm, he reached over and took Erin's hand.

“Scott Morris slipped today. He faltered, as Mia had hoped he would. There's no doubt, Erin,” Paul said.

Erin shouldn't have been surprised; it wasn't like the list of suspects they had constructed was extensive. But the rapist's mask had been ripped away, which exposed him for the bastard that he was, and she became overwhelmed with emotion. Relief, fear and pain took hold of her as she replayed the scenes in which she had encountered Morris first over a year ago and then recently in New York.

She was going to be sick.

Erin stood and started for the bathroom when she felt the room begin to spin. Paul caught her right before she tasted floor. Her legs felt like Jell-O as Paul carried her limp body back to the cot.

“I'll get the doctor,” Mia said, running for the door.

Chase bolted out of bed, disregarding the fact that he was hooked up to an IV and a monitor that tracked his vitals, and went to Erin. “My God, you're cold and sweaty.” Erin knew that his shoulder had to hurt like hell, but he didn't show it as his focus was solely on her.

“I need a bucket…something,” Erin said, putting her head between her legs.

Andrew grabbed the plastic pitcher of water from Chase's food tray, dumped it in the sink and handed her the empty container. “Thanks,” she said.

Mia came back into the room just moments later with the doctor. Dr. Miller was calm as he walked over to the second patient in the room. “Let's have a look at you,” he said.

“She's pregnant with twins, six weeks along,” Chase said with urgency.

The doctor sat down next to Erin. “Ahh…well, let me ask you a few questions first. Have you been having morning sickness?”

“And afternoon sickness.” Erin swallowed, fighting back a dry heave.

“Have you been drinking enough liquids?” the doctor asked.

Again Erin nodded, but then added, “But I haven't been able to keep anything down.”

“Okay. One more question. Have you observed any bleeding?”

Erin knew what he was asking. Miscarriage was very common at this stage of pregnancy. Any bleeding was cause for concern, but luckily she hadn't noticed any blood on her many trips to the bathroom. “No, no bleeding,” she said.

Erin felt Chase's tension recede, but then it mounted again as the doctor informed them both that she was in need of fluids. She was most likely dehydrated from all the vomiting and would need to be replenished through an IV. “Ms. Whitley, I'll send up the order for your IV,” the doctor said. “I'm also recommending an exam and an ultrasound, just to be safe.” Dr. Miller scribbled something on his clipboard and stood. “A nurse will be here soon to escort you to the fourth floor.” Dr. Miller smiled and gave her arm a gentle pat. “You also need rest and some stress-free days.”

Erin nodded. “Thank you,” she said, embarrassed for not taking better care of herself.

The doctor shifted his attention to Chase, his actual patient, and said, “Well, Mr. Montclair, you may have earned yourself a few more hours here at luxurious Mercy General.” Chase glanced at his shoulder and scowled. “Leaping out of bed like that, I'll be shocked if you didn't tear your sutures.”

Chase allowed the doctor to peel away the dressing to his wound. It took less than a minute for the doctor to determine that Chase was going to be Mercy's guest for a little while longer.

“I'm sorry, Chase. I didn't mean to worry you,” Erin said.

Chase's eyes did not soften as she had hoped. Instead, he looked determined, almost pissed. “The doctor wants you stress free, something that isn't going to happen if you are here with me in the hospital. After your IV, if you are discharged that is, I want you to go home and rest.”

The thought of being away from Chase sent her into a tailspin. He was lying in this hospital bed because of her. There was no way she was leaving him. “No, I'm not going anywhere.”

The hardened look on his face vanished and was replaced by compassion and love. “You and our babies are the most important people in my life. And you are all at risk if you stay here. Please don't fight me on this, Erin. Because I will win.”

Erin loved his domineering side just as much as she adored his sweet and mushy side, though the dominance had been less frequent as of late, and understandably so. “You're so confident that I will just concede?” she asked, leaning into him.

“Yes. If you don't obey, I'll leave this hospital right now, against doctor's orders. So choose, Erin,” Chase said, his lips curling into a grin.

“That's blackmail. You know I won't risk your health,” Erin said, feeling defeated.

“And you won't risk yours or our babies',” Chase said, pulling her into the crook of his good arm.

How could any expecting mother, a mother who was already in love with the two children growing inside her, argue with that?

C
hase waited until Erin had complied with the doctor's directive and left for the fourth floor with Alex and Mia before discussing his plan for Scott Morris. If it weren't for Erin and her near fainting, Chase would have flown out of that hospital and butchered the good doctor the moment his identity was confirmed. Now that the initial shock was over, Chase's rational side was able to intercede and help devise a plan with Andrew and Paul that would help them achieve their one and only goal: to rid their lives, the world, of Scott Morris leaving no breadcrumbs, crumbs that could lead back to them.

“Morris is on the run. After Mia outed him, he took off and successfully lost the tail we put on him,” Paul said.

Chase attempted to get inside Scott Morris's head. What's he thinking right now? Where would he go? A monster that craves order and needs closure.

“No doubt he's draining his bank account as we speak,” Andrew said. “He'll need all the money he can get his hands on to disappear.”

“Maybe.” Chase stood from his hospital bed. His shoulder hurt like a bitch but he couldn't deal with that now. “I'll ask Sam to continue to monitor Morris's bank accounts. Andrew, we need men to search his home, his office, and his girlfriend's apartment, on the off chance that he is foolish enough to think that we will not be waiting for him at these places.”

“Taken care of,” Andrew said. “And we were tracking his cell phone. Though, according to Frank, he's already ditched it. Frank found it in the Dumpster behind the Fine Meadow.”

Something nagged at Chase. He was suddenly reminded of the night Mia had sat them down and told them what they were dealing with. “Morris will not be able to abandon his life, those that would haunt him for eternity if he up and left. We are dealing with a psychopath, where logic and reason no longer exist. What is more important to him, more fulfilling, is to remain in New York and achieve closure, even if it means he could die in the process.” Chase shook his head. “Morris may go into hiding, but he's not leaving this city, not as long as we're breathing.”

Andrew nodded. “The priority is the girls' safety. As soon as Ms. Whitley is discharged and cleared by her doctor, I recommend that Mia and Ms. Whitley go to the island. I'm aware that Ms. Whitley is with child…with children,” Andrew corrected himself. “Mr. Montclair, would your friend Robert be willing to go along with them, just in case Ms. Whitley was in need of assistance from a doctor?”

“No question. He's practically family,” Chase said.

“Good,” Andrew said.

“And as for the three of us?” Paul asked, gesturing to the only three souls in the room.

Andrew withdrew two guns from his person, though Chase couldn't tell for sure where he had stashed them exactly, and distributed one revolver to each of them. Andrew patted the gun he himself was toting and said, “We stay behind…and flush the bastard out of his hole…by whatever means necessary.”

S
cott's world was crumbling around him, forcing him to claw for solid ground. He knew what he had given up in the restaurant, but in that moment he didn't care. Just seconds before Mia had spoken, he had felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as if anticipating the jolting words she was about to utter from once-adored lips.

By her own admission, Mia had fallen, putting herself in the same category as Erin Whitley. For a brief moment, he had wondered if she was lying to him, to purposefully turn him against her, but in the end he had accepted the distasteful truth that his Angel had indeed been tainted. The discovery and acceptance that Mia would never belong to him was a blow. But it was nothing compared to the fact that he had showed his hand. As much as he hated to admit it, Mia had caught him off guard. Never in a million years did he expect Mia, a woman who had a bodyguard attached to her hip, to confront him in that manner. Fortunately, Mia had taken the bait he had dangled in front of her. Asking Mia about Paul's whereabouts, making her doubt that her man was safe, that Scott had not gotten to him, created the perfect distraction to escape the restaurant without being detected.

Despite being able to elude his tail, Scott could still admit that his life was spinning out of control. He needed to get a handle on it. And for that to happen, he needed money and lots of it. The fucker whom he had lost back at the restaurant was nowhere in sight, which allowed him to slow his pace and catch his breath. He looked up the street and saw a bank ahead. He needed to grab some cash now before his Whore went to the police and named him. Luckily the bank wasn't crowded and he was quickly able to secure enough money so he could breathe for a while. The next thing he had to do was change his appearance so he could walk around freely and not constantly look over his shoulder. It wouldn't be too difficult to morph into someone else. He had pulled it off countless times. A little makeup, a wig, and some bland clothing would make him invisible in a city with a population topping eight million.

An hour and three stores later, he was unrecognizable and feeling more centered. He took a seat at one of the many benches in Eastland Park and withdrew one of the three disposable phones he had purchased on his shopping trip.

Although Scott had planned on having this meeting face-to-face, a phone call would have to suffice. He needed to know what his father was up to. His father's attorney greeted him cordially, but from his tone, Scott knew he was not expecting this call.

“My apologies for calling, but I will not be able to come to Philadelphia and finalize things in person. My patients come first and I am needed here, I'm afraid,” Scott said.

“Yes, I understand. And it's not mandatory that we conduct business in person. I just thought it would be better to meet in private since, well, since…”

Scott was in the middle of stroking his new goatee when he heard Epstein waver. “Have you met with the other beneficiaries?”

“Yes, Dr. Morris, I have already shared your father's will with them and informed them of your father's wishes and what they should expect from his estate.”

Scott didn't like where this was headed and he wasn't going to wait a minute longer to learn why Rodger Epstein had wanted to meet with him privately. “Mr. Epstein, is there something wrong with my father's will?”

“Dr. Morris, there is no delicate way to say this, but your father had drafted a second will and I'm afraid to say that you are no longer a recipient of his estate.”

Scott felt his blood begin to boil. This was not happening. He needed that money, now more than ever. He took a deep breath and asked, “Would you be so kind as to tell me to whom my father is leaving his fortune?”

Scott heard Epstein clear his throat. “Of course, the will is a matter of public record. A third of your father's money has been put into an endowment fund at the hospital he had worked for. Another third of the money will be distributed to the American Heart Association, in honor of your mother. But the final third of the money, the three million dollars that was originally going to you, is now slated for HOPE, one of the nation's largest anti–sexual violence organizations.”

Scott fought the urge to hang up on the fucker. But before losing all control, he had a couple of questions to ask. “When did he write this? Did you know about this second will?”

“At your direction, I hired a team to clear out your father's things to prepare his town home for sale. But I personally dismantled his office and boxed away all papers or things of a delicate nature. I discovered the will, which was dated the very night he died, in the top drawer of his desk, along with two sealed letters.”

“To whom are the letters addressed?” Scott asked. An unnerving feeling settled at the pit of his stomach, and he began to sweat.

“One was obviously addressed to me, the same letter that identified me as the executor. Also included in that letter, were his final wishes. One of those wishes was that I ensure the distribution of the other sealed letter to a Ms. Erin Whitley in New York City,” Epstein said.

“Has Ms. Whitley received her letter?” Scott asked, his tone clipped.

“I imagine she should be receiving it either today or tomorrow.” The attorney must have sensed Scott's irritation because his voice softened just a touch when he said, “You have every right to contest the validity of your father's will, but please understand that the process often takes time, as any legitimate investigation does.”

Scott was in no position to partake in an investigation of any kind. His father had warned him that the world would know who and what he was, he just didn't believe a dead man was capable of such a feat. It had been a grave mistake to underestimate Dr. Mitchell Morris. Scott had never been so close to losing it. He needed to get his thoughts together. “I do not plan to contest. Thank you for your time, Mr. Epstein,” Scott said and ended the call.

Scott sat back on the bench and digested what he had learned. He was left with only two options. He could easily hop on a train or plane and disappear for a long time, maybe indefinitely, if he was creative with the existing money he had in his bank account. It wasn't three million dollars, but it was a considerable amount, enough to get him by for a while. Or he could find and put an end to the one woman who had started it all.