“Please,” he added. “I thought you believed me about what happened with Andrew.”
“Maybe. I...” Her shoulders slumped. “I haven’t really had a chance to process it. My hesitance is not really about what happened with Andrew. Not completely. I just...” She blew out a tired breath. “So much has happened today. My head is spinning.”
He closed the distance between them and stroked a hand down her arm. Grasping her elbow, he drew her even closer and held her gaze. “Can you at least believe I’m your friend? That I care about what happens to you and Nicholas, and I’m trying to do what is best for you?”
She moistened her lips, and just the glimpse of her tongue sliding along the seam of her mouth sent a shock wave of lust pounding through him.
He dropped her arm and took an awkward step back, as if Andrew had planted a hand in his chest and shoved. That’s my wife, man. Stay away!
Penelope lowered her chin to stare at the floor for a moment before nodding. When she raised her head again, tears had filled her eyes. “It’s just... Damn it, Reid. I’m scared. I don’t know what to think, who to trust. Andrew is gone, and my father might be a crook. Someone hates me enough to have me killed, and everything I’d been told about your involvement with Andrew’s death may have been lies.”
He raised a finger. “Not lies exactly, but half truths. Deceptive half truths.” She pulled a face, displaying her frustration with his quibble over semantics, and he pressed on to the more important point. “And I wouldn’t say the shooting today was based on hatred.”
Her eyebrows darted up in disbelief. “Then what—”
“Fear. Someone has something to lose if they don’t get rid of you. Get rid of us. Remember I was there, too.”
Now her expression crumpled into confusion.
“That something could be money, position, power, love—”
She frowned dubiously. “Love?”
He hesitated a beat. “I have to ask... Are you having an affair with anyone? A married man maybe?”
She scoffed an incredulous laugh. “No! How could you even think—”
“Okay!” He held up both hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to get a handle on who might be behind this.” Rubbing his palms on his jeans, he sighed. “I’m still inclined to think this has to do with your father, but I don’t want to miss something because of tunnel vision.”
Her face paled, but she didn’t argue, which said a lot about her own thought processes on the matter. She carried her squirming son to the couch and dropped heavily on the cushions. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, her gaze growing distant and disturbed. Nicholas wiggled free from her slackened grasp and toddled across the floor, taking in his new environment with eyes rounded in wonder.
“I know it’s hard for you to believe your own father would try to hurt you, but we can’t—”
“No.”
“Pen, we have to consider...”
“Not hard to believe...” she muttered, still staring into near space. “Believable. He’s heartless when it serves him. He...” She swallowed hard and blinked rapidly as if clearing tears from her eyes. “He was cold and dismissive of my mother when she got sick. I’ve seen him treat the house staff like dirt. He can be a self-centered bastard over and again and lose no sleep over it.”
Casting a glance to the toddler to check on him, Reid joined her on the couch, his thoughts spiraling in new directions. “Pen, if your father knew Andrew was building a case against him...” He scrubbed a hand down his cheek and scratched the stubble on his chin. He didn’t like the direction his train of thought was going, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in his gut.
“My father had something to do with Andrew’s death,” she said in a rasp, completing the sentence for him. She lifted bleak eyes to him. Swallowed hard. “He could have tampered with Andrew’s insulin. He had the opportunity.”
Reid sat back, eyeing Pen and digesting her assertion. “Opportunity? When?”
“A couple months after Nicholas was born, he showed up at our house saying he wanted to get to know his only grandson. Forget that we hadn’t talked more than five minutes in three years. Suddenly he wants a relationship with his grandchild. Not me, mind you. Nicholas.” Bitterness weighted her tone, and she shook her head as she turned to search the room for her wandering child. Nicholas had found a stack of magazines he was spreading out on the floor, crumpling the covers in his fist.
She made a move to get up, and he waved her back onto the couch. “Let him have ’em. They’re not important. Finish what you were saying. He came to your house to see Nicholas, and...”
“He came a few times, but he never spent much time with the baby. I mean, Nicholas was only a couple months old at the time. He could hardly hold a conversation with him or throw a baseball in the yard.”
“What did he do?”
“He sat in the family room with me, and we had extremely awkward conversations about the weather and how cute the baby was. I’d offer him something to drink and leave him alone in the family room for a while so I could start a pot of coffee. Once, I recall, he excused himself to use the bathroom and was gone for a long time.”
Nicholas abandoned the magazines and headed for the large window with a view of the backyard and lake. Reid kept half of his attention on the boy as he plastered slobbery hands on the glass and pressed his runny nose to the window.
“Out?” Nicholas chirped.
“Andrew wasn’t home with you?” he asked, facing Pen again.
“No. He never came by when Andrew was home. And he never stayed more than thirty minutes or so.” She rubbed a hand on her opposite arm and glared at the coffee table as she dredged up the memories. “He’d look in on the baby or hold him for maybe five minutes before passing him back to me, have a stilted chat for a few minutes, disappear to the bathroom for ten or so minutes and then say he wasn’t feeling well, or he had a meeting to rush off to or some excuse and take off. I was always relieved to see him go. The visits were so...strained. And strange.”