Murder in Texas, page 2
The elevator dinged, jolting him back to reality and out of his quick trip down memory lane. He realized his hands were fisted, and he clenched his back teeth so hard he thought they might crack if he didn’t ease up.
So, yeah, he was ready for battle.
Dillen forced a couple of slow breaths as the doors opened. There was a nurses’ station immediately in front of him. He assumed the waiting room would be off to the side. Maybe he could swing by his father’s room rather than sit in a blue-and-white room with burnt coffee sitting on warmers.
There were two nurses at their station. As soon as he stepped out of the elevator bank, they studied him as though a warning call had been made from downstairs.
“The waiting room is right over there,” one of the nurses said. “We’ve alerted Dr. Lawrence that you’ve arrived. He’s on his way.”
Dillen nodded and thanked them. It might’ve been best to be briefed by the doctor before he saw his father in person. Although part of him wanted to explain to the nurses there wasn’t much that could shock him considering what he did for a living.
He stopped halfway across the hallway and turned. “Coffee?”
“There should be some already brewed in there,” the nurse said. The somber tone had him concerned. “If not, let me know and I’ll put on a pot.”
After thanking them again, he walked into the sterile, white-tiled room with blue chairs. The room was empty save for one woman with a large bandage on her head. She looked up, and his hands fisted.
What the hell was Liz Hayes doing here?
Chapter Two
Liz stood up the minute Dillen Bullard walked into the room, surprised at how quickly her pulse climbed. The man was over six feet tall and built with stacked muscles on top of lean hips. His dark hair was cut tight, and he had the most piercing pair of hazel eyes—eyes that were surprisingly soft on a face of hard angles and planes. Military fatigues made the green hue in his eyes pop. He was all broad chest, solid arms and slim waist. If it wasn’t Dillen Bullard standing there, she might’ve thought he was the sexiest man she’d seen in a long time. Maybe ever.
Chalking up her physical reaction to a stress response at seeing the person who’d mercilessly picked on her growing up, Liz mentally shook it off. Besides, she hadn’t backed down then and she wouldn’t now as he stood there with his arms crossed, studying her.
“I’d ask what you’re doing here, but the bandage on your head tells me you’re a patient,” he said before heading toward the coffee machine.
For a split second, she debated whether or not to tell him the real reason she’d been in this waiting room for five days straight without a shower and skipped Christmas with her family yesterday. A few spritzes of perfume had kept her from stinking up the place.
Dillen poured a cup of fresh brew and stood rooted to his spot as he took the first sip. She couldn’t help but notice he kept one eye on her the whole time.
“True,” she finally said, folding her arms and hugging them to her chest. “How do you explain the fact I was treated and released five days ago yet am still here, waiting for Mr. Bullard to wake up?”
The look he shot her could have frozen water on the sidewalk during a Texas summer. She shook it off.
“I was there at the construction site,” she said before Dr. Lawrence walked in the room, stopping all conversation. Since she wasn’t next of kin, the doctor couldn’t tell her anything about Mr. Bullard’s condition even though she’d slipped in his room a couple of times when the night nurse was busy.
A look of shock flashed across Dillen’s features before he refocused on the man in scrubs. Dillen’s jaw muscle clenched like he was biting back something he wanted to say. At his height and with the way he took up space in a room, most people would be intimidated. Not Liz. So, she dropped her arms to her sides and turned toward the doctor.
The look on Dr. Lawrence’s face as he made a beeline for Dillen with an outstretched hand caused her stomach lining to braid. Introductions were made after a handshake. The doctor was middle aged and half a foot shorter than Dillen. He was slim and serious with small specs for glasses. Dillen seemed to sense the news wasn’t going to be good. His face was stone-cold sober as he asked how his father was doing.
“Mr. Bullard sustained multiple contusions to his frontal—”
“Can you give it to me in plain English, please, sir?” Dillen asked. His deep, even timbre washed over her. It wasn’t something she could risk paying too much attention to or she might actually stop resenting the guy. This seemed like a good time to remind herself that she was here for a lonely old man whose son was deployed. Plus, she respected Dillen for his service. It was impossible to hate him. He appeared to have cleaned up his life even though his attitude toward her hadn’t changed, which was exactly the reason she had every intention of keeping him at arm’s length.
Dr. Lawrence looked Dillen straight in the eyes. He shook his head. “I’m sorry to inform you that your father passed away twenty minutes ago.” He paused for a beat. “We did everything possible to save him.”
All the muscles in Dillen’s body tensed. He took in a breath that looked like it was meant to calm a rage building inside him, as though guilt threatened to eat him from the inside out. “I was briefed as to how he ended up in the hospital, but I have questions.”
“According to the file, this young lady found him on a construction site covered in rubble during a sleet storm,” the doctor said. “Flying debris may have been responsible.”
Dillen nodded and his jaw muscle clenched. “I appreciate everything you did for my father.”
“I couldn’t be sorrier,” Dr. Lawrence said as tears welled in Liz’s eyes. “Would you like to speak to someone in the clergy?”
“No. Thank you, sir,” Dillen said, his voice even like he’d switched to autopilot. Her chest squeezed and her heart ached.
The doctor excused himself after saying someone would be coming to take Dillen to his father in a few minutes.
Dillen swallowed the rest of the contents of his cup and then crushed the foam in his hand before chunking it into the trash. He dropped his backpack onto a chair and then walked over to the window, raking his hands through his hair.
There were so many things Liz wanted to say, but her mouth couldn’t form the words. I’m sorry seemed hollow and lacking. Before she could think, he whirled around on her.
“What were you doing at the construction site?” he asked, his tone accusing. Those hazel eyes appraised her, causing heat to flood her.
Considering the fact he’d just been told his father was gone, she didn’t feel the need to split hairs about his tone of voice.
“That’s a good question,” she responded. “The sheriff believes this was an accident.”
“You don’t?” he asked, studying her.
“I left my car on the side of the road at a red light in a sleet storm after hearing a call for help,” she said. “Apparently, someone called 911 but didn’t stop because the storm was getting worse. That’s as much as I know since I must have also been hit with debris. I can’t remember much else about that afternoon other than the fact I was on my way back to my family’s ranch.”
“But you don’t believe it’s as simple as that,” he said.
“No. I don’t,” she admitted. “It’s strange. Don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea. I landed an hour ago and made my way here. I was told there was an accident, and that’s about all I know.”
“I have questions,” she said.
“Meaning?” he asked. His posture said he was still a bundle of tension and coiled so tightly that it wouldn’t take much for him to snap. She couldn’t blame him for his frustration and sadness. He’d traveled a long way to receive devastating news.
“What was I doing at a construction site in the first place?” she asked. “Not to mention the fact I’m still confused as to what your father would have been doing there when a storm was on its way.” She shrugged. “He’s not connected to the job in any way. So, why go?”
“What did the sheriff say?” he asked. “I’m assuming you mentioned your concerns.”
She blew out a breath.
“I’m not sure why he believes what he does,” she said honestly. “I guess it wraps the situation up in a nice bow.” She paused for a beat. “It just doesn’t scan right for me.” She tried to ignore the headache trying to form in between her eyes. Blinking a couple of times didn’t help. Neither did the overhead fluorescent lighting in the room.
Her eyes burned. “I’m not trying to cause trouble here. None of the explanations make sense. I mean, I’m supposed to have abandoned my vehicle based on realizing someone needed help, but there must have been thunder and lightning. So how did I hear your father? And then why wouldn’t I be the one to call 911 if I had concerns? According to the sheriff, a concerned citizen saw my vehicle and called for help. That much, I can believe based on the weather reports. Your father was supposed to have been buried in debris and I was also hit. But I have bruises that don’t match up with what was supposed to have happened to me. Then there’s my head injury. Wouldn’t I duck if debris was flying at me?”
“Why would you even care about my dad?” he asked with the venom of a snake bite.
She bit back the urge to call him out on his preconceived notion of her. Once again, she reminded herself that he’d lost someone he loved. She knew what it was like to lose a parent, except that she’d been too young to remember much about her father.
“Because when I asked the hospital staff how your father was doing, they shook their heads. I came into the waiting room to offer sympathy, and no one was here,” she said with a little more ire than intended. She couldn’t help it. Dillen got under her skin more than she wanted to admit. “No one should be alone over the holidays.”
* * *
THOSE WORDS WERE the equivalent of knife stabs to the center of Dillen’s chest. He stood even straighter and clenched his fists. “I was on my way as soon as I received word.”
“And here you are,” she said with a curt tone. He was being dismissed by the raven-haired woman—a woman who’d grown up from a spindly-legged child with long hair and dark-roast eyes. She had on jeans that covered long legs and a sweater that hugged full breasts. Under normal circumstances, she was exactly the kind of person he would want to get to know better. But this was Liz Hayes, and her attitude toward him was a bucket of ice water. After all these years, she still looked down her nose at him.
“Then you can go,” he said before it clicked that she might’ve been the only witness to what had happened to his father—a father who was gone now. Those last words were more physical blows.
Dillen issued a sharp sigh as she stood there, tapping her toe.
“But I hope you won’t,” he said as a nurse entered the room.
“Mr. Bullard,” she began reverently, “I can take you to see your father now.” Her tone matched the occasion and was a stark reminder of his loss.
Dillen nodded even though he couldn’t seem to get his feet to move. He caught Liz’s gaze and held on to it. Would she be here when he returned? He didn’t have the right to ask her, so he turned and walked out of the room behind the nurse.
It dawned on him that Liz had stuck around when his father had needed someone and Dillen had just treated her like she’d been the one to hurt his dad. Jerk move on Dillen’s part. Part of him hoped she would stick around so he could apologize. Based on the bandage on her forehead, she’d been through hell and back. She said she didn’t remember exactly what happened. Although that could change. He wasn’t an expert at head injuries, but he’d experienced or witnessed his fair share. One of his buddies had forgotten how to speak for a week after being knocked in the head with a piece of metal. His speech had come back as though nothing had ever happened.
Time slowed on the walk down the long hallway. Dillen’s mind snapped back to the past, to all those Sunday pizza dinners. They’d always had pizza on Sundays. Every night had had a meal assigned to it. Routine had been the staple of his father’s existence. There hadn’t been much in the way of money, but there’d been food on the table every night. The government had provided Dillen’s breakfast and lunches while at school. It was most likely part of the reason he’d signed up for the military after high school graduation instead of working in town or on a ranch. He’d figured he owed some loyalty, that the government deserved to be paid back for their investment.
Routine had also the bane of Dillen’s childhood.
During high school, he’d tried to talk his father into driving two towns over to grocery shop at one of those big box stores. He’d tried to convince his old man that the cheap prices had made up for the extra gas. But Pop had waved him off, saying Tuesdays were for the grocery store in Cider Creek. Dillen had been embarrassed for his friends to see they’d been on government assistance.
His part-time job cleaning out stalls had earned him the nickname Bullcrap from the jocks at school. It had been replaced by Pit Bull once he’d joined the service for his ability to lock onto a target with relentless force. All the bullying in school had given him the drive to push his body to its limits and become the strongest human he could possibly be.
It also had also him enough anger to last a lifetime. He’d taken some of it out on Liz in the waiting room. Dillen owed her an apology.
The nurse stopped in front of room 501.
“Take all the time you need,” she said. “Hit the call button when you’re ready.” She didn’t explain further as she spoke softly. The rest was obvious. His father’s body would be taken to the morgue. “Someone from administration will be waiting at the nurse’s station for your instructions on how you would like to handle the details.”
He thanked her before stepping inside the room. An emptiness filled his chest like when he’d been five years old and had watched his mother walk out and into the cab of a waiting U-Haul. The memory gutted him, even after all these years.
Dillen walked to his father’s bedside, sat down and then reached for his hand. Closing his eyes, he could imagine them sitting at the table, talking about all those stupid little things people talked about like gas prices and the weather. Funny how people never discussed anything important or noticed how much they would miss someone until they were gone.
A few tears spilled down Dillen’s cheeks as he bent forward and rested his head on their joined hands. He would give ten years off the back end of his life to be able to tell his father the words neither had uttered out loud in his thirty-two years of life. He would tell his father that he loved him.
Minutes passed before Dillen could pull himself together enough to sit up straight again.
“Hey, Pop,” he began. It didn’t matter that his father couldn’t hear. “Remember that time I hid in the closet in your room and ended up trapping myself inside?” He paused for a few beats, remembering all the times he’d been a jerk to his father. The teenage years had been the worst. His temper had raged, and he’d hated everything about their life.
Dillen took in a couple of slow breaths so he could get the next part out without losing it.
“I wasn’t scared, even though I didn’t like being in tight places back then,” he continued, a few rogue tears rolling down his cheeks, dripping onto the blanket one by one.
He squeezed his father’s lifeless hand.
“Because I knew that you would come looking for me,” he managed to get out as emotion knotted in his throat, making it hard to speak. “I wasn’t afraid because I knew you would turn over the whole house until you found me, and I’d be okay.”
Guilt and regret slammed into him at all the years he’d missed with his father. It had been too easy to leave Cider Creek and not look back. Keeping himself distracted and busy had made it too easy to lose track of what was really important. It had been too easy to turn his back on the one who’d stuck it out, unlike his other parent.
And now it was too late to get any of the missed time back. Too late to be the son his father had deserved to have. Too late to make it right between them.
His father wasn’t supposed to be gone this soon.
Dillen sat there in silence for a long while, no longer counting the minutes as they passed.
Eventually, he stood up and let go of his father’s hand. Then he said the words he should have a long time ago: “I love you, Pop.”
It occurred to Dillen that he’d been inside the room for an hour. There was no way Liz would still be waiting around after all this time had passed. He didn’t blame her, either. There had to be some way to look her up or ask for her number. As he walked down the hallway toward the nurse’s station, her words cycled through his thoughts and his anger returned. Because she’d made it seem like there had been foul play involved. And he intended to find out why.
Being a notoriously private person, Hayes would make tracking her down a challenge. Many people lived their lives on social media by “checking in” to every restaurant, park and jogging trail. Not so for the Hayes family—not that he’d stalked them. It was common knowledge.
A man who resembled his father’s neighbor stood at the elevators. Mr. Martin must’ve been getting ready for the cold because his gloves were already on. Dillen shoved the thought aside as the guy stepped into the elevator and then the doors closed behind him.
By chance, he peeked inside the waiting room just in case Liz was still there. As he’d expected, she was gone.
Chapter Three
