She struggled to sit up, far more quickly than he could have guessed, and launched herself into his arms.
“Torie,” he breathed, holding her tight, stroking her hair over and over. “Oh, I thought I’d lost you.”
“No, Paul, no. You’ve found me.”
Epilogue
“We’ve got to stop hanging around in ambulances and hospitals,” Paul quipped, sitting on the seat in the back of the emergency vehicle, wrapped in a blanket. He had no idea why they’d given him the blanket, since he wasn’t cold. He was glad, though, because it gave him something to hold onto as they loaded Torie onto a stretcher, and readied her for transport to the hospital.
“You’re right,” she managed around the muffling oxygen mask. “This sucks. And I didn’t get my dance.”
He laughed, but felt tears rise up as well. The emotion was so new, so raw, it choked him as he looked at her. Her sexy dress was dirty now, and her hose torn.
Her shoes sat in a bag at the side of the stretcher. It seemed so odd.
“He was so angry,” he heard her whisper. Tearing his gaze away from the strappy dancing shoes, he nodded.
“Yeah. How could he have gotten that twisted up?”
“Don’t know,” she whispered.
In the hospital room, Dev, Pam, and Paul perched like birds around the small space. Pam had the lone chair, but Dev, still looking battered, sat on the arm. Paul was as near to Torie as he could get, one hip on the bed itself.
“You,” Torie said as she pointed at her cousin, “have some ’splainin’ to do, Lucy.” She put on a Ricky Ricardo accent.
“To a lot of people,” he drawled. “We’ll get to that, you know?”
“Yeah.” She focused on Paul. “When are you getting me out of here, hmmmm?”
“Doctor has to clear you. Besides, Tibbet wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“He should be here any minute.”
“That’s what they all say,” she joked, then sobered. “How’s Mister Pratt?”
Paul’s face fell, and his eyes were sad. “Whatever Melvin gave him kicked off a massive heart attack. He’s still unconscious. They won’t tell me anything else, because I’m not kin.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.” She reached for his hand, both giving comfort and seeking it.
“Did you get any sleep, Torie?” Pam finally spoke. She looked happy, in spite of the circumstances. Torie had to smile at the possessive hand Dev was keeping on her shoulder.
“Some, once I stopped, well, you know.” She didn’t really want to talk about how much she’d thrown up. The drug Melvin had used made her sick. Between her first bout with it after the fire and now, she’d thrown up more in the last six weeks than she had in the past eleven years.
“Yeah. What—” her question was aborted as Tibbet knocked and came in.
“Good morning. Looks like you’ve drawn a crowd again,” he said with a smile.
“Yeah, but it’s my crowd, so I’m okay with it.”
“I can see that. I’ll make this brief and get out of your way. The warrant on Melvin Pratt Jr.’s home was served, and we were able to find enough evidence to link him not only to Todd Peterson’s death, but to the fire at your house, Ms. Hagen. He kept journals in a funky shorthand, but it only took our guy a few minutes to figure it out. Had ’em in a safe, too, but that was easy. Evidently, he’s also partially responsible for the computer crash at your office.” He directed the last bit to Paul.
“He was,” Torie said. “I was in and out in the car, but he planned the thing at the frat house. The one we discussed? He wanted to marry me.”
“Ah.” Tibbet flicked a glance at Pam and Dev. “You said something last night about the lottery as well?” The ubiquitous notebook was out, and Tibbet was jotting things down.
“Yes, he had been the one to buy all the tickets that day for everyone in the office. He said that Todd stole the money from him, since he had been the one to actually purchase the winning ticket. He believed Todd got me to marry him as a slap, in addition to the money.”
“Ah, okay. That makes more sense when you put it that way.”
“I guess I wasn’t all that coherent last night.”
“You did fine,” Tibbet praised. “I’ve just got a couple of other questions. Do you have any idea what he might have given his father?”
“No.” She paused, trying to remember exactly what Melvin had said. “But I’m sure it was him. Melvin said that he’d kill me and get back to the hotel in time to ride with the old man to the hospital.”
“Hmmm. Very good.” He closed his book, looked over at Dev. “What about you, Mister Chance?”
“Me? I’m living life, Detective.”
“Uh huh.” Tibbet didn’t look convinced. “You now think the attack on you was unrelated, you said.”
“Oh, yes,” he drawled. “Totally unrelated. Nasty coincidence you might say. Worried my poor cher cousine half to death, though. I scolded the people responsible quite harshly.”
“You did, eh? You know you shouldn’t tell me that.”
“No, I reckon not. But you’re okay, for a damn Yankee Philly boy,” he fired back. “You come down south to the Big Easy, I fix you up with the best meal and the best time you ever had. Payback for taking care of my girl,
