entrance.
“No jury would convict her,” Ben continued. “There are hospital records. She’s got scars. I’ve seen them. Listen, she’s willing to meet with you on Saturday and talk this out. You’ll have a chance to see your son—”
“Shut him up,” Kenneth muttered to his private investigator.
All at once, Kirkabee slammed his fist across Ben’s jaw.
Ben reeled back against the garage wall. The searing pain rushed over his face. He was blinded, and for a moment all he saw was white. But he heard Kenneth say
Ben felt someone step behind him and grab his arms with a talonlike grip. Still blinded by the sucker punch, he tried to struggle. He had just started to see again when Kenneth Woodley came into focus. He slapped Ben across the face with the back of his hand. Then he stepped forward and shoved his knee up into Ben’s groin.
“Let him go,” he grumbled.
Ben collapsed to the pavement. He couldn’t breathe. Lying on his side, he curled up in a fetal position. He watched Kenneth Woodley and his detective friend heading back toward the water, down to the marina.
He realized one of the boats docked outside the restaurant was theirs.
Ben finally caught a breath, and then another. Lifting his head from the pavement, he felt something warm trickling down his face. He realized his mouth and nose were bleeding. He pulled himself up and staggered a few feet until the dizziness overpowered him. He grabbed onto a post and tried to focus on Kenneth Woodley and the private investigator.
They were on the deck of a yacht, with Woodley at the helm, barking orders at Kirkabee. They started to move away from the dock.
“NO! DON’T!” Ben yelled.
Frustrated and helpless, Ben watched the boat arc around the restaurant toward the open water.
He backtracked toward the garage and ran through the parking lot near the marina. He tried to follow the course of Kenneth’s yacht as it glided across the silver-black water. He figured they must have been headed for another dock off Lake Union.
Ben didn’t try to call to them. They were too far away. But he could still see Kenneth at the wheel and Kirkabee sitting near him, pulling at the rope lines. Ben could see the white and blue sail starting to ascend against the dark horizon.
Then he saw the flash, the first spark.
The explosion seemed to light up the sky. Flames and debris shot fifty feet in the air. Smoke plumes belched from the center of the yacht.
Ben’s ears rang from the loud detonation, yet he thought he heard a bloodcurdling scream. He saw someone aboard what was left of that yacht, and the man was on fire. It might have been Kenneth. Ben wasn’t certain. That burning, flailing figure was like a ghost amid the flames.
A second blast ripped through the boat, tearing the scorched, sinking vessel into pieces—along with its two passengers.
Twenty
Hannah hadn’t expected to cry.
But after Ben had called from a gas station and told her about the boat explosion, she hung up the phone and burst into tears. She kept wondering why she was crying over the death of someone who had made her so miserable for so many years. Kenneth was a son of a bitch, but she hadn’t wanted him to die.
Maybe she was crying for herself—for the poor, stupid waitress/actress who had just lost her father, and who had fallen for a cocky, charming man she’d known was all wrong for her. She’d had such great hopes back then, such potential. Perhaps Hannah was finally allowing herself to mourn for that young woman, and everything Kenneth Woodley had done to her. Whatever the reason, she wept for almost an hour, stepping out to the balcony much of the time so Guy wouldn’t hear.
Ben came back around eight o’clock. Hannah gasped at the sight of him. One side of his handsome face was swollen, and his shirt was splattered with blood.
While he was washing up, Hannah went into Guy’s room and told him that Ben had fallen off a bicycle. That didn’t stop Guy from cringing—then crying—when he saw Ben’s battered face a few minutes later. Ben stayed with him a while and managed to calm him down.
Hannah retreated to the kitchen, where she warmed up some of her macaroni and cheese souffle. She also loaded two Ziploc bags full of ice; one for Ben’s face, and the other to assuage the pain from a strike below the belt. Typical Kenneth.
“He’s sleeping,” Ben announced, coming from the hallway. He winced a bit as he sat down at the counter.
“Here,” Hannah said, handing him the impromptu ice bags. “One’s for your face, and the other one’s for your—whatevers.”
“My whatevers thank you,” Ben said, putting one ice bag between his legs, then holding the other to his jaw. “I tried that choo-choo-train routine with Guy, the one you do to help him fall asleep. And it worked. He’s really sweet, Hannah. Rest assured, there’s none of his dad in him.”
Hannah removed a saucepan from the burner. “I have vegetables steaming,” she said. “They need a few more minutes. I’ll get lost, go clean the bathroom or something. Why don’t you call your wife?”
“Did Jennifer call here?”
“No,” Hannah said. “But you should call her. She helped you set up that meeting. She knows it was dangerous. She’s probably worried.”
“You don’t mind?” he asked.
She took the cordless phone out of its cradle and handed it to him. “Call her.”
Hannah headed down the hallway. She went into Guy’s room and tidied up while he slept. She could hear Ben talking on the phone, but tried not to listen. In a strange way, she was glad he hadn’t thought to call his wife. It gave her a chance to be noble. After playing house with Ben Podowski for the last two nights, this was a good reality check for both of them.
Still, a couple of minutes later, as she tossed some things in the bathroom hamper, Hannah couldn’t help catching part of his conversation with Jennifer.
“No, I can’t,” Ben was saying. “Not for few more days. It could even be a few more weeks…. No, she’s leaving town very soon, but I need to stay. I’m involved in this now…. I’ll know more later. Either way, I can’t leave, honey…. Well, I know, but I’m not going anywhere until I find out who’s responsible for Rae…. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Get some sleep, honey. Thanks again—for everything.”
Hannah felt a little tug at her heart. She’d wanted a reality check, but hearing him call Jennifer “honey” was a little too real.
Clearing her throat, Hannah started up the hallway. She turned the corner in time to see Ben put down the cordless phone.
“You were right,” he sighed. “Jennifer said she was freaking out over this meeting. She was hoping I’d call.”
Hannah walked around to the other side of the counter. “It’s nice to have someone to worry about you at times,” she said, serving up his dinner. She set the plate in front of him. “Think you can chew without it hurting?”
“I’ll give it a try,” he said, putting aside the ice bag and picking up his fork. “Thanks, Hannah. This looks
