Vaughn wasn’t so sure about that. Hutch was a gifted athlete at every sport and a prized teammate at any sports-related hospital charity event. But he wasn’t going to argue. Vaughn needed to make an effort to reconnect with the world, as witnessed by his ineptitude making conversation with Abigail.
“Good point. Name the time and I’ll be there.” Pocketing his phone, Vaughn waved his colleague farther down the hall, away from beeping monitors and nurses buzzing in and out of the floor’s hub. “I have a quick question for you first, if you have a minute.”
“Sure thing.” Hutch walked with him, tossing his apple core in a basket on the way.
They stopped by the window overlooking the top floor of the parking garage. The lights were on since it was after 9:00 p.m. and one car drew his eye in the mostly empty lot.
Abigail’s compact vehicle was parked under one of the streetlamps. He recognized the vehicle from the magnet on one side, advertising her artwork. The knowledge that she was here, working late, sent a surge of longing through him. He wanted to see her.
Needed to see her.
“Hutch, I wasn’t sure who else to ask about this...” Vaughn had put in a call to Will Sanders, hoping to learn more about possible danger to Abigail from the man who impersonated him. “But I’ve struck up a friendship with a woman who was involved with Will Sanders’s imposter this winter.”
“Rich Lowell.” Hutch’s lip curled, his disdain obvious.
“That’s the name I heard, too. Is that confirmed?” Vaughn hadn’t gleaned much from Abigail the day he’d learned about her pregnancy, and he wanted to be sure she was safe. “Rich and Will used to be good friends.”
“So I hear.” Hutch leaned a shoulder against the window. He hadn’t grown up in Royal, yet these days, he had a far better grasp on what was happening in town than Vaughn did. “But the police warned the TCC board to take extra precautions with any files Will had access to in the past year, including member profiles and sensitive data. Rich had access to everything.”
“Do the police think he’s still in the area?” Vaughn’s gaze dropped to that solitary vehicle under the streetlamp again.
The nearest car was at least fifty yards away.
“They aren’t ruling anything out. The FBI did DNA testing on the ashes that Jason Phillips shipped back after the plane crash that supposedly belonged to Will, and they definitely don’t belong to Rich Lowell.”
So Rich was alive. And a wanted felon.
“The guy could be dangerous.” Vaughn’s gut churned at the thought of Abigail being vulnerable to a man like that. He swore softly.
“I’m sure police have warned her to be careful. They’ve spoken to everyone who was close to the imposter.” Hutch straightened from where he leaned against the window, his phone vibrating in his pocket. “And I hear Will is hiring a private detective to do some work on the case, too. Make sure nothing gets overlooked.”
Hutch checked his message while Vaughn plotted the fastest path to the children’s ward. He had to check on Abigail. An artist living alone in a downtown bungalow didn’t have the resources that someone like Will did. She couldn’t hire her own investigator or a bodyguard.
“Thanks for the update.” Vaughn backed away, thinking the stairs were quickest. “And I’m not letting you off the hook for tennis.”
Hutch grinned as he pocketed his phone. “You think I’m beatable after a few months away from my game?”
“No one’s reign lasts forever.” He levered open the door to the stairwell and headed down a flight to the children’s ward, where Abigail must still be working.
He hadn’t wanted to push for more with her when his head was wrecked and she was expecting another man’s child. She had a lot on her plate, and so did he. But if she was in danger, all bets were off.
He would make damn sure he was there to keep her safe.
* * *
The tree needed more branches.
Abigail could appreciate that now that she saw the tree sculpture in its new home in the Royal Memorial Hospital children’s ward. Art took on a different appearance according to the surroundings—the light, the space, the colors nearby. And after paying a professional mover to relocate her half-finished piece this afternoon, she could see that she had more work left to do than she had imagined.
She didn’t mind the extra effort. This project meant so much to her that she wanted it to be perfect. Abigail liked the idea of a tree with deep roots and extensive branches that reached out to draw in visitors. A place of comfort and reflection.
What Abigail did mind was the added expense of paying a mover to transport more raw materials to the hospital. If she’d been thinking ahead, she could have saved herself some money by incorporating everything she needed into one trip. Considering how long that commission check needed to last her, it was essential to start making smarter decisions to spend wisely.
She took out a pen and paper from her purse to write notes about which pieces would fit the sculpture best to add new branches to the tree. Then, lowering herself to the work platform she’d installed around the base of the tree, she tucked a foot beneath her and started a list.
The lounge was quiet tonight, making it easy to concentrate. When the sculpture was finished, the lounge would extend to the area around her tree, but for now, the hospital building crew had roped off her job site. It didn’t stop interested people from hopping over to take a peek or offer a compliment, but it wasn’t as though she had to work with many people around her.
By tomorrow, there would be plastic sheeting hung up all around the sculpture so she could use her electric tools. For now, she scribbled.
She was so lost in thought, imagining a pattern of wood pieces grafted to the central trunk, that she never heard footsteps
