Rich (Benson Security #5) - Janet Elizabeth Henderson Page 0,119

I’m finished with Benson Security, and I’m staying on at TayFor?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t believe him until I heard it from the horse’s mouth.”

“Then consider yourself talking to a horse.”

“Good. Good then.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll go fetch some coffee.” With that, he disappeared from the room.

Her mother watched him go as she perched on the side of Rachel’s bed. “He’s been very upset. We all have. I can’t…I can’t even begin to get my head around what Samantha did.” She blinked back tears, and Rachel reached for her hand.

“It’ll take a very long time and a lot of therapy to deal with this,” Rachel said.

“Of course, you’re right.” Her mother forced a smile.

“Where is she?” came a voice from the door. “Where’s my granddaughter?”

Rachel let out a sigh as her grandmother steamrolled her way to her bedside. “Must you make such a fuss?”

“No, but I do enjoy doing it.” Her gran kissed her cheek. “You look dreadful. Don’t they have hairdressers in here?” She glanced around as though one might suddenly manifest. “And the bruises. Next time I’ll bring my cosmetics and fix you right up.”

Harvard, the suck-up, pushed a chair over for her grandmother to sit in, earning himself a benevolent smile. “Thank you, dear. Now, if you don’t mind, would you find me a cup of tea?”

Harvard’s lips twitched before he headed for the door. “Be right back,” he promised.

“I like him,” her grandmother said. “Could you please make an effort to hold the wedding sooner rather than later? You know, before I die?”

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Rachel’s mum said.

“Oh, don’t pretend you aren’t thinking it too.” Her gran reached out and took Rachel’s hand. “I’m rather upset that Samantha’s dead,” she said. “I should have liked to torture the bloody life out of her myself.”

“Mother!” Rachel’s own mother snapped. “That isn’t appropriate.”

“Oh, tosh.” She squeezed Rachel’s hand. “How are you, really?”

“Tired. Sore. Already fed up with being a captive audience for my overbearing family.”

“In other words, you’re back to your usual self.” Her grandmother sat back in her chair. “Just as I thought. It takes more than a homicidal maniac in a dress to get my granddaughter down. Now, where’s my tea?”

Rachel’s mother rolled her eyes at her, almost making Rachel laugh.

“Good, you’re awake.” Elle appeared in the doorway, dressed in what could only be called full Smurfette. She was blue and white from head to toe, and it actually hurt Rachel’s head to look at her.

“Did you bring sunglasses with you? Because whatever you’re wearing is painful to look at.”

“No. I brought cake.” Elle placed it on the table at the end of Rachel’s bed. “There was more, but I shared a cab with Ryan.”

As if hearing his name, he sauntered into the room and grinned at Rachel. “I told Elle it would take more than a near-drowning to kill off the Queen of the Damned.”

“Isn’t there a limit to how many people can visit at one time?” Rachel demanded. “Is no one policing this?”

“Oo,” her grandmother said, her eyes on Ryan. “If I were ten years younger, you’d be just my cup of tea. Speaking of which, could you chase down Harvard and find out where he is with my tea?”

“For a pretty lady like you, absolutely,” Ryan said before heading back out.

“I feel nauseous,” Rachel said.

“I’ll get the doctor.” Her mother jumped to her feet.

“Don’t bother,” Elle said. “It’s just Ryan sucking up to her grandmother that’s making her sick. After years of working with her, I’m fluent in Rachel-speak.”

“She’s awake,” Isobel shouted as she came into the room, carrying balloons. “We weren’t sure if you’d be awake or not.”

Callum came in after his wife. “I’m here under duress,” he growled.

At last, something they had in common. “So am I,” Rachel told him as she peered behind him.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We didn’t bring the kids.”

“Yep.” Isobel handed her the balloons before picking up the cake box to peer inside. “We know you’re allergic to them. Can I eat this?”

“Be my guest,” Rachel said. “Ryan’s already been at it anyway.”

“Do you have a fork?” Isobel asked as she took the cake to the seat in the corner.

“This is a hospital room. Not a café. No, I don’t have a fork.” Honestly, this whole experience was agonizing.

“Rachel, stop being rude to your friends,” her mother said.

“They aren’t my friends,” she complained.

“Yes, we are,” said everyone except Callum.

“I like your friends,” her grandmother said. “They’re very entertaining. And the men are rather