it back to the bed, maybe Cherise—normally Izzie’s supervisor—would ease up some.
Who knew Cherise could be so draconian? The older woman came off as so sweet and loving. She’d turned into a real dictator, ordering Izzie to keep her hiney in that bed for the past two days or else. Cherise reminded her that she had raised two children—Izzie didn’t want to know what the or else would be. Then Cherise had helped her change her socks. Fussing. She’d been fussing.
Izzie had been touched by the older woman’s obvious concern and coddling. She’d never had that from a mother. Never had it from anyone other than Annie, really. It both touched her—and freaked her out.
The trip to the bathroom took far longer than she wanted it to, but objectively, as a medical professional, she had to say it had gone well.
Now, she would have to convince Cherise and Fin—her actual physician of record—to give her a bit more freedom.
Izzie hated being confined like this. Hated it.
She wanted her regular life back. Wanted to be working in the hospital instead of recovering in it.
Wallace Henedy had taken that all away from her.
It was going to be weeks before everything was back to normal again. Months.
She’d lost an entire semester of classes thanks to that bastard.
Izzie wanted to know why. Why her?
Wallace Henedy owed her at least that much.
25
Finally. Finally, her idiot husband had let her and the attorney Jennifer had hired for him in. Jennifer leaned forward, pressing her head to the Plexiglas that separated them. This was horrifying.
She’d been patted down like a common criminal before she’d been allowed in to see Wallace. Nothing she hadn’t expected. This was not the first time she’d ever been to this prison, though it was the first time she’d been allowed in to see Wallace.
Her nephew, her sweet boy Ray, had spent eighteen months here. He’d gotten too rough with a girl when they’d both been too drunk to know any better. Too young. It had spiraled out of control.
Never would she have thought she would see Wallace here. He’d been her hero for so long when she’d been a young woman. She’d adored this man.
“I…I need something from you, Jenny.”
Betrayal had been a real eye-opener. Now, she saw him for exactly what he was.
Flawed. Drastically and horribly flawed. He looked horrible. He wasn’t sleeping. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild. She didn’t think he’d even combed his hair. “What?”
“I’ve kept journals. Every day since I graduated medical school. I’ve kept a record of everything that has happened every single day. I need…I need those journals, Jennifer. They tell too many things…things we don’t want getting out. Things…things that will hurt Reggie far too much. I can’t live with myself if that happens. I can’t.”
“Everything?” Jennifer’s mind flashed back. He didn’t even know what everything was. What everything she had done was.
Fifteen years and three or four months give or take. To Miranda, Carrington’s personal assistant. They’d met her at the Carringtons’ dinner party.
Miranda—Jennifer had always held a special hatred for Miranda. That bitch. That whore.
Miranda had been what had destroyed the happiness they had in Philadelphia.
Miranda hadn’t been his first mistress. Jennifer wasn’t foolish enough to believe that. No, he had been screwing around on her at least a decade before that.
Miranda had been the one he’d thought he’d killed. Jennifer had found the woman still breathing on the floor of their vacation cabin. Where Wallace had left the girl. In a cabin Jennifer had bought for him to visit when he needed time to get his thoughts together occasionally. It was hard, him being a surgeon. Emotionally. He’d needed the quiet of the cabin to think.
Bullshit. He’d been using it as his love nest for years.
Jennifer had handled things herself. Her fingers curled, imagining the feel of the shovel still in her hand. The handle had been gnarled and old. She’d had four splinters the next morning. Plus, blisters; horrible blisters that she’d told Wallace she’d earned riding her bicycle the next day.
Even though he should have known. She hadn’t ridden a bicycle in twenty years.
He had believed her. He had wanted to believe her.
She’d buried Miranda in the woods three hundred feet away from the cabin where Reggie had been conceived. The woman had still been breathing, but it had only been a matter of time. Wallace had cracked her head open and nearly strangled the bitch before running from what he had done.
Jennifer had hastened the inevitable and protected