Greer’s body shook with sobs as I wrapped my arms around her tighter. She sounded like she was being destroyed from the inside out.
“Who would do something like that?” Greer’s question came out somewhere between irate and heartbroken.
“We’re not sure, Ms. Karas. The driver didn’t stop. The police have been notified, and there will certainly be an investigation.”
Greer pulled away from me to wrap her arms around her waist and hunch forward, rocking back and forth. She didn’t know how to process this kind of grief. I laid an arm across her shoulders and tugged her against my side again, hoping the contact would give her strength.
“Would you like to say good-bye?” the doctor asked.
My heart cracked at the tears streaking Greer’s face when she raised her head.
“Good-bye?”
“Yes, Ms. Karas. We’re going to move Ms. Mullins shortly, so if you’d like . . .”
I held my breath, waiting for Greer to respond. Would she want to see her friend?
“Yes. Of course. Where do I go?”
“You can come right this way, ma’am.” The doctor gestured for the door. “And, sir, you’re welcome to come along . . . for support.”
Greer stood on shaky legs, and I kept my arm wrapped around her waist. “Yes, he’s coming.”
We followed the doctor down the white hallway through double steel doors and past a half dozen treatment-type bays, some with open curtains, some with closed.
The doctor paused outside one toward the end. “She’s at peace. She’s not suffering. She has some bruising around her face, but most of her injuries were internal.”
I wondered if she went quickly, but I wasn’t going to ask any questions right now.
Greer nodded at the doctor and reached down to grab my hand. “Okay.”
We walked inside the small room, and Greer shrank back from the form on the bed. “Oh my God.” Her words shook as the sobs broke through.
She buried her face in my shirt again like she couldn’t bear to see what was in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Tracey looked like she was sleeping, but the bruising around her cheek and temple were dark and ugly. Her blue sweatshirt had been cut down the center, no doubt so they could work on her, but was folded so it covered her chest completely. A sheet was pulled up to her waist.
Greer stepped away from me again, and what came out of her mouth shocked me even more.
“It should have been me.” The words were quiet, carrying all the sorrow and regret in the world. “We were supposed to run together. That stupid couch to half marathon. But I had to bail today because Creighton needed me to come to a meeting and sign a bunch of papers.”
She reached out and touched the ends of Tracey’s dark hair before yanking her hand back.
“She’s even wearing my sweatshirt.” Greer dropped to her knees beside the bed, pressing her forehead into Tracey’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Trace. I’m so sorry.”
Her body shuddered with the force of her sobs, and I knelt beside her to lend her my strength.
Greer is staring at me in the kitchen, and I know we’re both reliving the memory together. Her eyes fill with tears.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It wasn’t an accident. Donnigan’s the one who killed her.” I pause, taking a deep breath before I give Greer the truth that’s going to rock the very foundation of her world. “But he fucked up. You were the target. They’d taken a hit out on you.”
“What? No. That’s— No.” I’m not making sense, but neither is what Cav is telling me. I blink back the tears stinging my eyes at those horrible moments in the hospital as Cav nods slowly, letting me take in the truth.
“Yes. She was collateral damage. She was wearing your sweatshirt. She had the hood up. Donnigan thought he got you.”
“Why? Who would do something . . . I don’t understand.” A hit? On me? I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate universe. “How?”
“Your brother was slashing and burning his way through companies. Hostile takeovers. I’m sure you remember.”
Oh, I remember. Creighton wasn’t a popular guy then or now. He’d built his empire by acquiring companies that were ripe targets, whether they wanted to be acquired or not, and then tore them apart, selling the unprofitable pieces and then installing new management teams to turn a profit. I know this because I’m the majority shareholder of many of them through my trust. The day Tracey died—was killed—I was signing paperwork for another new acquisition.
But none of this makes sense.
“The moment you said it should have been me, I knew something was off. Dom had me watching you for a reason. You took too many risks, and your brother had too many enemies. Creighton was so deep in his business, he didn’t realize what kind of danger you could be in, which is why Dom stepped in. I guess he felt like it was something he owed Creighton. I went to Dom about Tracey, and he started digging. That’s how I found out about Donnigan and the hit. Three days after the accident.”
My mind races to recall three days after the hospital. Tracey’s funeral. And the next day, Cav stood me up, leaving me waiting alone on the Top of the Rock.
The accusations leveled by Cardelli at Rikers this morning add to the puzzle pieces snapping together in my brain as Cav continues.
“According to Donnigan, an owner of a company Creighton took over had connections to one of the Irish families, and decided to take something from your brother the same way he felt his company had been stolen. And what he decided to take was you.”