Bridgette entered and grabbed my hand, and I told her what happened. She reassured me that Ash would come back once he calmed down. "Just give him a minute to make sense of it all."
But something didn't make sense to me, and it nagged at the back of my mind. "Bridgette, if this is over, then who sent the text to Ash so he would find me?"
"Lucky did," she said. "He wanted to get information out of you, then make it look like Ash killed you."
"He wanted to frame Ash?"
"Yep, for everything the Midnight Murderer ever did."
"Wow. You came up with this by yourself?"
She grinned. "Detective Gray and I bounced around ideas."
"That makes sense. The Midnight Murderer was one of the subjects in my mother's book. Once he had it, and had someone framed for his murders, he'd be free. But why wait so long to kidnap me? Why torture me with letters?"
Bridgette chewed on her lip. "Maybe when you started dating Ash, you triggered something in him. Some kind of need to control you."
"And I'd given him a possible scapegoat. A rich boy with a criminal record." I frowned, twirling the straw in my plastic cup of water since the evil nurses had confiscated my coffee.
Bridgette sighed. "What's bugging you, Catelyn?"
"It's just—the book was about someone high profile, right? That wasn't Lucky. I mean, it was in the sense that he was the Midnight Murderer, but he wasn't a successful businessman who stood to lose everything. How would he even know about the book?"
"I don't know, Catelyn, but you should stop worrying. It's time to stop living in the past and make room for the future. A future that will heavily feature Mr. Bad Boy Biker Billionaire." She waggled her eyebrows, and I laughed.
"If he forgives me."
"He will."
A nurse knocked on my door and brought in a bouquet of two dozen long stemmed red roses. My favorites. "Someone left this for you. A handsome man in a black leather jacket!" She smiled and left it by the bed.
Bridgette took the card and handed it to me. "It must be from Ash. I told you he'd forgive you."
The envelope made my heart skip. I ran my finger over the grainy cream of the stationary, stared at the distinct watermark on the paper. I opened it.
One is such a lonely number. Two make a couple. Enjoy it while it lasts.
A scent wafted from the card, and I inhaled deeper, trying to place it.
Cuban cigar smoke and peppermint.
The hospital door opened and Ash stood there in his black leather jacket, hands in his pockets. "Cat, can we talk? I have a confession as well."
THE END