My father stood in the doorway, blood trickling down his forehead, and he had a shotgun pointed at our attacker. “Don’t worry,” he said gruffly. “This bastard isn’t going anywhere.”

Assured my father had things well in hand, Caine tentatively touched my arm. “Lex, you’re bleeding. You need an ambulance.” He curled his arm around me protectively and I leaned my head on his shoulder.

“I’m okay. Let’s just call the police to come and arrest this piece of shit. But they might want to send an ambulance for him.” I stared over at him to see his eyes were still trained on my father. I sneered at the fear I saw in him. Just a bully with a shiny knife. “I bet you’re rethinking that gun now, huh?”

CHAPTER 31

They stitched my arm up at Valley, the local hospital, with Caine and my father hovering over me. My dad had a minor concussion, but other than that, and being a little shaken up, he was okay.

Both he and Caine were ignoring the giant elephant in the room and using me as the excuse to do so.

“I’m fine,” I assured them for the hundredth time. I had a cut on my arm, a swollen nose and eye, and my stomach was burning, but none of that mattered compared to my emotional state.

The police had taken our statements. Caine stood there in his blood-speckled shirt and told us that he’d jumped on a plane to Chester as soon as he got my note and that was why he’d arrived so shortly after me. We told them everything about my previous attack, and the officers contacted Boston PD to check out our story. We were informed we’d have to wait around a little longer, and a little longer had turned into more than a few hours. I was desperate to get home to Boston. I’d never felt such bone-weary tiredness, and I wanted somewhere quiet so I could process the violence and the terrifying absurdity of what had just happened to me.

And although there had been times I’d thought about getting Caine in a room with my father and my father apologizing and somehow everything magically working out, the reality was much different. A surge of protectiveness rose inside me for Caine. I didn’t want him to have to be in the same room with the man who had destroyed his family. It was difficult, though, because I also was grateful to my father for being there today and for being in charge in a way I’d never seen before. In that moment he’d reminded me so much of Grandpa.

“Miss Holland?” The policemen who had questioned us, Sergeant Garry and Sergeant Tailor, filed into the private room just off the ER ward.

“Hey.” I nodded wearily in greeting.

“You doing okay?” Garry asked. He was a big bruiser of a guy with hard, rugged features and kind eyes. His partner, in contrast, was only an inch or so taller than me, wiry, and wore a perpetual look of suspicion.

“Yes.” I tried to rein in the impatience I was feeling. “He talked, didn’t he?”

“Oh, he was desperate to talk,” Tailor replied. “Wants to make a deal.”

“So?”

Garry took another step toward me, compassion written all over his face. “The perpetrator’s name is Vernon Holts. He’s got a record a mile long from petty theft to assault. During a search of his house on one occasion, they found a massive weapons collection.” He gave me a pointed look. “Knives, swords … anything with a blade.”

“There’s a surprise,” I muttered.

Caine’s hand slipped into mine.

“He said he was hired to kill you by a Matthew Holland. Holts claims this man is your half brother.”

“He is.” I tried to wrap my head around the revelation. It was just too surreal. Like I was standing outside myself, watching this play out in a movie. “But I don’t understand …” I searched Caine’s face for answers. “The article about me came out after the attack. How did Matthew know about me?”

“Maybe he found out some other way,” Caine mused.

“That still doesn’t explain why he wanted to hurt me.” I looked over at my father, who was standing silently in the corner. “Do you know why?”

He shook his head, looking lost. “I haven’t spoken to Matthew in years …”

“It’s my fault.” My grandfather’s voice startled me, making me jump.

My heart began to pound at the sight of him entering the room. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped toward me, and the officers watched him warily. He was ashen, his expression stark. “Caine called me. I got on a plane.” He anxiously searched my face. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m going to be okay,” I said. “Now, what do you mean it’s your fault?”

“I changed my will.” His shoulders slumped with guilt and he faced the officers. “I’m Edward Holland. Alexa and Matthew’s grandfather.” He returned his attention to me. “It was time for me to do something right and not always put the Holland family ahead of everything else. I was proud of you … and I felt impotent not being able to take care of you like family should. Matthew wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it bit him in the ass,” he said with venom. “I changed my will. Matthew has had every advantage in life handed to him and he’s a spoiled brat as a result. In the event of my death and my wife’s, you would be left with sixty-five percent of our assets. I didn’t know Matthew had made a deal with my attorney that included informing Matthew if I changed my will. I found out yesterday during a family … discussion … about Alexa. The bastard let it slip.”