Chapter 4

A shuttle van smashed through the barrier post and came straight at Isabel.

"Move!"

She was wrapped in the heavy wedding gown, no time to react.

My mind hadn't caught up yet, but my body had already thrown itself at her,

knocking her clear of the van's path.

The next second, the fender scraped across my right hip and slammed me into the marble column.

A dull thud broke against my side.

I hit the ground, the empty right trouser leg snagged on the bumper and ripping open from the knee down,

the ruined leg I'd hidden for five years bared in front of everyone.

A few pills, not fully dissolved, spilled from the corner of my mouth in a froth of blood.

Isabel scrambled up off the ground, her face white.

"Call an ambulance."

By the time the ambulance arrived, my mind was already going dark.

The paramedic pried my mouth open, saw the pill residue inside, and his expression changed.

"What did he take? How much?"

"I... I don't know." Isabel pointed at the empty bottle. "He always had it on him."

"Pump his stomach. Prep for resuscitation."

As the stretcher passed her, Isabel took two steps after it without thinking.

Leon caught her wrist from behind.

"The ambulance will take him to the nearest hospital, and my assistant will ride along. I'll cover the treatment costs."

Isabel turned to look at him. "He just saved my life."

"Which is why I'll repay the debt for you." Leon dropped his voice.

"But right now you're the bride. This is our wedding. The guests, the media, everyone is waiting for you."

Isabel's eyes went back to the ambulance.

"The hospital will handle it." Leon tightened his grip on her wrist.

"What can you do if you go over there now, except make yourself a laughingstock?"

Isabel said nothing more.

Leon leaned in close, his voice pitched low enough for only the two of them.

"You'd really run out on your own wedding for some deadbeat who dumped you five years ago?"

The ambulance siren faded fast into the distance.

Leon arranged the torn veil back into place, and the wedding march started up again.

Isabel returned to the platform, and Leon opened the ring box and held the ring out to her.

"Izzy, put it on."

Isabel held out her hand.

The moment the ring dropped into her palm, her phone rang.

An unknown number.

She answered, and a rushed woman's voice came from the other end.

"Is this Ms. James? This is the ER at Mercy General Hospital."

"Mr. Dickerson went into respiratory failure during the stomach pumping. We're still trying to resuscitate him."

Isabel's fingertips trembled. "Is he still alive?"

"We've got a heartbeat back for now, but his condition is critical."

"You're the only contact listed. Please come as soon as you can."

Isabel lifted her head. Leon stood in her way.

"I'll have the driver take you over in a bit."

"The ceremony's almost done. The guests are still waiting."

Just then the hotel manager hurried up behind them, cradling a bloodstained cloth bundle.

"Ms. James, this was picked up at the accident site just now. It must have fallen off that man."

Isabel stopped and snatched it from him.

She opened the top fold. It was a tally sheet of pill counts.

"March, twenty-two pills."

"April, twenty-seven pills."

"May, twenty-one pills."

The last line, written down hard:

"One hundred pills."

Pressed against the back of the tally sheet was a photo of Isabel, the writing on it worn blurry from being rubbed over and over.

"Once I've watched her in the wedding gown, I can go."

Isabel's breathing broke. She kept turning the pages.

A yellowed bank transfer receipt slid out of the bundle.

Payer: Maurice Dickerson.

Payee: the City Heart Disease Charity Relief Fund.

Amount: One million two hundred thousand dollars.

Memo: earmarked relief for patient Isabel James.

The date on the receipt was the day before she'd been wheeled into surgery five years ago.

On the phone, the doctor's voice came through:

"Ms. James, please hurry. The patient could lose his vital signs at any moment."

The wedding ring Leon had prepared for her slipped from her palm to the floor,

rolling and rolling until it came to rest right on the bottom right corner of that yellowed receipt,

"Payer: Maurice Dickerson."