Was Mel Owen even here? Maybe she misinterpreted the expression on his face. Maybe he had gone to the ER for medical attention. She hoped that was the case.

But she doubted it.

She hurried around the central station and down the corridor to Leah’s room. Her heart sank and skipped a beat at the same time. Ahead of her, Mel Owen rolled down the hallway, his gaze wild as he headed toward the sheriff who guarded Leah’s door.

The sheriff leapt to his feet, hand on his gun. “Stop! Put your hands where I can see them.”

“Get out of my way,” Mel Owen yelled at the sheriff. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tim Roberts rushed out of the doorway.

The sheriff gestured at him. “Get back in the room. Now.”

But Leah’s father held out his hands, his gaze conciliatory. “Mr. Owen, please allow us to extend our deepest symp—”

Mel Owen took his hands off his wheelchair and fumbled in his lap.

In that second, everyone in the hallway understood.

Mel Owen had a gun.

Kate lunged for the handlebars of his wheelchair, spinning the elderly man around as he waved the gun wildly.

“Let go of me! Let go!” Spittle flew out of his mouth.

Kate felt Mel Owen’s spit land on her jaw.

“Let go of me or I’ll kill you!” Then he twisted in his seat, and smashed the revolver on Kate’s hand. Kate yelped, snatching her hand back reflexively.

The sheriff grabbed Mel Owen by the throat and threw the elderly man to the floor.

With no functioning knees to break his fall, Mel Owen landed hard. The sound of his bones connecting with the floor made Kate feel sick.

The sheriff handcuffed him. All resistance had left Harry Owen’s father. He lay with his face pressed to the cold floor. Blood trickled in a desolate pool by his mouth. His legs, thin and atrophied from years of disuse, lay crumpled under him.

“Please get him off the floor,” Tim Roberts said, his voice shaking.

The sheriff began to hoist Mel Owen into his wheelchair. Kate gasped when she saw the unnatural angle of his upper thigh. The sheriff lowered Mel Owen gently to the floor, and crouched by his side. “We need paramedics. Stat,” he said to a porter.

Tears and mucus mixed with the blood on Mel Owen’s chin. He was pale, sweat dripping down his temples.

The break looked grotesque. Yet Mel Owen did not seem to feel the pain—and Kate wasn’t sure if he was aware of what was going on.

She skirted around him toward Leah’s room. Mel Owen suddenly raised his head. “You’re her lawyer…aren’t you?” he mumbled.

Kate straightened, and released the throbbing hand that she had been cradling. “Yes.”

“How do you sleep at night?” His eyes bore into hers, bloodshot and glistening with tears.