The Dead Wife's Spectacular Secret Return

The heavy door hissed as the pressure seal broke. Clinton pushed it open and stepped into the VIP suite. The room looked like a war zone. Expensive toys were scattered across the floor. The screen of a tablet was shattered into pieces near the sofa. Cassidy Sinclair stood on the wide windowsill. She was seven years old, wearing a hospital gown that was too big for her. Her bare feet gripped the marble edge. She held a heavy glass vase in her small hands, aiming it at the two nurses standing near the bed. The nurses looked terrified. One held a tray with cold food. The other held a small cup of pills. Clinton waved his hand. The nurses quickly left the room, closing the door behind them. Clinton unbuttoned his suit jacket. He unclipped his holster and placed his gun inside the wall safe near the door. The metal locked with a loud click. He walked toward the window. His heavy boots crushed the broken glass of the tablet. It made a terrible grinding sound. Cassidy raised the vase higher. Her knuckles were white. She bit her lower lip so hard it looked like it might bleed. Clinton did not stop. He pulled a chair to the center of the room and sat down. He spread his legs and rested his elbows on his knees. "Jumping from the second floor won't kill you," Clinton said, his voice flat. "It will just break both your legs. Then you'll be stuck in that bed for months." Cassidy froze. The threat confused her. The anger drained out of her face, replaced by a sudden rush of tears. Her lower lip trembled. Clinton sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a squashed caramel pop. The cheap plastic wrapper was wrinkled and faded. He tossed it onto the carpet. "Take your pills, and you get the garbage candy your nutritionist hates." Cassidy stared at the candy. She swallowed hard. She looked at the vase in her hands, then back at the candy. She slammed the vase down onto the sofa cushions. She jumped off the windowsill. Her bare feet hit the floor with a soft thud. Clinton stood up fast. He grabbed her around the waist before she could step on the broken glass. He lifted her easily and dropped her onto the center of the hospital bed. Cassidy snatched the plastic cup of pills from the bedside table. She threw them into her mouth and swallowed them dry. She started coughing violently, her face turning red. Clinton patted her back. His hand was huge and rough, but the pats were gentle. He ripped the wrapper off the caramel pop and shoved it into her mouth. The coughing stopped. The sweet taste of caramel filled her mouth. Cassidy's tense shoulders dropped. She leaned back against the pillows. Clinton looked at her pale face. Her eyes looked exactly like Helen's. A sharp ache twisted in his chest. "Am I going to be locked in this white box forever?" Cassidy asked around the candy. Her voice was small and broken. Clinton looked away. He bent down and started picking up the broken pieces of the tablet. He didn't want her to see his face. While his eyes were averted, Cassidy's small hand darted out. Her fingers closed around a sharp, sturdy metal screw attached to a piece of the shattered casing. She quickly hid it under her thigh, her heart pounding against her ribs. Cassidy leaned over the edge of the bed. She grabbed the back of Clinton's shirt. She pulled it hard. "When is my dad coming?" she asked. Clinton's hand stopped moving. A sharp piece of glass sliced deep into his index finger. Blood welled up instantly, dripping onto the carpet. He grabbed a tissue from the table and wrapped it tight around his finger. "Mr. Sinclair is in Europe," Clinton said. His voice was completely empty of emotion. "He is handling an important merger." The light in Cassidy's eyes died. She let go of his shirt. She rolled over, turning her back to him, and pulled the blanket over her head. Clinton stared at the small lump under the covers. There was nothing he could say. He threw the bloody tissue and the glass into the trash. The radio on his belt beeped. A red light flashed. A guard's voice came through the speaker. "Sir, emergency call from Europe. You need to take this on a secure line." Clinton walked to the bed. He pulled the metal guardrails up. They locked into place with a loud clack. It sounded exactly like a cage closing. He walked to the door and looked back at the bed. He hit the dimmer switch on the wall, dropping the room into shadows. He stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut. The lock engaged. A guard handed him a black encrypted phone. Clinton looked at the caller ID. His jaw tightened. He cursed under his breath and walked quickly toward the fire stairwell at the end of the hall. He did not see Catherine standing in the dark alcove near the ice machine, watching his every move.