A mile up the road, Lane passed an inlet and the sound of revving motors set her heart in a tailspin. No! Both cars had been waiting for her and pulled onto the road behind her. “They’re back.” She couldn’t keep the panic from her voice.
“Honey, there’s a squad car coming. He’ll be there any second.”
Deputy Benningfield’s voice was controlled and she was trying to be soothing, but Lane could barely hear it over the thundering in her chest. These insane drivers were going to kill someone and she wasn’t going to just sit there and let it be her and Noah. Lane pressed the accelerator and put some space between them. It was a mistake.
The cars took her advance as a challenge and met it. The white car came up to her side and started pacing her. The dark blue one stayed on her back bumper, making it impossible for Lane to slow down without fear of getting rear-ended.
“I need someone to help me!” Lane ground her teeth. “They’re going to run us off the road.”
Like an answered prayer, the sound of sirens rang out in the distance. Lane breathed a prayer and started to slow down but not before the white car whipped in front of her, clipping the front of her bumper. Her steering wheel jerked to the side. Lane hit her brakes, but it wasn’t enough to stop the momentum of her Jeep from careening off the side of the road. They came to a jolting stop. Sirens and Noah’s cries filled Lane’s ears.
Before Lane could take another breath, the driver’s door was ripped open. “Lane, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
It was Charlie. His handsome face a mask of fear and relief. All she could manage was a shaky nod before the tears started. She turned and looked over her shoulder to find Sheriff Huggins helping Noah out of his car seat.
“Lane, we’ve got an ambulance coming—”
“No.” Lane wiped her face and took a breath as she tried to regain control over her adrenaline and emotions. She got out of the car and walked around the door toward the back seat. “We just drove off the road. If Noah’s not hurt . . .” Lane reached for Noah, who was wiping his nose all over Sheriff Huggins’s shoulder.
“I think he’s just fine, darlin’.” Sheriff Huggins passed Noah over to Lane.
“Are you okay, buddy?”
A sniffling nod was all she got before Noah buried his head in her shoulder.
“Are you sure you don’t want the medics to check you both out?” Charlie helped Lane up the small embankment, which wasn’t as steep as it looked or felt when she was driving off it. “I’d feel better if you did.”
“No, I think we’re mostly just shaken up.” Lane looked back at her Jeep. “Is it drivable?”
“Probably, but I can drive you and Noah home. We’ll need someone to tow the truck back up to the street and you’ll definitely want someone to take a look at it to be on the safe side.”
The drone of another siren filled the air. The ambulance pulled up and Lane blew out her breath. If she saw one more ambulance in her life, it’d be too soon. A look passed between Charlie and Sheriff Huggins. An unspoken message.
“Noah, do you want to check out what’s inside the ambulance?” Charlie asked, holding out his hands.
Without a second’s hesitation, Noah climbed into Charlie’s arms and the two of them walked toward the waiting ambulance.
“Lane, can you tell me what happened?” Sheriff Huggins said as soon as Noah was out of range.
The ordeal felt like it had lasted forever, but in truth it probably lasted only as long as it took for her to describe it to Sheriff Huggins.
“Charlie gave me a brief rundown on the way over here about a man who’s been nosing around your place. Asking questions. He said your alarm went off and you saw something that made you think that same man had returned.”
Lane sucked in a breath. She wasn’t angry with Charlie for sharing the information. Ms. Byrdie had already asked Lane to describe the man so she could be on the lookout for him. Part of Lane was grateful for so much concern, but another part of her felt silly. Like she was burdening them with one more reason to watch out for her.
“Lane, did you recognize the drivers?”
“No, the windows were too dark.” Lane blinked. “Wait, you don’t think the guy I caught at my shop was one of the drivers, do you?”
Sheriff Huggins ran a palm across the back of his neck. “Honey, I don’t know, but in all my years I’ve never heard of such reckless driving on these roads. And you’ll remember I lived through the whole Rebel without a Cause era.”
Lane cracked a smile at the reference but couldn’t ignore what Sheriff Huggins was suggesting. There were two drivers—not one. It couldn’t have been the same guy. Because if it had been, did that mean he’d meant to terrorize her and Noah on the road? Had he wanted to hurt them? The uneasy feeling Lane had tried to leave behind at Miguel’s returned.
“Deputy Benningfield said you got a partial plate number. We’ll try to run it and see if we can’t find out who owns the car and make sure they discover the benefits of public transportation.”
Assurance resonated from Sheriff Huggins’s voice, but her attention was on Noah. He was laughing as Charlie did some sort of duck dance while wearing an oxygen mask and a blue rubber glove on his head. When Charlie caught them staring in his direction, he slipped the oxygen mask off his face but the rubber glove gave a satisfying snap as he attempted to remove it, sending Noah into another round of laughter.
He was the perfect medicine—the perfect distraction from what Sheriff Huggins was implying. And a different kind of current charged through her body, easing some of the tension knotting her shoulders.
“He’s a good guy, and I’m not just saying that because he’s kin,” Sheriff Huggins said. “And I think he’s pretty taken with you.”
“And Noah,” Lane whispered.
“Well, you are sort of a package deal.” Sheriff Huggins smiled. “The kind of package that comes once in a lifetime and is irreplaceable. I’m glad you’re both safe.”
Lane tried to speak, but her words had dried up with the emotion balled in her throat. Sheriff Huggins wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. A second later, he released her and cleared his throat.
“Why don’t we go rescue Noah from the man desperately trying to win your heart?”
Winning. Charlie was winning her heart. In every way he was proving he meant exactly what he said when she told him about her depression. He wasn’t running off. No matter what her parents said, Charlie was redefining her idea of unconditional acceptance. And she was taken with him.
TWENTY
“WAKE UP!” A piercing voice echoed in Miguel’s ears, slicing through the numbing nightmare. “Miguel, open your eyes!”
A sharp slap stung his cheek, sending his teeth clattering. The pressure in his head pushed at the back of his eyeballs. Miguel ground his teeth, allowing the pain to remind him he was alive. He buried his face in the crook of his arm. What time was it? How long had he been out?
Cold liquid shocked his system into awareness. His eyes snapped open and focused on Annika standing before him with a glass in her hand. “I said, wake up.”
“Why . . .” Miguel forced his brain to work through the fog. The orange glow of the setting sun sent beams of light through his house. Lane. She was here. And Noah. The pressure behind Miguel’s eyes began to build . . . the headache. “What-what was in that bottle?”
Annika set down the glass and bent forward so her face was next to his. Her breath was hot against his cheek and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Only something to help you.”
Miguel pressed himself up. Annika dragged a chair along the floor, its metal legs screeching. He winced as his head screamed. Why was she here? Again.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know why the sheriff and his deputy watchdog came by my gallery again today.”
“I-I don’t know.” His eyes flickered to the table. The drawing. He quickly looked back, but it was too late. Annika was already
on her feet.
“What’s this?” She held up the crayon drawing of the dinosaur little Noah had drawn for him. “How many times has she been here since I last saw you?”
He bit down on his tongue.
Annika’s eyes narrowed. “What have you told her?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying to me!” Annika reached for the glass on the table next to him and hurled it against the wall, shattering it.
The noise set his teeth on edge. He wanted to close his eyes and bring some relief to the pounding in his head, but he didn’t dare. Annika was dangerous—she was dangerous. Clarity started to melt the haze of murkiness clouding his mind, revealing something . . . something he needed to remember, but the pills Annika had given him acted like a thick veil, blinding him to whatever it was.
“Have you considered what will happen to you in prison?” A long eyebrow hitched high up her forehead.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Where is he?”
“Who?”
The man didn’t have a name, but his fists were like rocks. He came looking for the painting. Sydney’s painting. “I don’t know . . . I didn’t think.” Miguel clenched his teeth and tried to swallow the lump wedged in his throat. “I d-don’t think I did it.”
Annika crossed her arms. “You were the last one to see her.”
The trembling in his hands crawled up his arms, through his torso, and down to his knees. Miguel squeezed his fingers into tight fists as he tried to ignore the image of Sydney’s face staring at him. Annika was right. Sydney was dead and it was his fault. He couldn’t protect her.
“My father spent his entire life, his fortune, helping people like you. The police won’t understand. They won’t be lenient. You’ll go to jail for the rest of your life or they’ll kill you.”
Confusion settled over him. Miguel let his gaze fall to his scarred hands and swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it, but his mind had long since succumbed to its fate as a tortuous prison, blurring reality. If it were true—that he killed Sydney—then he was a monster.
One who deserved to die.
Death. He deserved it. For all of the suffering, the pain, the deaths he couldn’t stop. Death would end his nightmares.
“Men like you don’t survive in prison, Miguel.” Annika’s heels clicked across the floor. “Are you making toys now?”
Miguel looked up to find Annika holding a small piece of whittled wood. It was an alligator—or it would be when he was finished with it. But he kept his mouth shut.
Annika walked back. “Does she have the painting?”
“Leave her alone,” he growled.
“Oh.” Annika pressed in close to his face. “Does she know what you did to Sydney?”
Miguel’s stomach clenched with nausea. “I-I didn’t kill her.”
“Really? Then tell me”—spittle landed on the side of his face—“who did?”
A flash of memory seared his mind, blinding him momentarily. Sydney. Panic. Car lights. Her voice . . . no, it was Annika’s voice. She’s dangerous. “You.”
Annika cackled, spinning on her heel. “I’d be careful with accusations like that.” She picked up something and tossed it at him. It landed next to him. “Call the police. Tell them I did it. I killed Sydney.”
Miguel picked up the cell phone, the weight of it in his hand almost as heavy as the burden on his shoulders.
“They won’t believe you.” Annika ran a thumb over the toy alligator in her hand, then studied it. “You, a reclusive baby killer.” She locked eyes with him. “That’s what they call you Nam vets, isn’t it? Do you really think they’ll believe you . . . over me?”
“Please d-don’t hurt her.”
“I can’t make any promises. Besides, you have only yourself to blame.” Annika tossed the figurine onto his lap. “I only intend to get back what’s mine.”
Annika tromped out of his home, not bothering to shut the door or take her phone. The cold look in her eyes and the heartless tone in her voice chilled him like the splash of water from earlier. The convulsions took over, wracking his whole body as he released a sob from the depths of his soul. It fell from his lips like a howl. What had he done?
Miguel clutched the sculpture in his hands. He couldn’t save anyone forty years ago . . . but the monster had returned and now Lane was in danger. He had to get to her before they did. They’d kill her. And Noah too.
TWENTY-ONE
A BUSTLE OF ACTIVITY was going on outside the Sullivan estate when Lane drove up. A valet hurried over to take her keys, but she waved him away and found a shady spot under a tree to park. She circled around the car to get Noah, thankful the tow-truck driver who hauled her Jeep back to the street was also a mechanic. He said the damage to her bumper was minor and the vehicle was in good enough condition to drive.
The day’s events grew more distant with every passing minute that brought Lane closer to seeing Charlie again. It was impossible to hide the giddy smile that crept onto her lips every time she thought of him.
“You’re pretty, Momma.” Noah lifted the edge of her dress as they walked toward the house.
“Thank you, buddy.” Lane had chosen a flowy lilac dress with a little flared hem. The color made her green eyes stand out and complemented her skin. The dress wasn’t fancy, but it did make her feel a little bit beautiful. And beautiful was what she wanted to be tonight. She’d carefully applied her makeup and she couldn’t thank Meagan enough for tips on covering up the bruise on her cheek.
Inside her parents’ home, florists were putting final touches on the centerpieces of roses from Pops’s garden. Servers in white shirts and black pants carried out trays of food.
“Lane, that color is stunning on you.” Her mother came down the staircase, putting an earring in her ear. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in it before.”
Very observant of her mother. She purchased the dress a week before Mathias’s death and had planned to wear it for the anniversary dinner they never made it to. Lane inhaled a slow breath, pushing back the guilt and hoping Mathias would think it was time to wear it. Time to move on. “I’ve had it for a while.”
“It’s lovely and you look beautiful in it.”
Lane breathed a sigh of relief. Receiving her mother’s approval was half the battle. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“And Noah, you look mighty handsome tonight. Give Gigi a hug.”
“I can’t, Gigi.” Noah wrinkled his face. “My feet are in a bad mood.”
“Your feet are in a bad mood?” She looked up at Lane, confused. “How come?”
“He’s outgrown his shoes, but I didn’t know that until an hour ago.”
“Who’s outgrown their shoes?” Meagan came down the stairs, followed by her kids. Owen wore navy-blue shorts with a checkered shirt and bow tie. Paige wore an oversized navy-blue bow on her head and a dress that matched Owen’s shirt. If ever there was a perfect family, it was Meagan’s.
“Noah’s feet hurt and Lane didn’t know until just now.”
Lane rolled her eyes. “He said they were okay at the house.”
“Honestly, Lane.” Her mother checked her makeup in the foyer mirror. “How long have you known about this event?”
Long enough to come up with an excuse not to attend. Not that she needed one. Sheriff Huggins asked her more than once if she wanted him to call her father and explain what happened, but Lane really didn’t want to rehash a story that would lead to questions about what she was doing and where she was coming from before the incident.
“Noah, let’s take your shoes and socks off.” Meagan knelt next to him. She rolled up his pant leg and removed his small shoes and white socks before handing them to Lane.
Lane was grateful Meagan didn’t comment about the length of Noah’s pant legs being a little on the short side.
“He’s not going to wear shoes all night?”
“It’s
a backyard party, Mom. It’ll be alright. Besides, he looks cute.” Meagan ruffled Noah’s hair with her fingers.
“I don’t want to wear shoes either,” Owen whined.
“Me either,” Paige added.
“If they don’t wear shoes, then I don’t wear shoes.” Wes came out of the kitchen with a chocolate-covered pastry in his hand. He popped it into his mouth and started to untie his shoes.
“That’s enough. Only the children may take their shoes off.” Her mom shot an exasperated look at Wes. “Children under ten.”
Wes stuck his lips out in a pout.
“We don’t have to wear shoes?” Meagan’s husband, Ian, came down the stairs with Lane’s father.
“Enough with the shoes.” Her mother’s tone had grown impatient. “Guests are arriving, and I won’t have my family greet them looking like cave people.”
One look at their family and it was clear they would never be confused with cave people. Models for a J. Crew magazine shoot maybe, but definitely not cave people.
Lane’s father gave her a cursory look. “You look nice.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. The second one in as little as five minutes felt unfamiliar and left her suspicious.
“Ray, the media has started to arrive,” Jeffrey Adams, her father’s campaign manager, said. “We’d like to get a couple shots of you greeting your guests and then we’ll give them a quick interview before the event begins.”
Ah. That was it. Eyes were watching and perfection was the name of the game. Nothing ever changed. In orderly fashion, Judge Sullivan and his wife would be escorted out of the home, followed by their children and grandchildren. They would receive their guests on the wraparound porch with a shake of the hand, kiss on the cheek, and a multitude of false sentiments.
And the media and voters would eat it up. Everyone loved a good fairy tale. Right?
“Are we ready?” Jeffrey clapped. He adjusted her father’s tie and gave her a pointed look. “Just five minutes of smiles and we’re done.”
The man had a face like a bulldog and was just as stubborn. In her father’s early years, Jeffrey would bribe her with everything from ice cream to new books to get her to smile for the cameras. Ice cream and books wouldn’t work now. She grabbed her camera and the attention of her mother at the same time.
Living Lies Page 22