Lane stepped back and knelt at Miguel’s side. Annika reached into the fireplace and took hold of another black duffel bag. She opened it to reveal stacks of money, along with passports. How? Then it struck Lane that this old mansion had belonged to Annika’s father before it was offered up as the new veterans’ home. That explained why Annika knew about the loose floorboard, but how long had that money been there?
“And here I thought the renovations had been put on hold because of permit issues,” Lane mumbled. “You got what you came for. You should let us go.”
“Make a deal with the devil and you never know when you’ll have to cash in your chips.” Annika smirked. “It would’ve been nice to secure a little more, but I’ve got enough for a nice bungalow on the beach. And in less than thirty-six hours, I’ll be sipping a fruity beverage with my toes in the sand.”
“You’re running?”
“Yes. But not before you give me my painting.”
Lane forced herself not to look at the painting. It was the only piece of leverage she had to get her and Miguel out of this mess. “When I give it to you, you’ll leave. You’ll have everything you want. You won’t need to hurt us.”
“Oh, I wish it were that simple. Now, get up.” Annika motioned with the tip of the gun for Lane to move and she rose to her feet. “It’s sad you didn’t find out the truth about Miguel’s instability until it was too late. Only seconds before Miguel killed you.”
“What?” The pounding in Lane’s ears turned to ringing. “No one will believe he killed me. People know we’re friends.”
“That’ll make it all the more disturbing when they discover that the friend you’ve been defending snapped and killed you. Just like he did with Sydney. Only this time, in his total despair, he turned the gun on himself. Murder-suicide.”
“You won’t get away with it,” Lane said through gritted teeth. “How are you going to explain the gunshot wound in his arm?”
“Trying to earn my father’s respect by attending law school might’ve been a waste of time, but it enlightened me to the advantage of reasonable doubt. And I’m sure you were wily enough to try and stop him but only succeeded in a single misaimed shot to his arm. Pity, really.”
Lane kept her eyes on the gun. She was going to die. This was her last day in this world, and the whole town would believe Miguel killed her and Sydney. The urge to live crashed over her like a wave. She needed to fight the current. “Fight for it.” Ms. Byrdie’s words echoed in her mind.
Lane looked down at Miguel. His head hung limply to one side while blood pooled next to him. His stare vacant. “It’ll be okay, Miguel. You tried to protect me. Protect Sydney. The truth will come out.” Their eyes met. “I believe you.”
Annika clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Well, it’s a shame neither of you will live long enough to prove it. You have a minute to tell me where the painting is before I kill you both.”
“You are a good man. Don’t listen to anything she says. She’s the killer. Not you.”
“Shut up.” Annika’s hand connected with Lane’s face, sending a shooting pain into her jaw. “You think anything you say matters?”
A coppery taste filled her mouth. “Annika’s right about us. You and I, we’re the same. We’ve both been hiding who we are because we’re afraid something’s wrong with us. That we have no purpose and we don’t deserve to live—”
Metal connected with her skull and she crumpled to the ground. Her face smacked the hardwood floor, blurring her vision. Her head throbbed. She tried pushing herself off the ground, but the room swam around her and forced her back down. She grazed the side of her head with her fingertips until she found the lump. She looked at her hand and it was wet with blood. Fight. For Noah. For Mathias’s sacrifice. For the promise of a future with Charlie.
“We’re not broken, Miguel. We have to fight.”
His body stiffened. She was baiting him with the words of truth he needed to hear. Words she needed to hear and believe about herself. They both had a reason to live—they just needed to fight for it.
“Time’s up.” Annika bent down and pressed the gun against Lane’s head.
Miguel lunged from the floor and dove into Annika, sending her crashing against the wall. She screamed as he wrestled her to the ground. The gun slid across the room and Lane dove for it. Annika released another blood-curdling scream and Lane turned to see Miguel straddling her, the wood tool from earlier bloody and pressed against Annika’s side.
“Miguel, no!” Lane scrambled for the gun and pointed it at Annika. “Stop. It’s over.”
With his eyes still focused on Annika, he crawled off her and back to the fireplace. He threw the bloodied tool across the room. “I should’ve protected her.”
Annika rolled over and cursed as she clutched her side. A bloody stain was smeared across her blouse. A creaking noise drew their attention to a dark corner of the old mansion.
A lone figure emerged. When he came into the light, the only thing Lane could do was stare at the jagged scar stretching from the top of his left eyebrow to his eye and then continuing down his cheek. She didn’t see the gun in his hand until a psychotic laugh escaped Annika’s lips.
“I guess I got here just in time.” The man pointed the gun at Lane. “You can give me that, mi amor.”
Lane wanted to challenge him, but fear loosened her grip on the gun trembling in her hand and the man snatched it from her.
“Just kill them, Benito,” Annika snapped. She slowly got to her feet and removed her hand from her waist. The blood was spreading. She moaned. “Kill them.”
The gunshot exploded and Miguel slumped to the floor.
“Miguel!” Lane screamed. She rushed to his side. “Miguel!”
“Well, now.” Annika walked over to them and winced as she knelt down to look in Lane’s eyes. “It appears you’re responsible for the deaths of two men who tried to save you. Quite a reputation.”
A soft groan slid from Miguel’s lips. Lane’s throat tightened as tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’m right here, Miguel.”
“What are you waiting for?” Annika barked at Benito. “Kill her.”
Benito strolled over to the duffel bag with the money and passports inside. “Are you planning a trip?”
Annika’s face paled. “Just tying up loose ends.”
“I stopped by the gallery today. I was curious why Mr. Nawabi has not yet received his product. Curious why your gallery has piqued the interest of the DEA. Curious to find you here with bags of money asking about a painting that doesn’t belong to you.”
“The painting was stolen and I was going to use this money to pay for more product. For Mr. Nawabi,” Annika spoke quickly. “You have no reason not to trust me, Benito.”
“I have every reason not to trust you. Your loose ends have been bad for business.”
“Benito—”
Gunshots echoed and Lane screamed. The murderous look in Annika’s eyes was replaced with a blank expression as her body dropped.
“It has been my experience that rats caught in the corner tend to bite the hand that feeds them.”
Lane choked on a sob. Miguel didn’t move. A puddle of Annika’s blood stretched across the floor. Lane closed her eyes and brought to mind the images of everyone she loved. If this was going to be her last moment on earth, then she wanted her last thoughts to be filled with all the reasons she had to live. God, forgive me for waiting so long to find my purpose.
Charlie’s body went rigid at the sound of gunshots. Oh, God, I’m too late. “Call in Code 25. Shots fired.”
“Wait,” Frost whispered. “We need backup.”
There was no time to wait. Charlie drew his gun and sprinted toward the Benedict House. The moon slipped behind some clouds and shrouded the landscape in darkness. A dim light shone from the windows.
A twig snapped behind him and Charlie swung his aim around.
“Whoa.” Frost held his hands up. “Backup’s coming.”
&nb
sp; “I almost shot you,” he hissed. “What’re you doing?”
“I came to help.” Frost went to push up his glasses when he realized they weren’t there. “I have an astigmatism. I can still see without my glasses.”
“Watch the house. Make sure no one leaves.” They were losing seconds they didn’t have. He saw the disappointment in Frost’s face, but the decision was made. He wasn’t going to lose a man in the field. Especially a man who might not be able to see without his glasses. “I’m going in through the back. Keep an eye on the front. And Frost, keep your head down. Chicks prefer heroes who are alive and can buy them dinner.”
“Yes, sir.” Frost smiled before he removed his gun from the holster and moved toward the front of the house.
Charlie crept around the back. Thorns tore at his skin as he climbed through a thicket of tall weeds to get to the back door. He drew in a breath and held it as he pressed his ear to the wall. Two voices. A man and woman. Their voices were too muted to tell if the woman talking was Lane.
With his gun in one hand, Charlie tried the door handle and said a prayer of gratitude when it turned. Slowly, he inched it open and saw Lane moving on the floor next to two bodies. He struggled to hold in his emotion. Thank God, she was alive.
Charlie took in a slow breath and looked at the man standing over her, pointing a gun at her head. The man matched the photo Agent Edmonds showed them of Benito Rodriguez or El Chico. Lane wasn’t out of danger yet.
A loud crash seized Benito’s attention and he turned his aim toward the front door. Then he turned back and pulled Lane up by her hair and held the gun to her head. No. Charlie’s fears were realized when Benito stalked over to the door and Frost stepped into the house. With the gun still pressed into Lane’s temple, Charlie couldn’t risk the shot. What was Frost thinking?
“I didn’t think they would send Mighty Mouse to the rescue.” Benito laughed and cracked Frost across the side of the head with the butt of the gun. Frost dropped to the ground.
“Leave him alone!” Lane cried.
Benito shoved Lane to the ground before he planted a solid kick into Frost’s ribs. “Are you here by yourself, Mighty Mouse?”
Another kick landed against Frost’s side, pushing a fiery rage into every fiber of Charlie’s being.
Frost looked in Charlie’s direction and gave a subtle nod before pushing himself upright. He looked up at Benito and smiled. “Anyone ever tell you that you have hands like a girl?”
Two shots rang out before Benito could take aim at Frost’s head. The man collapsed forward onto the ground. Charlie kept his gun aimed at Benito until Frost confirmed the man was dead and then he hurried to Lane’s side.
“Lane, are you okay?” She grabbed his shirt and buried her face into his chest. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re safe.”
TWENTY-NINE
CHARLIE FORCED himself to breathe. Annika Benedict and Benito Rodriguez were dead. Miguel was in the hospital. And Lane was right where he wanted her. Next to him. In the hours since they had left the Benedict House, they hadn’t had a moment alone together to discuss his feelings, or hers. It made him nervous. What if she still didn’t believe him? Given the chance, he’d gladly spend the rest of his days proving his love and commitment to her. For as long as it took.
Deputy Benningfield brought in two cups of coffee and a cup of tea as Sheriff Huggins went through another round of questions. Charlie was ready to argue, but Lane refused to go to the hospital for treatment until she had recounted what Annika had said about killing Sydney—proof of Miguel’s innocence.
The dark circles under her eyes, bruised face, and bloodied gash were heart-wrenching reminders of the trauma Lane had just been through and how close he’d come to losing her. He could wait a little longer to take her to the hospital.
“The DEA’s using Annika’s records to track smugglers and dealers across the country and several in the Middle East and Europe.” Sheriff Huggins hitched his thumbs into his gun belt. “Agent Edmonds said this bust is going take millions of dollars of drugs off the streets.”
“Sydney’s death wasn’t for nothing.” Lane’s voice trembled. “What about Miguel? Will he be in trouble?”
Charlie’s desire to wrap his arms around her made it difficult for him to keep his composure. Lane had a beautiful heart for the suffering, even at the cost of her own comfort and life. And Charlie was falling in love with her. But did she feel the same way?
“Annika owned two vehicles. One was a black Lexus with damage on the front passenger side. Forensics was able to pull a sample of Sydney’s blood from the bumper, along with a strand of her hair. As soon as Miguel’s released from the hospital, he’ll be free to return home.”
Charlie shifted. “Actually, after Mr. Benedict’s lawyers arrived at the scene, they mentioned they’d already been considering renaming the Benedict House. It will be called Home for Heroes, and when Miguel’s ready and if he wants it, they’ve promised him a room. Said Noble Benedict would’ve insisted on it for the suffering Annika caused.”
“Thank you.” Tears rimmed her eyes, making them appear even greener than they already were. She sniffed. “I still don’t understand why she had to kill Sydney.”
Sheriff Huggins sighed. “We won’t know the answer for sure until Miguel comes out of surgery, but if what you say is true, we think Sydney learned about Annika’s drug business and stole a painting to prove it. We think she tried to tell Miguel because she trusted him. Mrs. Donovan remembered that Sydney volunteered at the community center and helped with the veterans’ art program. It’s probably where they met.”
“And Annika exploited that relationship,” Charlie added.
“Annika called him a baby killer. Said he killed innocent women and children in Vietnam.”
“Vietnam was a different war. Miguel’s Army unit was involved in a horrific act of violence against a small village. However, Miguel and two other servicemen tried to halt the violence and protect the hiding villagers.” Sheriff Huggins let out a long sigh. “Soldiers come home as heroes nowadays, but not back then. We returned home to humiliation. Were spit on. Called names. Came home as scapegoats for a war no one understood. For Miguel, it was much, much worse. When it was reported what took place in that village, he and the two other soldiers were called traitors. They were shunned and humiliated by the country they swore to protect. After a long investigation into the massacre and a trial, it was determined Miguel acted heroically. Ten or so years ago, they issued him a medal, but it was too late. The damage to his reputation and his mind had already been done.”
“That’s why he kept saying he was protecting her.” Tears streaked down Lane’s face and fell into her lap. “Protecting them.”
Raw emotion choked Charlie. He doubted anyone in Walton knew about the hero who kept himself hidden in the woods. How many others were like Miguel—like Lane—hiding in the shadows of lies, believing they didn’t deserve to live?
“One of the symptoms of PTSD is flashbacks or memory confusion. It’s likely Miguel was confusing Sydney’s death with the deaths of the villagers,” Sheriff Huggins explained.
There was a knock at the door. Deputy Wilson stepped inside Sheriff Huggins’s office. “Sir, Miguel Roa is out of surgery.”
“I’d like to see him.” Lane wiped her face. “I want to be there when he wakes up. Make sure he knows he saved my life.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Sheriff Huggins’s fatherly concern returned. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“Not as much as Miguel has.” Her gaze moved from the sheriff to Charlie. “I just want him to have a friend there.”
“I’ll go with you.” Charlie held his breath. “If that’s okay?”
“I’d like that.”
Lane’s smile reached her eyes and he breathed deeply.
“I can’t tell you how happy Byrdie and I are that you’re okay.” The sheriff came around his desk. He pulled Lane into his arm
s and hugged her. “I want you to know you saved Miguel’s life too. In more ways than one. Your kindness . . . your ability to see beyond what’s on the outside. I wish there were more of you in this town.”
Lane cleared her throat. “Thanks. Can I have a few minutes with Charlie?”
“Sure.” Sheriff Huggins kissed her forehead and stepped out of his office, closing the door behind him.
Lane’s cheeks turned pink. “I owe you an apology—”
“No you don’t.”
“I do. I owe an apology to a lot of people. I took my life for granted. I saw myself as someone living life without purpose. I felt like a burden to those around me and believed it was better if I wasn’t around.” She slipped her hand into his. “I’m not saying my life won’t be messy, but I’ve decided to live my life on purpose. And I’m hoping you will give me a chance to prove I’m worth the trouble.”
He rubbed his fingers over her hand and up her arm until he tilted her chin. She closed her eyes and he leaned in—
His cell phone rang. He groaned and opened his eyes to find Lane smiling. A quick look revealed the caller’s identity. His father. What was he calling for?
“I’ll wait in the hall.”
“Five minutes.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Then we go.” He watched her leave and then answered the call.
“Charlie, it’s Dad. Your mother told me they found the Walton killer.”
“Yes, sir.” He denied himself the satisfaction of revealing his role in closing the case.
A few beats of silence passed between them. Did his father hang up?
“Did I ever tell you what made me join the Marines?”
Charlie glanced at Lane waiting. He knew she was anxious to get to the hospital, but a trip down memory lane with his father was rare. “No, sir.”
“Your grandfather, my father, was an alcoholic. Moved from job to job, leaving your grandmother and me to fend for ourselves most days.” Charlie’s father let out a ragged sigh—an emotional sound that brought wetness to Charlie’s eyes, forcing him to turn away from Lane as he continued to listen to his father’s story. “I was so terrified I’d follow in his footsteps that I chose the only path I knew wouldn’t allow me to mess up. The Marines told me what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. Signing up back then was a lifetime commitment, but it was the only way I knew how to not be like him.”
Living Lies Page 30