by Debra Webb
Holding the injured arm close to her body, she ran harder, faster, and didn’t look back, didn’t slow for anything. Limbs slapped her face, but she didn’t care. A few scratches and bruises, even a break, was better than being dead.
She stumbled again and swallowed the cry that rocketed into her throat. She got to her feet and looked around to get her bearings. Fear snaked through her chest.
Wait. This wasn’t right. But she’d been through these woods a thousand times.
The sound of foliage brushing fabric pricked her senses. Renae was close. Lacy didn’t have time to think anymore, she had to run.
She lunged forward, thankful for a second wind and a renewed burst of speed.
She was suddenly in the field. Rows of knee-high corn spread out around her, taunting her in the moonlight.
No more cover. She needed to be back in the woods. How had she made such an error in…
Renae emerged from the tree line. Lacy ran. She had no choice.
The full, low-lying moon she’d admired tonight was now her enemy, tracking her movements like a spotlight.
She ran anyway, her legs heavy and cumbersome like wooden clubs. Pain radiated up her arm. Her lungs burned for more air. She’d never make it to the other side of the field.
Something hit her in the back. She fell forward. Landed on her knees. At first she thought she’d been shot, but Renae had only pushed her down.
She pressed the barrel against the top of Lacy’s head. “Three down and one to go.”
“Why?” Lacy croaked, her throat so dry. Her heart flailed against her sternum, but she needed to know why. “Why…after all this time?”
Renae jammed the tip of the weapon even harder into her scalp. “For ten long years you let me believe he’d left me. I was certain he’d run off with that little whore Pamela. I hated him for what he’d done to me. But then, when they found his body, I knew. He would never have left me…never. The four of you had taken him from me. Now it’s time to pay for what you did.”
Lacy squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of the blast.
The explosion rent the air.
She opened her eyes…wondered if she was dead but was afraid to move.
The sound of footfalls rushing toward her jerked Lacy around.
Renae lay on the ground behind her…a good portion of her skull missing. Lacy cringed.
“You okay?”
Rick was suddenly at her side.
She wasn’t dead…she was safe.
“Melinda?”
“Melinda’s fine. She’s back at the house.”
Lacy was alive. Melinda was alive.
“You’re safe now, Lacy.” Rick helped her to her feet, careful of her injured arm. “It’s over now.”
It was over.
Chapter 19
Lacy slept for the better part of two days.
She hadn’t realized just how exhausted she was until she fell into bed.
When she’d finally joined the living again, she’d talked to Melinda. Her kids were both home with her and she was finally completely happy.
Lacy’s folks had made it home. Thank God.
Kira’s funeral had been extremely emotional.
Lacy missed her and Cassidy desperately.
She’d taken a couple more weeks off work. With her broken arm and all that she’d been through, going back any sooner was out of the question. Her parents were taking care of her as if she were twelve again. It felt good having someone take care of her.
The whole town had pretty much gotten back to normal. The news had run constant coverage of the final outcome of the Ashland tragedy for almost a week now.
No one, least of all Gloria Ashland, had suspected the relationship between Renae and Charles. She was, from Melinda’s reports, at least attempting to be kind to Melinda. It was a miracle anything made the woman feel guilty. After all Melinda wasn’t the one who killed her son or disposed of his body. She’d been as much a victim in this as Charles had. Maybe more.
But everyone appeared to be satisfied that the truth had been uncovered and it was really over.
Everyone except Lacy.
She’d heard what Renae said in those final moments before Rick had put a bullet through her head.
The four of you had taken him from me.
For ten long years you let me believe he’d left me. I was certain he’d run off with that little whore Pamela.
Renae had said those things. Lacy hadn’t imagined a word of it.
She’d told Rick, but he’d chalked it up to shock. She had been shocked, that was true. She’d run for her life, and her arm had been broken. But there hadn’t been anything wrong with her hearing.
Renae couldn’t have killed Charles.
And if she had, who had killed Pamela? Charles? What happened to the money? Did Bent Thompson take it?
He was dead, Lacy had learned and so was Nigel Canton.
If she believed what everyone else did, Renae had been one busy lady. She’d killed Cassidy, Kira, Bent and Nigel.
It wasn’t an impossible feat, just unlikely in Lacy’s opinion. And why kill Nigel? Had he learned of Renae’s relationship with Charles? She had a feeling Rick wasn’t convinced with the scenario either.
Putting everything else aside, none of it explained what had happened to the hundred thousand.
She’d mulled over that detail until her head hurt.
Lacy got up and walked over to stare out the kitchen window. The stars were in full form tonight. Her world felt secure again…for the most part.
She braced her hands on the counter and reasoned out the conflicting thoughts preventing her from moving on.
As much as she wanted this all to be over, something wasn’t right. She definitely didn’t want to disrupt Melinda’s life again.
So what did she do? Forget what Renae had said to her?
It seemed like the simplest thing to do.
But part of her would always wonder.
Renae had admitted killing Cassidy and Kira. When she’d held the gun to Lacy’s head, she’d said something like, three down one to go. But Lacy was very nearly certain she hadn’t killed Charles…or Bent Thompson…or Nigel Canton.
And what was the deal with Canton’s confession? Clearly that had been a setup.
That part didn’t tie in neatly, either. Even if Renae had killed him and typed the confession, she had to know it wouldn’t cover Lacy’s and Melinda’s murders.
It was as if two different people had been at work in this killing spree.
And then there was the money.
Lacy knew she was obsessing about that aspect of the case, but she couldn’t help herself.
She had to talk to Rick about this. She’d kind of avoided him lately…or maybe he’d avoided her. Either way they hadn’t seen much of each other in the past few days.
If there was any chance someone else out there was involved, she wanted Rick to look into it.
Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.
Then again, she supposed she should be grateful that the D.A. had decided not to press charges against her and Melinda for obstruction of justice and concealing evidence. A damn good attorney was all that had stood between them and probation.
Then again, that was probably as much Rick’s doing as Melinda’s fancy attorney.
Maybe Lacy should stop by and thank him.
Lacy hadn’t driven since that night. Now was as good a time as any to get back in the swing of things. Her folks were out for the evening.
She didn’t bother calling, just drove to his house. As she pulled into the driveway she considered that maybe she should have called. For all she knew he could have company.
She didn’t care. This wasn’t a social call.
Holding her head high, she strode up the walk and knocked on the door. It wasn’t until he answered that she considered how she looked. Her hair was in a ponytail and her jeans and T-shirt were far from appropriate social attire. But it was too late now.
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“Lacy.” He opened the door wider. “Is everything all right?”
“I need to talk to you.”
He stepped back to allow her in then closed the door behind her.
“Would you like something to drink?”
She shook her head. “I want to discuss some details about the case that just don’t make sense to me.”
“Lacy.” He held up both hands in a whoa gesture. “The ABI and my office are still evaluating this case. I can’t talk about it with you or anyone outside that investigation right now.”
“Then don’t. I’ll talk. What if someone who wanted to protect the senator killed Charles?”
Lacy might have been mistaken, but she thought for sure she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
“Why would you say that?”
“Think about it,” she suggested. “Charles and Pamela disappear at practically the same time. Just before a possible scandal breaks out. Remember, Pamela is pregnant. The volcano on Charles’s extracurricular activity may have been about to blow. But someone stopped it. They took the money Charles had withdrawn, for whatever reasons, and hid it away.”
Rick listened without saying a word.
“Then, seven years later, the senator receives an anonymous donation to his reelection efforts. A six-figure donation. Wes Rossman was his campaign manager. Doesn’t that strike you as coincidental?”
Rick took her left hand in his. “Lacy, I know this is eating at you, but I can’t discuss it with you or anyone else. You have to trust me that we’re doing all we can to tie up the loose ends.”
She shook her head, uncertain whether or not he actually believed her. “Renae didn’t kill Charles, Rick. She killed Cassidy and Kira, she said as much. But she didn’t kill the others. I’m certain of it.”
Rick considered her speculatively. “Do you have someone in mind as a suspect?”
Was he mocking her? Too flustered to care, she answered frankly. “Why not Wes Rossman? He’s very close to the senator. Isn’t there talk that he might be in line for something big if the senator makes it to the White House?”
“Why not Canton?” Rick countered. “He confessed.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Lacy argued, “Renae’s participation rules out Canton.”
“I don’t know if Renae rules him out, but you’re right. It definitely wasn’t Canton. His wife broke down and explained the situation between her and Charles. There was an affair. Nigel Canton got her out of the hot seat when her personal assistant attempted to blackmail her about the affair. He paid off the assistant and started paying more attention to his wife. Nothing more.”
“What about Bent Thompson?” Lacy prompted. For a guy who couldn’t talk about the investigation, he was on a roll.
“We still don’t know Bent’s role in all this.”
Lacy thought about that for a moment. “He could have taken the money…but why turn around and donate it to the senator’s campaign?”
“We don’t know that the donation had anything to do with the missing money.”
That was true.
“That’s about all I can tell you, Lace.”
She tried not to be affected by the way he said her name. She’d been pretending that he hadn’t made love to her again and that she hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed it. He appeared not to have any leftover feelings where that night was concerned. Why should she?
“Thanks for…hearing me out.”
“You don’t have to rush off, do you?”
Her pulse tripped. Was that an invitation to stay for more than conversation?
“I…well, not really.”
“I could order a pizza. We could catch a movie and just relax.”
As wonderful as that sounded, she was pretty sure where it would lead. This whole standoff thing that had been happening between them had her second-guessing herself to the max. What if he hadn’t felt the way she had as they made love? She’d thought that he was as affected as she was, but she couldn’t be sure.
He hadn’t made any overtures along those lines.
Even now, he had only invited her to eat and watch a movie.
Two different worlds, she reminded herself.
He had his life here, she had hers back in Atlanta.
Her career.
No love life to speak of, not even a real home. Just an apartment and a twelve-hour-a-day work schedule.
Was she feeling sorry for herself now?
She should just go home and take some time to think this through. Spend some more quality time with her folks.
“I should go.” She gestured to the door. “My folks will be home soon and they won’t know where I got off to since I didn’t leave a note. They worry about me after all that’s happened.”
Rick nodded. “I understand.”
He followed her to the door. Said good-night without even touching her then closed the door.
Great.
Well, at least that answered one question for her.
But there was still the nagging detail of who had actually killed Charles.
She couldn’t just walk away from this.
Rick picked up the telephone and put in a call to Agent Fowler. It wasn’t that late, but the man could be at church. It was Wednesday night after all. Still, Rick needed to check in with him. It was clear that Lacy was getting anxious. He couldn’t risk her doing anything foolish again. And he damned sure couldn’t risk damaging the final stage of this investigation. They were too close.
When Fowler himself answered the phone, Rick said, “This is Summers. We may have a problem.”
Chapter 20
Lacy parked across the street, as far from the street-lamp as possible. She sat in the darkness and watched the home of Wes Rossman.
It had to be him—it made perfect sense. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized that before. Bent Thompson wouldn’t be dead now if he’d been Charles’s killer. He’d have taken the money and never returned to town. Canton, well, she couldn’t be sure why he’d ended up dead. Unless he’d come to the same conclusion as her.
Her friends were dead because of Renae’s need for revenge. The calls had come from Renae. Rick had confirmed she’d used a cloned cell phone.
But that didn’t explain who had killed Charles.
It had to be Wes Rossman.
If Wes had discovered his wife’s long-running indiscretion he would have wanted to end it. A man of his age and position, married to such a beautiful woman, might very well want to hang on to that trophy wife instead of killing her too. So he took care of things the way a businessman of his caliber always did—discreetly.
Lacy rubbed at her forehead with her left hand. She scowled at the irritation of having her right arm in a sling.
She had to do something. She couldn’t just hang around outside Rossman’s house hoping he would make a move or a mistake of some sort. She had to prompt one. This man could not get away with murder. Not even the murder of a scumbag like Charles.
She dug around in her purse for her cell phone, then realized she didn’t know the number. “Damn.” A quick call to information and she had what she needed. She entered the number and waited through three rings.
“Hello.”
Lacy tried her best to analyze that one word, but it sounded so cold, so empty, she simply couldn’t.
“I know what you did, Mr. Rossman,” she said, deciding to try his recently deceased wife’s chosen method. Only Lacy intended to let him know just who had his number, literally. “This is Lacy Oliver and I’m going to the D.A. with what I know. You should never have gone that far to protect the senator. He won’t do the same for you. Now you’re going down.” She ended the call before he could respond.
Then she waited, her heart pounding, for him to react.
The garage door lifted slowly, the light pushing out from under it like a convict lunging toward escape.
“Come on, you bastard,” she murmured, wanting this over once and for all.
T
he elegant Cadillac backed out of the garage and then rolled to the end of the driveway.
Lacy held her breath and prayed he wouldn’t notice her car parked behind a neighbor’s on the opposite side of the street.
He drove away without hesitation.
She waited as long as she dared and then eased out onto the street and headed in the same direction.
The fingers of her left hand clenched around the steering wheel. She told herself over and over she was doing the right thing. This couldn’t wait another week or month for Rick or his ABI buddies to decide her theories held merit. Rossman might get nervous and flee the country. He had the kind of money to do that in a heartbeat.
Her pulse fluttered when he took the street that led to the senator’s estate.
“Bingo,” she muttered as he stopped at the gate. She parked a half a block away, again on the opposite side of the street, and turned off the engine and lights.
He sat at the gate for more than a minute. She wondered what was taking so long. It wasn’t that late. The senator wasn’t likely in bed.
Then a cold, hard reality broadsided her. How the hell would she follow him from here?
Her stomach lurched.
Her full attention shifted back to the Cadillac. The massive iron gates had started to slowly open to allow the vehicle’s entrance to the property.
She licked her lips and tried to catch her breath.
If she didn’t get in behind him she wouldn’t be getting in at all. Climbing over the wall or the gate would set off a perimeter alarm.
She was out of the car before the thought had fully formed. She crossed the street in a dead run. Keeping as close to the shadows as possible, she lunged through the gate just before it reached the halfway point of closing.
She was in.
Taking a moment to catch her breath, Lacy told herself to calm. She could do this. All she had to do was observe. Anything she heard or saw might be useful to the investigation Rick didn’t want to talk to her about. She didn’t care about technicalities and search warrants.
Maybe it was a mistake, but it was one she had to make or she would always regret it.
She thanked her lucky stars that the Ashlands hadn’t added any dogs to their security as she ran across the lush landscape, staying in the shadows of massive trees. Since the press had left for the next big story, the extra security personnel had been let go, as well.