by Willow Rose
Chapter 33
Jean couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. How could anyone sleep after what had happened? After seeing a drive-by shooting of your neighbor’s house, of the man you loved, fearing for his and his family’s lives. After saving Camille’s life, fighting to stop the bleeding, then rushing her to the hospital? No one would be able to sleep after that.
The fear still lingered in her throat and felt like a lump. Jean realized she wasn’t going to get any sleep, so she got up and walked downstairs to the kitchen, where she grabbed herself a glass of water, then went to the freezer and pulled out a bucket of Ben and Jerry’s. She ate it with a spoon while looking into the street, tears running down her cheeks, her hand shaking as she dug the spoon into the ice cream.
It didn’t help, though. Not as much as she wanted it to. She still felt terrible, and there was nothing that seemed to make her feel better. There was only one thing left to do.
She grabbed her phone and called her sister. Anna didn’t pick up till her third try when a sleepy voice sounded on the other end.
“Jean? Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry for calling like this,” Jean said. “I know you were sleeping. I just needed someone to talk to.”
“Hold on. Give me a sec. I’m going down to the kitchen, so we don’t wake up the kids. Okay, I’m here now. I’m all yours. What’s going on? You’re scaring me, sis. You never call like this.”
Jean grabbed another spoonful and plopped it in her mouth.
“Is that ice cream?” her sister asked. “Is it that bad?”
“It’s worse.”
“It’s him again, isn’t it? Harry, right? I’ve told you he’s bad news, sweetie. He’ll never leave his wife, and you’re gonna end up hurt. I’ve said this from the beginning.”
“I know. I know. It’s just that…today was really bad.”
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to kill Harry and his family. A drive-by shooting. I watched it all from my house. I was so scared, Anna, you have no idea.”
Anna shrieked at the other end.
“A drive-by shooting? Are you kidding me? Tell me it isn’t true. I always said Miami was a dangerous place for you. I never liked you living there, but geez. I’m telling you this because I love you, Jean. You need to listen to me. You have got to get out of that town.”
“I knew you’d say that,” she said. “I’m still thinking about it. Like we talked about the other day. I’m looking at listings and have applied for a couple of positions in your area.”
“No, nah-ah. We can’t wait for that,” she said, getting her big sister tone on. “You’ve got to move faster than that. Tomorrow, Jean. Tomorrow you pack up a few things, and then you drive up here. We’ll send for the rest of your things. I don’t care that they need you at the hospital or that Harry needs you. You have to get away now. You come up here. We’ll find you a place to live and a job. You can stay with me, Mike, and the kids till you find something else. We have a guest room; you know this. I’m not asking, Jean. I’m telling you to do this now. Are you listening?”
Jean nodded, pressing the phone closer to her ear. She loved her sister so dearly and couldn’t understand why she had lived so far apart from her for so many years. Why had it taken her so long to realize how important family was?
“Okay,” she said with a sniffle. “I’ll come.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
She hung up, feeling slightly invigorated. This was a good thing. This was the right thing. Now was as good a time as ever. She could start over. It was possible to forget and move on.
Jean stared out the window at Harry’s house next to hers, then exhaled, thinking about what it could have been, but never was.
We came so close, Harry. So close.
Then she went upstairs, found her old suitcase, and started packing. She was going to leave first thing in the morning. She might as well, she figured. Just call the hospital and tell them she quit—that she was leaving town.
Would she tell Harry?
You don’t owe him anything.
Still, she’d sent him an email. Yes, she’d do that. Or a text. A text was a little more personal. She’d thank him for all he had been for her and tell him it was time they both moved on, then wish him luck. She had all the sentences ready in her mind and knew exactly how to write it. She carried the suitcase down by the door, so it was ready for the morning. Anna was right. She could send for her things later.
Then, she sat down and started writing the text to Harry, trying to frame it properly, wondering how exactly one said goodbye to the man you loved when you were still in love with him.
That’s when the phone rang. When it was still between her hands, and she had written the first words,
Dear Harry…
His name appeared on the display, and her heart sank.
Why was he calling her now? It had to be important, she thought, then picked up.
He sounded agitated and maybe a little scared. His breathing had a desperate sound to it.
“Jean? I’m so glad you picked up. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
“Harry? What…”
“Oh, Jean,” he said, sounding almost like he was crying. “I need you. I’m so sorry to call you like this, but I really, really need you right now.”
Jean closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. Her sister’s words rang in her head from back when she realized Jean was taking care of him and his wife, who was in a vegetative state. Jean had told her she was just helping out a little bit until they got into the routine—until they got things figured out. It was just for a month or two tops, she had told her, even though she knew it wasn’t true, even if part of her hoped it would be longer.
“He’ll never stop asking you to do stuff, and he’ll only pay you back with a wounded heart. You won’t be able to say no to him because you’re in love with him, and he’ll end up hurting you even worse. Break it off now. Make it fast. Less pain that way.”
Make it fast.
“Harry…I…” Jean began.
“She told me everything,” he said, crying, breaking down.
Jean held her breath. She couldn’t stand even the thought of Harry crying. It broke her heart to pieces. She loved him too much to ignore him being sad.
“Camille did?” she asked, surprised. This wasn’t what she had expected.
“Yes,” he said. “Please, Jean. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m a mess. I need you.”
She exhaled, biting her lip, a million voices in her head were telling her not to do this, that it would only end badly.
“Stay where you are. I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 34
I left Camille at the hospital. I couldn’t stay in that room with her anymore. I couldn’t be anywhere near her. I met with Jean in the parking lot, and I got into her car. We drove back to her house in silence, while I stared out the window, trying to gather myself at least enough to be able to tell Jean everything.
I waited until we were in her house, drinking coffee at her kitchen table. Then I told her everything Camille had told me, every last detail. I needed to get it out. I guess it was a way for me to digest it, to talk about it, and let it sink in properly. I also needed her to understand. I needed her to realize that Camille and I were over. There was no way I could stay with her.
I was done.
“Wow,” Jean said when I finally stopped talking and both of our coffees were almost gone. “For real?”
“For real,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’m not making this up. I mean, you can’t really make up something like this. But it makes a lot of sense to me now. She never wanted to talk about her past or her family. When I asked, she’d brush me off quickly and turn to something else. I just assumed she had a terrible relationship with her parents or something, or she was embarrassed about her background. I could never have imagined this. And then, later on, she was always so secretive when I asked
her what she had been doing all day. I kept asking her if she didn’t want to go back to school, if she wasn’t bored at the house after Josie had started school, and she just said she kept herself busy. Now, I know with what.” I chuckled angrily at that last part. I still could hardly believe this story, or that I had been such a fool.
“Luring young girls into slavery?” Jean asked, fingers tapping on the side of her cup. “I can’t believe it. I thought I knew Camille. This is insane.”
“Now, you know how I feel.”
Jean looked up, and our eyes met. “I am sorry, Harry. This must feel awful. I can’t even imagine…”
“I am done with her,” I said, locking with Jean’s eyes and not letting go. “I can’t go back. Not after this.”
Jean swallowed. Her eyes scrutinized mine. Then she nodded swiftly. “I can’t blame you. This is a lot to take in, for anyone.”
I took Jean’s hand in mine. We both looked down at our hands, then I leaned forward, grabbed her face between my hands, and pulled her into a kiss. The kiss was soft and gentle and absolutely wonderful. It was all I had dreamt of and even more. And for the first time, it didn’t fill me with this deep nagging sensation of guilt because I had nothing to feel guilty about anymore.
I was free. I was finally free to love Jean.
“Harry…I…,” she whispered as our lips parted.
“Shh,” I said. My forehead was leaning against hers. Her breath was on my skin. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I wanted to enjoy the moment, make it last. When I opened my eyes to look at her, they fell on something behind her. Something standing in the living room next to the front door that I hadn’t noticed when we walked in, but now I did. Now, it was all I could see.
“What’s that?”
I pulled away abruptly.
“What’s what…?”
She turned to look, then sank into her chair.
“A suitcase?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly as the realization sank in. At first, I told myself that she could, after all, just be going on a short trip to see her family or just a vacation, even though I knew she rarely did that, if ever. But as I turned my head, I saw papers in a stack on the kitchen counter, close to where I was sitting, close enough for me to see what they were.
“And listings? Those look like rental listings and job listings for…” I leaned over and looked closer. “Savannah?”
“Harry…I…”
I looked at her, startled. “You’re leaving? For good?”
“Well…not just yet…”
“But soon, right? The suitcase is by the door. It’s all packed, right? You were going to leave in the morning, weren’t you? Just leave us without saying a word? Not even a goodbye?”
“I was going to tell you.”
Jean reached over and removed the stack of papers, putting them in a drawer, trying to hide them. But it was too late.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
“Nothing? You were planning on leaving. That’s not nothing.”
“I am sorry.”
“But… How? How will I survive without you?” I asked, suddenly feeling hopeless. “You…you can’t leave us, Jean.”
“That’s not fair, Harry. I need a life too,” she said with a sniffle, then walked to the window, turning her back on me. “I need to move on.”
I looked down. It all seemed so futile now. What was I even doing here? Why was I spilling my guts out to Jean when she was about to leave?
I rose to my feet and grabbed my phone from the table.
“I’ll let you go then. I understand.”
I walked to the door. She turned around.
“Harry, I…”
I paused, hand on the doorknob.
“No, Jean, I haven’t been fair to you. You’re right. I need to sort out my mess on my own from now on. I wish you luck and hope you’ll be very happy up there. Believe me, I do want the best for you, and this is it. I’m not good for you; I’m trouble.”
I stormed out the door before I could break down and cry, then rushed to my own house, ducking under the crime scene tape, and walked inside where all the bullet holes were marked with numbers, tears running down my cheeks, wondering how I could have been such a darn fool. I had thought she’d wait for me forever. But of course, she couldn’t. Now, I didn’t understand why I thought she would. How had I not seen what I was doing to her, how she was hurting in all this?
I had been so selfish.
Chapter 35
I stayed upstairs all night, wandering about in my bedroom. Every now and then, I daydreamed, looking towards Jean’s house, thinking about what could have been, but for the most part, I researched. I dove right into working on the case to keep me from thinking about Jean and how much I had screwed up…how I hadn’t realized time was running out.
I sighed and went through the autopsy of Kate Taylor once again, looking closely at the details that I had wondered about earlier, that frankly had startled me quite a lot. I still couldn’t figure out the pieces, how they were connected, but there was something here that didn’t add up.
I walked to the window and looked down into the street. Part of the area in front of our house had been blocked off, and a piece of crime scene tape was blowing in the wind. The crime scene techs had worked until late and would be back the next morning to finish, they had told me. I knew me being in the house was tampering with the scene of a crime, and I wasn’t supposed to be there at all, but I didn’t know where else to go, and I needed my computer and files to do my work. I would make sure to be out of there by the time the crime scene bus arrived in the morning.
Staying in my old house wasn’t exactly comfortable, and I wondered if I would ever live here again. It had been our house, mine and Camille’s house that we bought together. There had been so many happy moments shared here. And now it felt like it had all been a lie.
Was none of it real?
Once we started the process of the divorce, we’d have to figure out all those things. Did we keep the house? Did I simply buy her out and stay here with Josie? Or did we sell it and split the money? I still loved this house, and it was Josie’s childhood home, but after tonight, I wasn’t sure we’d ever be happy here again.
Especially not if Jean wasn’t our neighbor anymore.
I also wondered what would happen to Camille. I was going to bring Agent Jackson to her tomorrow so she could tell her story to him and give him the information he needed, especially the names. The FBI would most likely cut a deal with her if she promised to testify against them. But would they try to kill her again? And would she have to serve time herself?
Probably.
I sighed and thought about Josie and how she’d once again have to miss her mother. We’d share custody, so that once she got out, Josie would be with her half of the time, if Josie wasn’t an adult already and could choose for herself when to see either of us. The thought terrified me. How would she ever survive in this brutal world? Would it eat her up like it had her mother?
I shook my head and decided I didn’t want to think about it. Instead, I thought about my visit with Nick Taylor and then his father, Andrew Taylor, and how angry he and been when addressing me. Why did the boy tell me to ask his new wife? Was he just a typical angry teenager trying to get his new stepmom in trouble? Because he hated her? Or what did he mean?
I sat down at the computer, then did my research. It didn’t take me long to find tons of information about Andrew Taylor, the State Attorney.
As I scrolled down all my hits, I came across a picture from his wedding with his second wife. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I couldn’t believe who I was looking at. But seeing this, everything suddenly made a whole lot of sense.
I had finally found my missing piece.
As I pondered this new information, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out.
An unknown number usually meant it was Al.
Chapter 36
I was waiting outside of Fowler’s o
ffice as he came to work the next morning. He stopped when he saw me, jaw almost dropped.
“Hunter? Are you okay? I heard what happened last night. What are you even doing here?”
“I had something important to tell you. I’ve solved the murder of Kate Taylor.”
Fowler lifted his bushy eyebrows. “That old thing? It’s ten years old, Harry.”
“But never closed. I know who did it. Let me show you.”
We walked inside, and I didn’t sit down for once. Instead, I spread out all my papers, opened all the files, and started to explain it all to him, going into each and every detail. I told him my plan and how to take down the killer, then left in a hurry. I drove to the hospital, where I met with FBI Agent Jackson outside in the parking lot.
We shook hands, then walked inside, where I showed him to Camille’s room. I listened in as she told him everything, every little detail about the trafficking ring and her own part of it, making sure she got it all out, even how deeply involved she had been. The agent recorded everything and took notes while she spoke. I was very pleased with how thorough she was. Most of the names she threw on the table were no surprise to me, but some of them most certainly were.
“And you’ll testify to all this?” Agent Jackson said as she had finished.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And you do realize this means you’re incriminating yourself as well, right?” he asked.
Camille closed her eyes and nodded again.
“Yes.”
“We can probably ask the DA to look for a reduced sentence and get you a good deal,” he added, “if you show up in court and tell them these things you’ve told me today.”
She swallowed. She was exhausted, but the doctor had said she was well enough to do this. I wanted to strike while she was still willing to talk, fearing she might regret it if we waited too long.
“We could also apply to get you into the witness protection program,” he said.