Rumor had it Wallace had refused to even see his attorney now. He’d just quietly sit down, shut up and deal with the hand he’d dealt himself.
Dennis Lee smiled in satisfaction as he looked at the woman sleeping in the bed next to him.
He had been sleeping with Wallace Henedy’s wife for the last five years. It had started off as just a fling, but over time, Dennis Lee had come to really appreciate her for the wonderful woman she was.
Now he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
Once everything was finished with that fool husband of hers, he’d talk to her about moving her little self in with him. He had a second property just north of the city. He had raised his girls there after his wife had died when Martie had been twelve.
It was a good place for a man to retire. To sit back, like the king of the castle he was, and watch the grandchildren frolic in the yard in front of him.
Not that Dennis Lee would ever take his fingers out of his little pies. Those little pies were fun. And they had funded the life he had wanted since he’d been a small boy.
He ran a hand down Jenny’s smooth back, lightly fondling the flesh of her ass. Poor little sweetheart.
She didn’t deserve to be right in the middle of the limelight right now. Thanks to her idiot husband, that’s exactly where she was. She was still hiding from reporters because of Wallace.
Too bad the storm hadn’t killed Wallace as well as her nephew. Jenny would have recovered, eventually.
And then all this drama would have been avoided. Dennis Lee liked a good dose of drama now and then. Usually drama was preceded by sheer stupidity. But he didn’t like it that little Jenny was involved now. What Wallace had done made not a single lick of sense.
No wonder Jenny was so damned confused. Dennis Lee dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “It’ll be ok, honey. I promise.”
42
Dennis Lee bit back the temper. Kelsie Royce, that little upstart rookie TSP officer from south Texas, was going to cause more of a problem than what Dennis Lee needed right now. She’d orchestrated a bust on three of his favorite teams down on Boethe and Thirty-Seventh Street. And stumbled into more information than he wanted out there.
Collin Eugent had brought it to his attention just that morning.
He looked at his only option at this point. Collin was proving far more valuable than Dennis Lee had originally thought. He had been a risk that had paid off handsomely. He also knew what Eugent was angling for. He wanted a higher position in Dennis Lee’s little group of merry thieves.
He was amenable to that. Provided the younger man learned his place soon enough.
Having Eugent where he could be Dennis Lee’s eyes and ears had already kept Lee from losing a bundle.
“Take care of her.”
“Permanently?”
“Of course.” Regrettable, but necessary. Kelsie Royce had just seen too much. The man she’d been sleeping with had, too. Dennis Lee had seen to it that that little problem was taken care of just a few days ago. They’d probably never find his body.
Dennis Lee liked a clean house, after all.
“It’ll be hard to do,” Eugent said. “I’ll need…people.”
“Here’s a list.” Dennis Lee knew who was in his court. “Let them know what you need. They’ll see it done.”
Eugent took the list.
Dennis Lee knew it was done.
Kelsie Royce was a problem no longer.
Now, he had to turn his attention to controlling the mayor and all the trouble that boy could cause.
No surprise—the boy was a Barratt, after all. And they’d been causing problems around Finley Creek since almost the beginning of time. Lee’s granddaddy had had his own run-ins with the original Turner Barratt over one hundred fifty years ago.
Somethings never changed, apparently. Dennis Lee was going to have to figure out what to do about that Barratt pain-in-the-ass now.
43
Turner straightened his tie and prepared to go on the news for what must have been the millionth time since the tornado. This time, it was an officer-involved shooting.
Three blocks north of where Annie lived. Turner hadn’t been able to forget that part. She might have even heard the gunshots, if she’d been home.
Turner’s driver, Officer Eugent once again, got him as close as he could. He didn’t need a driver; Turner knew that without a doubt. But Elliot was insisting.
For Turner’s safety. Elliot was being overly cautious.
He, Elliot, the governor, and four other officials in Barratt County and Finley Creek County had received threats since the storm. Elliot couldn’t justify guards at this point—the threats had been vague, and not that uncommon in their positions. But Turner was supposed to keep his eyes open.
Turner had agreed to Officer Eugent for a few more days. Fortunately, the younger man had healed from the injuries from the storm. He’d arrived to pick Turner up before Turner had even known something had happened.
Elliot was damned good at his job.
“What do we know?” Turner asked.
“I’m not sure. There’s a community center there.”
Turner’s phone rang. Elliot. He grabbed it quickly.
“You might want to get to the hospital. Talk to the head of Major Crimes. Daniel McKellen. There are idiots rumbling on social media that it was an unjust shooting by Royce. We need to break that down before we have larger problems.”
Turner asked the question first, just to get it out of the way. “Was it?”
“Bodycam shows the asshole came at Officer Royce when she stepped out of her patrol car. He sideswiped her to begin with. He was armed with a pipe and a handgun. And he outweighed her by eighty pounds. And that asshole shot first. Nothing unjust about it.”
“We know why he attacked yet?”
“More stolen supplies were in his truck. To the tune of twenty thousand dollars or more of products. Medications and supplies for the clinics to give out to those who were displaced by the storm.”
Turner swore. “How are they getting to the supplies in the first place?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Turner could see the hospital in the distance—his temporary office wasn’t that far away. “I’ll be at the hospital in about five minutes.”
44
Reggie carried his father’s belongings to his car. He hoped there was a journal or something in that box, something to explain what madness had driven him. His father had been journaling since college.
Chances were, though, that if there had been something in there to explain what his father had done, the TSP had seized it.
Just how much they’d searched his father’s home wasn’t clear. His mother had moved out and basically tossed the keys to the house she’d shared with his father for fifteen years on the kitchen table.
And hadn’t looked back.
He didn’t think his father was getting out on bail anytime soon. Not after the judge had looked at his father and claimed he was a danger to the community and denied bail.
Reggie pulled in a breath. He was going to have to drive to the prison soon. See if he could talk to his father face-to-face. He’d talk to his father and search his parents’ home. And find some way to talk to Dr. Netorre and Izadora MacNamara.
He’d get the answers he needed himself.
Unlike his mother, who was ready to write his father off completely because of her pain, Reggie wanted the answer.
He just wanted to know why. Then, he’d process it and move on.
His girlfriend had left him the day after everything had happened, citing his father as her reason for ending a three-year relationship that Reggie had prized beyond measure. She couldn’t tie herself to someone who shared the exact same name as a man responsible for a workplace shooting. Never mind that it hadn’t even been a workplace.
Worse. It had been at a charity for women. Something Amanda had always taken very seriously.
The things
she’d said had cut deeper than any knife ever could. Because of his father and his cousin—who’d both creeped her out. Reggie hadn’t had a clue what to say to that.
He’d loved her. Or so he’d thought. He’d thought she loved him, too. Apparently, she’d just liked how successful he was becoming. What he could give her.
Reggie didn’t understand why women could be so mercenary sometimes.
He dropped the boxes into the trunk of his car, then slammed it shut.
W4HAV was right there. Taunting him. Apple-green lettering on a white background beckoned him. Like a neon sign to the answers he needed. Just right there.
He wondered if Dr. Netorre was in there now.
If he walked in and asked to speak with her, would she give him an honest answer about what his father had done? He meant her no harm, and he didn’t want to upset her.
That was the last thing Reggie would want to do.
He kept seeing a five-year-old kid in his head, the way she had been the last time he’d seen her. She’d fallen that day and had been silently crying. There’d been blood on her knees. No one had stopped talking to help her. Not one of the adults nearby had even seemed to care about her being injured. And they’d looked at her. At least her mother had. And his.
He’d always remembered that. That little girl had just sat there, quietly crying.
He’d gotten the Band-Aids and antiseptic out of the cabinet himself. Taken care of her himself. That was his strongest memory of Dannica Carrington. Her big eyes as she’d thanked him for taking care of her.
She was now Nikkie Jean Netorre. He wondered why.
He had so many questions.
But if he had his answers, maybe he could help his mom deal with what had happened in a more positive way than just shutting it all out and pretending it had never happened.
His mother was also far more fragile and emotionally sensitive than anyone other than Reggie had ever realized.
His mother was all he had left now.
He’d been carrying a ring around in his pockets for four months before his girlfriend had left him, just waiting for the right time. He’d been thinking wedding and children, like a big, stupid sap.
All that had changed because of some nurse and little Dannica Carrington, who now went by Nikkie Jean Netorre.
Probably her husband’s name, or something.
She’d bitten him once, when he’d been seven and she’d been four or so. He’d taken her toy dog, and she’d defended it. Fiercely. He’d gotten in trouble—from his father—for picking on a girl so much smaller than he was. Henedys never hit girls.
The irony of that wasn’t lost on him right now.
Back then, his father had been his hero. How the world could change once someone’s eyes were truly opened.
The news reporters had been playing a clip they’d taken from security footage outside the building, showing his father just walking inside the building. His father had been jerky and agitated and obviously off in his entire posture.
He’d been fifty feet behind two young women, who had been laughing and having a conversation.
That was all anyone knew about what had happened inside. Except for the people who had been there.
And none of them were talking to Reggie.
Reggie had to know. He just had to know.
To understand what would drive his father to do what he had. To destroy everything.
He almost crossed the parking lot there, but decided not to.
It...he needed to learn more about the women involved. Find out what kind of people they were first.
They couldn’t be as innocent as the news reporters were saying.
No women were. Not really. His eyes had been opened to that the instant Amanda had walked out the door, her disgust ringing in his ears louder than the slamming of the door.
Reggie’s eyes were trained on the women’s charity as he drove across the parking lot, past the security hut where his cousin had spent his days before he’d died. Raymond had been a hospital security guard where his father had worked. His father had gotten Ray the job after he’d been paroled. Reggie and Ray hadn’t been that close growing up. They’d had very obviously different values. And Ray had liked to antagonize him. Reggie had spent most of his childhood defending himself against the older, bigger, meaner Ray. When Reggie’s parents weren’t watching.
Until Reggie had hit six-three, and puberty had put muscles on his once far-too-skinny frame. Ray, a classic bully, had backed off then.
Building his construction company from the ground up had filled him out the rest of the way. Had also made him feel like he was a success in his own right—outside of what his parents had both accomplished.
But what he’d done hadn’t been enough for Amanda, apparently.
Reggie was lost in thought for a moment, wondering what he could have done differently—could have done to make her understand how much she’d meant to him.
He wasn’t his father. And he never would be.
The truck slammed into his door in a screeching rip of metal against metal. Reggie jerked against his seatbelt, then his head slammed into the glass next to him.
45
Turner had just stepped out of the SUV when he heard the crunch of metal. He and Eugent both turned in time to see one of the vehicles involved spin to a stop near the sidewalk. He took off, next to Eugent.
People were already running. Turner reached the door of the large Ford truck first. He looked inside. A man around Turner’s age looked back at him.
Turner grabbed the door handle. The guy was hurt, but he was moving.
“We have fire here!” a voice yelled behind him. He thought it was Eugent. “We need to get the injured out.”
“I’ll tell the ER that there are people coming!” someone in scrubs said. Turner barely looked at him.
His attention was focused on the man in front of him. “Can you feel your legs?”
Turner wasn’t a damned doctor. The entire building behind him was full of those who would be a thousand times better equipped to do what needed done here. But the guy wrapped his hand around Turner’s.
“I think so. I hit my head.”
The man looked extremely familiar, but Turner couldn’t remember where he’d met him before.
“We’re going to get you out of there and inside, where you can get help.”
“Yeah. The other guy? What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.” Turner helped him slide out of the truck.
For a moment, he thought the guy was going to be steady enough to make his own way to the ER.
Until the guy lurched into Turner’s arms.
Turner looked up as personnel from the hospital came running. “Can I get help here?”
The same paramedic who’d pulled Annie from the rubble the day of the storm was there. “We’ll take it from here, Mayor Barratt. You just get around everywhere, don’t you?”
“It’s starting to feel like that.”
Turner stayed back while they loaded the man onto a stretcher, then he looked for Eugent.
He found the officer near the beat-up Pontiac the other driver had been in. “The second driver?”
Eugent shook his head. “Guy took off seconds after it happened. Not the first time that’s happened in this parking lot. There was one a few months ago with two female doctors, I think.”
Turner nodded. He remembered that.
Nikkie Jean Netorre and a friend of hers, he thought Caine had told him before.
“Still, we’ll find the guy responsible. Eventually.”
Turner nodded, turning his mind back to what he had to do once he was inside the hospital.
46
Izzie had pneumonia and wasn’t going anywhere. Annie stayed in the room with her while Fin told her. Fin had taken over Izzie’s care at Izzie’s request, after she was through the first week post-surgery.
Izzie had stated it bluntly—the two surgeons were needed elsewhere right now. Fin, as
a part-time physician, was Izzie’s health-care provider on record anyway.
She was just more comfortable with a woman.
Annie had spent every possible moment with her friend. They both knew what could happen if the antibiotics weren’t strong enough to help her fight this latest challenge off.
It wasn’t the first time Izzie had had pneumonia, though the last had been when she’d been a child of thirteen or fourteen and had still been living with her mother. After that, Jake had been obsessive about making certain Izzie was taken care of.
Izzie was moderately better this afternoon than she’d been that morning when Annie had first arrived. Her physicians were optimistic about the antibiotics. They were experimental, and stronger than anything Izzie had taken before. They were working.
No one was letting Izzie escape the hospital until she was as close to healed as possible. Annie was determined. No matter where she and the boys ended up, Izzie was going to end up there with her.
At least for now.
She had one hour on her shift left, then she’d be heading back to Izzie’s room for a little while. The boys were eating dinner in the daycare tonight—pizza was on the menu—and then she’d gather her children.
She was dreading going home tonight. Annie knew that.
Annie had to make her choice tonight. Stay and fight the eviction, or move on for the boys’ sake. She didn’t know what the best choice would be.
She was losing her home. She wasn’t stupid or naïve. But if she kept fighting, she’d get more money. Money that would help her provide a better life for the boys. That was attractive—she could put some back for college, possibly.
But at what cost would a fight come?
Annie just wished it would end already. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up. Annie was already exhausted. And her day was nowhere near over yet.
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