Scorned

by Laura Marie Altom

  When he kissed her again, she felt supercharged—as if together they could conquer the world. Or at least whichever corner they happened to occupy.

  “Is it just me,” he asked, “or did we use all the hot water?”

  “Yes. Brr…” Despite the chill, she couldn’t stop smiling.

  He turned off the taps.

  She opened the shower door to reach for towels but froze.

  Stretched across the bathroom’s marble floor was a four-foot cottonmouth.

  13

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” JACKSON knew when Miranda slammed the shower door shut that trouble had returned tenfold.

  She was caught up in a violent shiver.

  “Babe, talk to me.”

  Teeth chattering, she shook her head. “I-I’m done. I-I want my life back.”

  Before he could stop her, she’d opened the shower door again, only this time slipped out.

  As if in slow motion, he saw the snake, the message on the mirror: Die whore bitch!

  Most of all, his focus centered on Miranda, clinging to the wall while she inched her way toward the bathroom counter. Why?

  His gaze skipped to the reason—his gun.

  Heart stopped, incapable of breathing, he was helpless to do anything but watch while she painstakingly covered the last few inches to her destination. Once there, never taking her eyes off the snake, she backed onto the counter, planting her hands against it to push herself up.

  While drawing up her legs, she knocked off a potted orchid. Terracotta shattered, dirt flew. The flower’s stem hit the snake, pissing him off, driving him into a whipping, striking frenzy.

  Jackson watched helplessly while Miranda lunged for his gun.

  She pointed to shoot but got no results.

  “Hit the safety!” His shouting only further incited the snake’s rage.

  Jackson slammed the shower door shut just before watching Miranda push herself to a standing position, backing into the corner where the counter met the wall.

  Unable to see through the shower door’s frosted glass, all he could do was pray.

  One gunshot rang out, then another and another until blood splattered his view.

  Jackson exploded from the shower to get to Miranda.

  Half of the snake was still writhing.

  He hopped backwards when she shot again and again.

  “Babe! Stand down. It’s dead.”

  Pounding on the suite’s double doors changed to a splintering sound when Robert burst through. “What happened? Where’s Miranda?”

  Trembling head-to-toe, crying, she dropped the gun clattering to the porcelain sink. “Daddy…”

  Genevieve followed only to scream.

  The snake’s blood was everywhere from the walls to ceiling. Even Miranda had been splattered.

  “Call 9-1-1!” Robert shouted.

  Jackson tore a towel from the nearest rack, sidestepping the snake’s remains to gesture for Miranda to come toward him. He soon recognized shock had her physically incapable of moving, so he leaned forward, clamping his hands to her hips, drawing her forward only to heft her potato-sack-style into his arms. With her safely down from the counter, he lowered her feet to the bloodied floor, then wrapped a towel around her to preserve what remained of her dignity.

  Only after taking another towel for himself did Jackson finally exhale.

  From outside came the faint sound of sirens.

  “What happened?” Robert asked again.

  Jackson gave him the highlight reel featuring Miranda’s heroics.

  He held her close, kissing the crown of her head.

  “I followed your advice to the letter,” Robert said. “There wasn’t a single unlocked door or window.”

  Nodding, Jackson said, “I believe you. Which means someone else in your inner circle has to be behind this.”

  “There is no one else,” Genevieve said, stepping up behind her husband. “Only our chef. And Betsy. But she’s just a slip of a girl. There’s no way she could ever catch a snake—let alone bring one into our home. Maybe it got in through a vent?”

  “Where’s Betsy?” Jackson asked. “I have a feeling her innocence is an act.”

  “She lives in the garage apartment,” Robert said. “I can’t recall seeing her since she brought your clean clothes to the entry hall.”

  Jackson gave Miranda an extra fierce hug. “I love you. Stay close to your mom and dad. Judging by the sirens, Reginald should be here soon.”

  “W-where are you going? Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m sorry, babe,” he reached to the sink for his gun, “but as soon as I find pants, it’s time to once and for all catch this killer…”

  Fearing Betsy may be already making an escape, Jackson didn’t waste time with shoes or a shirt, but he was done with having mosquitoes on his junk. He ran through the house and out the front door just as police cars’ red and blue strobes could be seen at the end of the quiet street.

  The sirens were dulled by a rising fog.

  Keeping to the shadows, Jackson approached the garage, holding his gun at the ready.

  He took the stairs two at a time, pausing on the landing to peer through a screen door into an empty living room/kitchen combo. Shit. Was she already gone? He opened the door to get the full view of a freak show. The space was ordinary enough—sofa, loveseat, coffee table combo—until catching sight of the wall behind him that was lined with glass terrariums stacked six high.

  Each enclosure housed writhing death. Dozens—maybe hundreds of cottonmouths.

  Wincing, Jackson mumbled, “This bitch is twisted.”

  Every inch of his skin crawling, he walked deeper into the apartment’s gloom, holding his gun in front of him, praying there was enough ammo in the clip that he could finish this mission. Make no mistake, if it came down to it, he would kill Betsy. But he didn’t want to. Perverse curiosity meant needing to question her, to finally get answers about the nightmare game she’d been playing.

  Inching soundlessly toward the bedroom, Jackson held his breath. Would she be there?

  His next step creaked a plank in the hardwood floor.

  He froze, finally daring to breathe when the only sound was the rapid-fire thud of his pulse in his ears.

  But then all hell broke loose. Betsy shot out from the side of a tall dresser, screaming like a banshee before shoving him out of her way. He popped off a shot, but it went rogue.

  In the precious seconds it took to regain his composure, she darted for the front door, but not before pausing to push over the tower of snakes. The precariously stacked terrariums fell like dominoes, unleashing an unholy hissing, striking hell. Barefoot, he couldn’t be sure if he ran over broken glass or was being repeatedly bit.

  Laser-focused on catching this little bitch, he burst through the screen door and charged down the stairs.

  Swirling fog combined with the cop cars’ blue and red strobes made the scene ever more chaotic.

  He paused, scanning the shadows for her.

  There—twenty feet from a compact car he saw her on the ground, crawling like a spider to avoid detection. Too bad for her there was no way in hell she was avoiding him.

  Jackson took off running, ignoring the screaming pain in his feet along with the very real possibility that he’d been hit by more than one of her slithering soldiers.

  She was just rising to make a dash for the car when he lunged for her, slamming all his weight against her to land with a hard thud against the blacktop driveway.

  “Jackson!” Miranda cried.

  Moments later, it was over.

  Surrounded by gun-wielding officers, Jackson pushed himself off the pint-sized fury. She was crazed, spitting and hissing every bit as ferociously as one of her pets.

  Jackson wrapped his arms around Miranda, not just because he had to hold her, but because he needed the physical support. Something wasn’t right. All of the sudden he felt hot and cold. Had a minty metallic taste in his mouth. “I need an ambulance—now.
Cottonmouth bites…”

  “Help!” she cried when he slipped from her hold. “Someone please help!”

  Damn snake must’ve hit a vein. The poison rocketed through his system.

  “I hope you die!” Betsy shouted. “Both of you! I watched you together and wanted to puke! David loves you, but I warned him you were a whore, and see? All along, I was right. He’s a fool for not believing me. For not loving me… With Mark’s money, all our dreams were coming true, but there was always you.” She spit at Miranda. “Precious Princess Miranda. I hate you!”

  “That’s enough,” Reginald said. “Get her out of here. What’s the progress on that ambulance?”

  “ETA three minutes, sir.”

  Jackson felt himself slipping.

  Was this the end? I love you, he wanted to tell Miranda, but his mouth no longer worked.

  His limbs felt heavy and yet his muscles twitched with convulsions. After years spent playing hide-and-seek with the grim reaper, Jackson realized he’d been found…

  14

  MIRANDA STRUGGLED TO see past tears. “Jackson, fight! Stay with me!”

  A siren wailed in the distance, but would help come in time?

  While she sat cross-legged on the ground, cradling Jackson’s head on her lap, it took three officers to wrestle Betsy into the back of a squad car. As long as she lived, Miranda would never understand that kind of hate.

  “We’re gonna need animal control!” someone shouted from the garage. “I’ve never seen so many snakes!”

  She shuddered, smoothing her hand over Jackson’s head. “I love you, sweetheart. You’re going to get better and we’ll live the greatest life. We’ll get away from snakes. Please, angel…”

  Don’t leave me when I’ve only just found you.

  The ambulance finally arrived and from there, her life become a blur.

  Paramedics got Jackson into an ambulance and when she wanted to ride along, they pushed her back. While one stayed with him to start an IV, the other shut the vehicle’s rear door and jogged to the driver’s side. As fast as they’d shown up, the paramedics—along with Jackson—were now gone.

  Her parents stepped up from behind her.

  “He’s going to pull through.” Her mom helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you dressed, then head for the hospital.”

  “Yes,” Miranda said, only just now realizing she still wore the robe and slippers her mother had brought her after she’d taken a second shower in their room. In a daze, she let her parents care for her. After all she’d been through, she felt utterly and completely beaten down.

  If she lost Jackson…

  No. She refused to believe his dying was even a possibility.

  THE NEXT FEW days proved agonizing.

  Jackson’s doctor told Miranda the snake’s poison had been injected into his vein. He was lucky to be alive and that plenty of antivenom had been available. Many victims with multiple bites died within minutes.

  While he floated in and out of consciousness, she waited.

  Prayed.

  Envisioned a brighter shared future.

  Harding and the rest of the Trident crew arrived in waves. So many of them that she struggled to recall their names.

  Two weeks later, when doctors assured her that even though Jackson was still groggy, he’d survive, she sat beside him in his New Orleans hospital room where he’d been ever since they’d life-flighted him Saturday morning, as soon as he’d been stable.

  In the golden glow of that evening’s setting sun, Miranda struggled to focus on a crossword puzzle book her mother had brought when a knock sounded on Jackson’s hospital room door.

  She glanced up to find Reginald and Lenny. “Hey, guys.” Standing, she gave them both hugs. “What’s the latest?”

  While she sat in the recliner beside the head of Jackson’s bed, they both sat in straight-backed guest chairs.

  Reginald whistled. “Can you believe it? When Betsy turned against David, he spilled everything. We got a signed confession.”

  “Wonderful. So, it’s really over?”

  “For you and Jackson,” Reginald said. “But for David, he’s going to be behind bars a long time—as will Betsy and Mark. Prints proved she was the one who’d been in your house. She found the passage when she’d worked as a maid for your inn. She’d been watching you ever since. I guess she and David bonded over their love of fire when he bragged to her about having torched the trawler in your honor—because its owner…” He consulted a pocket-sized notebook. “…said you looked fat in a pair of jeans you’d been wearing.”

  “Good grief… Maybe I should hire him to take out all the people who think I’m a lousy mayor.”

  Reginald laughed. “That’d be one way to shut down a political opponent.”

  “Did he burn my bar?”

  “The first time. I guess you’d had lunch with him at the dealership and mentioned being overly tired from working late shifts. David figured he’d help you out by eliminating the problem.”

  “He truly is sick.”

  “Not as sick as his snake-loving girlfriend. She’s the true menace. FYI—not a single print of David’s was found in your home. That was all Betsy. When she was serving appetizers at one of your parents’ swanky parties, she overheard Mark and Moody discussing how much faster their oil refinery and offshore drilling projects would move without your interference. I guess you expected them to follow environmental regulations?”

  “Shocker, right?” She shook her head.

  “Anyway…” Reginald flipped to the next page. “Betsy recognized a potential business opportunity and offered her bomb-making services to Mark. He paid her handsomely to blow up the statue at City Hall and your bar. David took out Jackson’s first rental car because he didn’t like the way he looked at you. Betsy torched the others. The visits she paid you were all bonus gifts. Jealousy seemed to be her sole motive.”

  “Thoughtful of her…” Jackson tried sitting up, but fell back with a cough.

  “Hey, sleepyhead.” Miranda adjusted his pillows. “I didn’t know you were catching all of this. It’s like something out of a movie.”

  “A bad movie,” Lenny said. “Glad it’s behind us.”

  “I think that’s about everything. Any other questions?”

  “I’m good,” Miranda said. “Jackson?”

  He shook his head. “Thanks for driving all the way over here, guys. You did great work.”

  “Likewise.” They shook hands before leaving Miranda and Jackson once again on their own.

  “It’s finally quiet in here,” Jackson said. “Between your folks and my Trident buddies, I didn’t think we’d ever get a moment to ourselves.”

  She leaned in for a kiss. “Do you have anything special in mind to do with all of this privacy?”

  “I wish…” He winked, but then sobered. “On a serious note, I thought I was dead. And all I could think about was what a waste that would be. I love you so much. I don’t understand these things. I mean, we barely know each other, but I don’t care. The only thing I do know is that I want to marry you. Have babies with you. I want to never, ever see another snake with you.”

  She laughed through happy tears. “Agreed.”

  “I’m sorry, babe. I don’t have a ring. Sounds sappy as hell, but all I can offer is my heart.”

  “That’ll work.” She kissed him again, this time slower with a slip of her tongue. “Since we’ve both developed quite an aversion to snakes, where do you think we should go?”

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought. Since you’re a pro at the whole wedding venue thing, I’ve got a SEAL buddy up in Alaska who’s been after me to come up for a visit. What would you think about us maybe investing in a B & B? We could host summer weddings there while the snakes are active down here, then hold winter weddings down here while the snakes are sleeping.”

  “I like it,” she said with a teasing grin. “So basically, we’ll structure our lives around snake hibernation?”

  �
��Right. Although I’m not sure if that’s what you technically call it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m in. I love you.”

  “Babe, I love you, too. But for the record, you have lousy taste in friends. Every time you bring home a new one, they’re getting a thorough background check.”

  Laughing, nodding, she said, “I one-thousand percent agree.”

  Epilogue

  Six months later…

  “HOW ARE YOU feeling?” Jackson asked Miranda. They’d been married in her parents’ backyard in a small ceremony a few weeks after his hospital release. Her mother had wanted a big production, but thankfully, Miranda fought her, explaining that all she wanted was him. Now, they were finally serving as the hosts for India and Briggs’ wedding, only she was green with morning sickness.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured. “Let’s just get India and Briggs hitched before anything else goes wrong.”

  It had been months since he and Miranda bought their hundred-year-old Alaskan Inn, and the whole gang had assembled for India and Briggs’s New Year’s Eve wedding. They were supposed to have had a Halloween wedding, but an upstairs plumbing leak had flooded the newly renovated downstairs ballroom floor. Jackson and his contracting crew fixed it in time for a Thanksgiving wedding, but then the ancient heater conked out.

  Jackson retired from Trident. Though he’d mostly healed from the snake bites, his body would never again be strong enough to perform at the level his old job demanded, and his clients deserved. But that was okay. He couldn’t be happier with his new life or wife.

  As the wedding march began, Briggs grinned like a lovesick puppy when India and their little girl, Bridgette—wearing matching white dresses—glided toward the altar with its twinkling white lights, evergreen boughs and mistletoe.

  Jackson gazed across the sea of his SEAL brothers and their wives, reminiscing about the trials they’d been through to land them where they happily now were.

  Nash and Maisey had found each other while fleeing for their lives through the Florida Everglades—talk about a snake story. Those two had a doozy.