Paige struggled for the power to hang on. A tremble started in her hands, moved to her wrists. Edged up her arm.
Mamba moved again into her line of vision. Her eyes strained left, following as he circled in front of her. “Do you know what you did to me, taking off with that money?” The words spat from him. “I’d slaved for years to work my way up. I was the number two guy, right under Mr. Drug King himself. But when that money was lost on my watch, he was ready to kill me. The only chance for my life was to promise him I’d hunt you down and make you pay — creatively. In some fashion that would prove my skills remain.” He chuckled. “He’ll be so impressed to read all about it.” Mamba glided toward the front garage door, fading from her sight.
Paige’s elbows shuddered, then her upper arms. Every back muscle burned.
Hold on, just hold —
Her fingers slipped off the broom. She sank — and the noose snapped tight around her throat.
Her legs kicked with abandon, arms beating air. Weakly she reached up, up, brushed the broom with her fingers, but her muscles turned to water. Her hands fell away.
“So soon?” Mamba tsked. “But then, it’s for the best. I do have details to . . . tie up before I leave town.” He laughed at his joke.
Paige kicked and choked and gagged. The world dimmed . . .
“Come on, reach for the br — ”
The garage door exploded.
Wood caved in with a roar, splintered with the crackle of a thousand bonfires. Glass shattered and sharded and tinkled upon the cement. The gun of an engine filled the air. Through a darkening cave, Paige saw Black Mamba’s body fly against the wall with a sickening thud. Something big and solid loomed to her right.
Paige’s legs churned. Wildly she struggled for the broom.
The something lurched forward. Jerked to a stop. Lurched again.
Paige’s calves smacked against metal.
The object heaved a third time. Her feet scrambled over the top of it, seeking footing. She slipped, her knees giving way. Her feet scrabbled again.
She stood. The rope loosened.
Her jaw hinged open. Sputtering air sucked down her raw throat.
Paige’s fingers grappled with the rope at her neck.
A sound like a door opening. Paige’s vision began to clear. A car hood materialized beneath her. Running footsteps. A shout — “I’m untying the other end!” Paige locked her weakening knees, fighting to hold herself upright, the slackened rope hanging into her face, broom knocking against her head . . .
“Got it!”
A young blonde woman jumped to Paige’s side, her face crimson, cheeks hollowed in fright. She leaned against the front of the car hood, held out her arms. “It’s Leslie. Come on, I’ll help you down.”
Dazed, Paige lifted the noose over her face, her head. Let it go. It thumped onto the car hood. The broom clattered on metal, then bounced to the garage floor.
“Come on.” Leslie’s tone pulsed. She motioned with her fingers, glancing with terror at the body of Black Mamba.
He stirred and groaned. Struggled to rise.
Leslie pulled at Paige. “Hurry!”
Paige leaned down and sagged against her. Both knees gave way and she crumpled off the car, knocking Leslie backward.“Oof!” Leslie grabbed her arms, tried to keep her upright. But the velocity of her tumbling body proved too much. Paige fell to her knees, dragged Leslie down with her. The room spun. Paige sank to the floor and laid her head down, fighting the dizziness, knowing it would win. Her eyes slipped shut.
Distantly she heard Leslie push to her feet. A moment of silence — then a choked-off scream. Hissing curses from a male voice. The thumps and heavy breathing of a struggle to death.
Paige fought to open her eyes.
Strangling sounds, someone gasping for air.
Paige’s eyelids weighed a ton.
God, help.
Her eyelids lifted halfway. Sight blurred and wavered, fixing on the wide-straddled feet of Black Mamba inches from her reach, and on the other side of him Leslie’s blue-jeaned legs. Paige looked up. Mamba’s back loomed above her, his arms raised. She couldn’t see Leslie in front of him. No need. Paige knew he was killing her. And Paige had no strength to stop him. She tried to lift her arm. It refused to budge.
Paige was too weak to cry.
Then . . . something. A trembling inside. With split-second vividness the helpless moments of Paige’s life paraded before her. Beatings her mom doled out. Abuse Rosa’s boyfriends inflicted. The night of murder that left her fleeing her own identity. Edna San’s floating body.
Now the death of someone who had come to help.
From deep within Paige anger rumbled. Like the long-awaited eruption of a menacing volcano, it shook her being, then exploded.
Hotlava flowed out of Paige’s soul, through her limbs. Flamed down her arms and fingertips. Paige’s right hand lifted from the floor. Her legs scissored against cement, sliding her within reach of Black Mamba. Her clawlike fingers brushed pant leg, then grabbed the man’s ankle.
Paige pulled.
Black Mamba grunted in surprise. Stepped back. The choking sounds stopped and he pivoted. As his gripped foot lifted from the floor, Paige yanked again. Leslie screamed and pushed him. Mamba stumbled, cursed — and fell. His arms shot out to break the impact. Too late. His chin hit the cement with a sickening crunch.
Mamba lay still, moaning.
Paige’s fury receded from her limbs, clumped in her chest, then fizzled. Her fingers sank away from Mamba’s ankle. She could move no more.
Leslie swayed and sobbed but stayed on her feet. She staggered from Paige’s line of fading sight. Paige heard the metal cabinet door squeak open, objects rattle. Leslie appeared again, a hammer clutched in white-knuckled hands. She approached Black Mamba, a vicious expression darkening her face. Raised the hammer.
Paige’s eyes weighted shut.
She heard a thwap, like the sound of tenderizing mallet against meat. A second. Third. Mamba made no sound. Leslie emitted a teeth-gritted, vindictive cry. “Move again, and I promise you will never wake up.”
Silence. Save for the heavy sound of her own and Leslie’s breathing. Paige couldn’t move.
Leslie erupted into fresh tears. She hacked and sputtered, the noises loud and jarring, and music to Paige’s ears.
Leslie, whoever you are, keep strong. We can make it.
In time the sobs thinned. Lightened in tone. Then slowly morphed into the relieved and off-key laughter of one escaping the grave.
Paige’s head swam. The sounds faded. Her last second of consciousness recorded shaky words she could not understand.
“So there, Milt Waking. I did it. Leslie Brymes got herself a story.”
PART FOUR: Released
SEVENTY-ONE
Vince shivered as he stepped inside his house and closed the door, newspaper tucked under his arm. “Ooh, it’s cold out there.” He stomped his feet, loosening bits of snow onto the large mat in the entryway.
“Did you get it?” Nancy called from around the corner.
“Yeah.” Vince followed the enticing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee into the kitchen. Nancy was already pouring his cup. She set it on the table, anticipation brightening her face. “Well, come on, let me see it.”
Vince gave her a piqued look, even as his heart sparked at her animation. Her blue eyes were wide, her face fresh from sleep. In her luminescence she reminded him of the Nancy he’d fallen in love with. The Nancy before Tim’s death.
Tim. The familiar knife stabbed his heart.
Vince pulled the paper out of its plastic bag and laid it on the table. The article took the entire front page, with a “Continued on page 2” at the bottom. Its headline was two inches tall.
JURY ACQUITS BRANDT ON ALL COUNTS
Nancy sank into a chair to read.
Vince shook his head. As if she didn’t know every word the article would say. For the past three weeks his wife had succumbed to the fascina
tion of trial-watching along with the rest of Kanner Lake. He pulled up a chair beside her. “You crazy lady.”
She batted him with one hand, not taking her eyes from the article.
Vince leaned toward her, tilting his head to read as well.
Nancy angled the paper so he could have a better view.
Centered on the page was a photo of a shell-shocked Rachel Brandt — Paige, as she was still affectionately and stubbornly called — coming out of the courthouse. Microphones aimed at her face, but as usual one of her hands was raised in a keep-away gesture. Briefly Vince wondered if she would now break her silence for the many television news shows offering her money. He doubted it. She might finally be safe from her threatening past, but clearly she still harbored an aversion to publicity.
Nancy’s chin slowly sank, then bobbed up to follow the article to a second column. “This is a long story,” she murmured. “Probably takes the whole paper.”
“Yeah, well, Leslie likes to hear herself write.”
“Oh, Vince.” She tossed him an exasperated look. “Don’t you think you’ve nursed that grudge long enough? If Leslie hadn’t called Paige about the lawyer, if she hadn’t offered to drive out there and pick Paige up — Paige would be dead.”
He sniffed.
Nancy firmed her mouth. “And how about the fact that all those murder cases being linked to Black Mamba would still be cold? And that huge drug ring in Florida, including those dirty cops, would still own the streets.”
Vince spread his hands, eyes widening. “And no land would be settled west of the Mississippi.”
Air seeped from Nancy’s throat. She gave him a playful shove and turned back to the paper.
Leslie Brymes. Vince frowned. That annoying kid had sure made hay with the story. She’d gotten herself interviewed on countless national shows. He sniffed again. At least she’d been too busy to hound him for information on every petty crime in Kanner Lake.
Nancy read on. Vince’s gaze skipped across the article, landing on a paragraph recounting the Edna San investigation.
The bullet recovered from the body of Bravo, San’s Doberman, matched the gun found in the cabin newly rented to Rick Forter (a.k.a. Black Mamba), and hairs found in the San house were consistent with his. Forter, under the false name Sidney Rykes, had gained employment as a shelf stocker at IGA, biding his time as he sought a headline-grabbing way to “make Rachel Brandt pay” for absconding with the money he owed Florida drug king Tommy Landersing. The mounting evidence against Forter, plus Brandt’s testimony about San’s body, led authorities to charge him for the murder of the actress . . .
Vince reached across the table for his cup of coffee, then sat back in his chair. Forget the article; he’d read it later. For now he was content to watch his beautiful wife devour every word. Vince laid a hand on her shoulder and rubbed.
One thing he had yet to decide — how did he feel about Paige’s acquittal? She’d clearly broken the law, which Vince had dedicated his entire career to uphold. Felony obstruction, felony failure to report, and felony destruction of evidence were among her myriad charges. Francesca Galvin, now a retiree in southern California, had certainly wanted to see Paige punished. On the witness stand the woman hadn’t hidden her feelings of resentment in the least. But like the townsfolk, who’d rallied to Paige’s side after the whole sordid tale came out, Vince couldn’t help but sympathize with her plight. And in part he had lying Paige Williams to thank for saving his marriage. The loneliness in her eyes had jostled his own soul to better nurture the family God had given him.
He glanced at Paige’s photo in the paper. She’d grown out her hair and let it go back to her natural light-brown. Good choice. She was even prettier than before. Frank West sure seemed to notice, Vince thought sardonically. Although the kid would deny it till doomsday.
Vince sighed. He wouldn’t admit it was just as well the feds hadn’t prosecuted for the identify theft of the name Paige Williams. Rachel Brandt had been through enough. And one could argue she’d harbored no criminal intent in assuming a false name for her own protection. Besides, she’d earned the bargain. With her information on the huge interstate drug ring —including handing over the thousands of dollars she’d hidden away — the feds had been able to bust it apart.
“Hmm.” Nancy tapped a finger against the paper. “It says they’re thinking yet another murder case is linked to Black Mamba. This one’s in Las Vegas.”
“Guy got around.”
“He evidently confessed to that one too.” Nancy’s brow creased. “Why would somebody who’s gotten away with so many crimes do that? Why not just keep his mouth shut?”
Vince set down his cup, remembering the utter coldness on Rick Forter’s face as the man had lain under guard in his hospital bed. Complete lack of remorse, mixed with arrogance. Vince shrugged. “Now that his name is known, he wants credit for all his creativity. He’s a sick mind.”
Nancy shuddered. “To think he was here in Kanner Lake.” Her face hardened. “I don’t care what state tries him first; I hope he gets the death penalty.”
Vince raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Now we want people to pay for their crimes, do we?”
She huffed. “Honestly, Vince. You can’t possibly compare Paige to that man.”
“I’m not, I’m not.” He held up both hands. “Truce, okay?”
Nancy pursed her mouth, as if considering his offer. “Truce.” She leaned over and kissed him. A warm, wonderful Nancy kiss.
SEVENTY-TWO
At ten a.m. a brisk knock sounded on Paige’s apartment door. She heaved a sigh. She was exhausted. Why did Leslie have to be on time? Why did she have to come at all?
Reluctantly Paige opened the door.
Leslie stood in the hall, bundled in a puffy pink jacket and matching gloves. Yellow sequins outlined the embroidered daisies on her jeans. She spread her hands in a ta-da! gesture. “Here I am, girl; let’s go!”
Paige swallowed. “I have to get my coat and stuff. Come on in.”
Leslie breezed inside, her face flushed from the cold. “If you dress warmly enough, we can walk the three blocks.” She grinned. “Or is this Florida girl not macho enough for the cold?”
“I’ll be fine.” The words came out pinched.
Leslie looked at her. “What’s the matter?”
Paige turned away and sauntered to the couch. Lowered herself onto the edge of a cushion and stared at the carpet. “I don’t want to go, Les.”
Leslie blew out air. “Of course you do. Paige, we’ve been through this. You’re acquitted, you’re clear and free as a bird, and it’s time to start making a life for yourself. Besides,” — she pointed a pink-gloved finger — “you promised me you’d do this.”
“I know.” Paige clasped her hands, focused on her feet. What was the matter with her anyway? This was no big deal, just a trip down to Java Joint. But in truth it was so much more. It was her venture into the Kanner Lake community after all the months of hiding. Since July she’d done nothing but work at the store — thanks to Sarah Wray’s bigheartedness, she hadn’t been fired — then scurry back to her apartment. She hated all the whispers in the store, the looks on the street. She was in the town news, the Pacific Northwest news, the national news. Her story and her face and ultimately her trial had become the fascination of the country. Now the nightmare was over, but everyone everywhere still knew her face. Paige just wanted to crawl into a cave.
Leslie sighed. She slipped off her gloves and coat and sank beside Paige. They studied the floor together.
“Look, Paige. You need to do this for your own good. You’re the one who told me how much you want friends and a family. Well, Kanner Lake folks are like family. And you know they like you. Think of all the cards you got. The people who came to the store just to tell you how sorry they were about all you’d gone through. People in this town even pitched in to pay your bail! And Pastor Hank and other church members helped you move your stuff to this apartment. So come on . . .”
Paige’s throat tightened and her eyes burned. She blinked back tears. The people from the church had been good to her, especially the pastor. He’d called several times to reassure her, telling her that Jesus loved her and was willing to forgive her for everything. Telling her Jesus would make her life new if she would only ask. Pastor Hank had sent her a card with a Bible verse — Psalm 68:6: “God makes a home for the lonely.” The pastor couldn’t possibly know how much those words meant to her. Especially when she thought of her mother.
“It’s not that I’m ungrateful, Leslie. It’s just that . . .” She squirmed, straining to form the words. “Everyone knows how much I lied about everything. My whole past, where I was from, how old I am, even my name. And they know every detail about all the horrible things I did. Even though they seem to forgive me, looking them in the face is so mortifying . Plus, I don’t know if I can give them anything back. I haven’t had much practice.” Paige raised her head to look at Leslie. “You know?”
Leslie’s eyes grew bright. She grasped Paige’s arm. “You gave back to me, didn’t you? You forgave me for looking at you as just a story.”
Paige shrugged. “It was kind of easy after you saved my life.”
“Yeah, well, you saved mine too, so we’re even.”
Paige had to smile. She bumped Leslie’s shoulder with her own. “Besides, you got everything you wanted, Miss Famous TV Personality.”
“Oh, really.” Leslie bumped her in turn. “I also waged some mighty hefty news campaigns to encourage sympathy for you, if you’ll remember. Enough to have ol’ Jared Moore lecturing me about objectivity in journalism.” She wagged her head at the words.
Paige pretended to consider her argument. She was loving this girl banter. She and Leslie had fallen into it naturally, even with the pressure of the last few months. Leslie had been there for her every day. “Yeah, I guess you did help me out.”
Out. There was a play on words. If things hadn’t gone Paige’s way, she’d be sitting in jail right now. Since yesterday’s verdict, some of the jury members had spoken to the media about why they’d acquitted her. They’d thrown around newly acquired lingo like “totality of circumstances” and “criminal intent.” Paige wasn’t sure if they’d turned the law on its head or not, but one thing was clear. For whatever reason, they hadn’t wanted her punished for the crimes she committed. In fact, two jury members said she’d been “punished enough.”
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