For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3)

by Mary J. Williams

  "If I can't ride with the big boys, I'll simply head to the bar on my own."

  "We'll head to the bar."

  Delaney raised her chin, daring Travis to contradict her. After everything they'd been through—where they were today—he wouldn't have dared. As much as anyone, she deserved to see justice done.

  "You heard the lady."

  "Fine," Pete grumbled as he pulled on his jacket. He'd learned a long time ago what was worth a fight and what wasn't. "Do me one favor?"

  Travis waited, unwilling to commit. He'd hate to lie—he would if he had to—but the process wouldn't make him feel good.

  "If you end up killing Munch Brill? Make certain there aren't any witnesses."

  THE PARKING LOT outside Dewey's was full. But unlike the crowd at the Elks, nobody was celebrating.

  Surprisingly, Delaney felt calm. Almost Zen. She could have credited her education. All the psychology courses. The extensive training. Theoretically, she was well prepared to take on any and all demons from her past. Unfortunately, too often, reality obliterated theory.

  Delaney's lack of nerves had nothing to do with what she'd learned in books. The difference between now and eleven years ago was that this time, people had her back. A solid wall of defense she could count on not to crumble.

  "You okay?" Travis asked.

  "Yes. You?"

  "Been a hell of a day."

  They stood back as the police entered Dewey's, led by Tonya. Pete went next. Delaney and Travis agreed to enter last. Out of the line of fire—so to speak.

  "All I ever wanted was to see Munch pay. A broken spine never seemed enough." Delaney looked up, thinking of her mother. "He'll probably die in prison, Travis."

  "Probably."

  "How does that make you feel?"

  "Are you asking as a head shrinker or as my friend? My lover?"

  "I am who I am." Delaney understood why he asked. "However, first and foremost, I'm your Del."

  "You are that." With a sigh, Travis touched her cheek. "I want Brill locked away for good. Then? I want us to live free. And forget he ever did."

  "Amen."

  "This is a private party, Mr. Mayor." Miles Weller eyed Pete with contempt, his gaze flickering with concern when he spied Tonya Hernandez and the six police officers flanking her. "What the hell is going on?"

  "We need to speak with the sheriff and the mayor," Pete said.

  "Brill and Detwiler," Tonya added.

  "Kind of confusing. Too many mayors and sheriffs for anyone's good," Miles snorted. "What the hell. This place could use some livening up. You'll find the mourners over at the bar."

  Frowning, Delaney hung back, scanning the room. Her problem wasn't with what she saw, rather what she didn't see.

  "Something wrong?" Travis asked.

  "Where's Munch?"

  "Right behind you, little girl."

  Facing the devil was a daunting prospect. Even when his power to do evil had been neutralized. The mind was a powerful thing. Delaney knew Munch couldn't hurt her. Yet—for one brief moment before she turned to face him—she felt like she was fifteen with no friends and little hope.

  Then, Delaney remembered. She got away. She beat the devil.

  Munch's only victory was the hold he'd had on her mother. In the end, a hollow victory. Alma could have left. She chose to stay. Her chains had been forged from fear, not steel.

  Delaney had come to the realization that her mother had always been scared of ending up alone. She'd never recovered from her first husband leaving. She needed to be somebody's wife. Even if that somebody mentally and physically abused her.

  In a bit of twisted irony, Munch was the one who ended up alone. No wife. No little girl. Soon—as the seconds ticked by—not even his family would be there to cover up his crimes.

  Delaney met Travis' ice-blue gaze, nodded, and then turned to face the devil.

  Munch was in a wheelchair. His once powerful body withering—almost caved in on itself. Bitterness etched into his face. Almost pathetic, Delaney thought. If she could have dredged up an ounce of sympathy.

  "Shame on you for not visiting your step-daddy sooner. We have so much to catch up on. Here." Leering, Munch patted his lap. "Climb on. Remember how much fun we used to have?"

  "You sick son of a bitch." Travis ground out.

  Delaney hadn't noticed Eddie Hayes from where he stood behind Munch. Attendant? Bodyguard? Whatever his job, he stepped in front of the wheelchair, crossing his arms.

  "Keep back, Forsythe," Eddie warned, a white bandage covering his bruised, swollen nose.

  "How can you work for this piece of scum? What the hell happened to your pride? Your sense of right and wrong?"

  "Fuck right and wrong. And fuck you." Eddie gave Travis a shove. "You were lucky the other day. Next time, you'll be the one on the ground. And you won't get up."

  "And you said you ran into a door," Munch cackled.

  He seemed to find the entire situation amusing. The light in his eyes bordered on crazy—not a word Delaney liked to use in a professional capacity. But in Munch's case, crazy fit. She wondered how much humor he would' find when they slapped a pair of cuffs on him and wheeled him off to jail.

  "Travis." Delaney reached for his hand, tugging. She had as much luck as if she had' tried to move a column of forged iron. "Please. Let Pete and Tonya do their jobs."

  "He killed my father," Travis said, more to Eddie than to her.

  Delaney thought she saw some kind of emotion flicker through the cold in Eddie's eyes. Sympathy? Regret? Too brief for her to identify, the moment passed. And for Travis' sake, she was sorry.

  "I've done a lot of things in my day," Munch smiled as if savoring the memory. "Killing Alan Forsythe wasn't one of them."

  "You deny telling Myron Brill to electrocute Travis' father?"

  Arrogant to the last. So certain nothing and no one could touch him, Munch shrugged.

  "Sure I did. But technically, I didn't do the deed."

  "Why?" Anger at her or Travis was one thing. But to willfully take another life? "What reason could you possibly have?"

  "Your boyfriend took something from me. Something precious. So…? Tit for tat, little girl."

  Delaney had no words. If Travis had wrapped his hands around Munch's throat, she wouldn't have blamed him. She didn't know if she would have intervened. Luckily, she didn't have to find out.

  Travis didn't blink. Or move. The contempt in his eyes was lost on Munch, but Delaney saw. Strong, courageous. Unlike her stepfather, he didn't prey on the weak—no matter how deserving his wrath.

  He could have hated her. Blamed her by association. But he didn't.

  Travis Forsythe was more of a man—a human being—than anybody she had' ever known. And she loved him with her entire heart, body, and soul.

  "Prison is too good for you," Travis said. "But a jail cell will have to do for now."

  "Prison?" Munch scoffed. "I'm a Brill, boy. And this is Green Hills. Nobody will ever take me down."

  "Times have changed."

  Delaney pointed across the room just as Tonya handed one copy of Cletus Brill's statement to the sheriff and one to the mayor. As they read, a layer of arrogance slipped.

  Before they left for Dewey's, Tonya put in a call to the head of the state police, outlining the situation. For good measure, Pete called the governor. Copies of Cletus' statement were now in the hands of people who had no ties to Green Hills—professionally or personally. A new generation. People who weren't under the Brill's thumbs and influence.

  Sheriff Rick Brill. The man who'd spent most of his life cleaning up his brother's messes sent a brief glance Munch's way. And shrugged.

  "Your luck has just run out, Munch," Travis said as two uniformed officers approached.

  Reality finally penetrated Munch's delusional brain.

  "Eddie! Get me out of here."

  "Sorry boss." Hands in the air, Eddie slowly backed
away. Money could only buy so much loyalty. "Sorry, boss. I don't take a bullet for nobody."

  "Munch Brill? You're under arrest for the murder of Alan Forsythe."

  "No!" Munch struggled, but the officer had little trouble cuffing his wrists. "Rick! Uncle Horace! Somebody make them stop! Tell them. I don't go to jail. I'm a Brill, damn it."

  Delaney didn't watch as Munch was taken away. She was done. She never wanted to see the man again. Travis took her in his arms, holding her close.

  "Justice."

  "Yes," Travis said.

  The end of Munch Brill was a little bittersweet for both of them. They missed their mother and father. Always would. However, they'd done their grieving.

  The best way to honor their parents would be to move on. To be happy. To live.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  "I WON'T be there for Thanksgiving. I plan to stay here in Green Hills until after the holiday."

  Travis heard the words come out of his mouth, shaking his head. For a man who had once sworn never to set foot in his home town again, he couldn't believe he had' been here three weeks. Pete and Candice had issued a standing invitation to visit any time he wanted.

  And the crazy part? Travis knew he would be back.

  "A lot has happened since the last time we saw each other," Spencer Kraig chuckled. "I'm glad you called and caught me up."

  Spencer was the best sounding board Travis knew. Instinctively, the Cyclones' third baseman knew when to simply listen, or when a friend needed his advice. At the moment, Travis needed the latter.

  "Green Hills used to be my home. A place I belonged. Where I felt safe. Welcome. I haven't felt that way since Dad died."

  "Hometowns have a powerful pull. As do first loves."

  Spencer was engaged to Blue O'Hara. The love of his life—his first love. They found each other again. A true happily ever after. After a whole bunch of heartache. Travis and Delaney's situation wasn't the same.

  "Del and I were friends. Married in name only. I wasn't her first love. She wasn't mine."

  "From what you've told me, I think you're wrong," Spencer said. Three thousand miles away and he still saw things clearer than Travis could. "You loved each other, whether romantic or not. The years apart didn't change anything. Except now Delaney is a grown woman. You've both grown."

  Spencer was right. As usual. Even if Travis had been in love with Delaney—the way a man loves a woman—he hadn't been ready for her. And she certainly hadn't been ready for him.

  They had lived apart. Experienced different things. Had friends and lovers. All the while, the connection between them had never broken. Somehow, they found their way back. To Green Hills. And to each other.

  "I've come to terms with my hometown. But Seattle is the only place I can see myself long term."

  "What about Delaney? Can you see yourself with her—long term?"

  "Yes." Travis didn't hesitate. He knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. "I think she feels the same."

  "But…?"

  "Something is holding her back." And frustrating the hell out of him. "We talk about everything. Non-stop. But she won't let me even mention the future. For some reason, she thinks I'll change my mind."

  "Okay."

  "Excuse me? I called you because you always have an answer. I need more than okay."

  "Ask yourself one question. You've waited this long. Is Delaney worth a little more time? What could turn out to be a truckload of patience?"

  Again, Travis didn't need to think.

  "For Delaney? Anything."

  "Good answer, my friend. I've been there. Take my word. Slow or fast. Tomorrow or a year down the road. A woman—the right woman—is always worth the wait."

  THE HEADY FRAGRANCES of Thanksgiving filled the house. Travis paused in the hall to breathe in. Turkey. Homemade dinner rolls. Mashed potatoes. And pie. Pete—of all his accomplishments, baker was the most surprising—concocted three different kinds. Pumpkin had Travis' name all over it.

  He'd always been a fan of the food—even when he felt he had little to be thankful for.

  This year, everywhere Travis looked, the blessings overflowed. If he were the suspicious type—the kind of person who thought too much of a good thing was just asking for trouble—he might worry that things were going too well.

  Munch Brill was in prison—charged with Alan Forsythe's murder. Despite Brill's continued assertion that he'd go free, all signs pointed toward a conviction.

  Cletus Brill—sober as a judge since making his statement—stood by his story. When faced with the facts of what he'd done, brother Myron caved. He admitted tricking Cletus into flipping the breaker switch in full knowledge the act would electrocute Travis' father. Unwilling to go down alone, he quickly pointed his finger at his uncle. Munch was the mastermind—right down to the method.

  The final nail in the coffin came from an unexpected source. Eddie Hayes. He told the police that he heard what Munch said to Travis and Delaney that night in the bar. Word for word, he repeated his boss' confession to the police.

  Tonya Hernandez was certain that Munch would be convicted. If he didn't plead guilty first to keep the death penalty at bay. Thirty years to life instead? Travis would never be happy. However, he felt justice had been served.

  The sound of music made Travis stop in his tracks, a smile spreading across his face. As he walked past the kitchen toward the back of the house, he was taken back to the first time notes from a piano drew him—almost against his will—to a meeting that would change his life forever.

  The door stood open. Travis leaned against the jamb and marveled at the woman he saw. Unlike that fateful evening eleven years earlier, she didn't try to hide her talent. Instead of slumped over the keys, her shoulders were pulled back, posture straight but relaxed. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, not wound into a tight knot.

  And her eyes—those startlingly purple eyes—weren't hidden behind a pair of ugly, useless glasses. Bright. Clear. At the moment, a little dreamy as her fingers caressed the keys. From a myriad of choices, she somehow put the right sounds together to make a melody that touched something inside Travis the first time he heard her play.

  He rubbed his chest—the spot just above his heart. Some things never change.

  "Are you going to stand and stare at me all day?" Delaney asked without missing a beat.

  "I can think of worse ways to spend my time."

  Delaney slid to the side of the bench, making room. Travis joined her, his kiss lingering on her soft, fragrant cheek.

  "One of yours," he asked.

  "Something I'm fiddling with. I can't quite get the ending right."

  "Sounded good to me."

  Travis had always assumed Delaney would major in music. Psychology made sense—she'd found her calling. But he was glad she still played. And composed.

  "I received an interesting email this morning."

  "Good for you. Most of my emails are nothing but crap. Male enhancement cream? I don't think so."

  Chuckling, Delaney ended the song with a small flourish.

  "I can attest to the fact that you don't need any help in the enhancement department."

  "Aw shucks. You'll make me blush." Travis fanned his face as if trying to cool the color as it rose in his cheeks. However, the twinkle in his eyes told a different story.

  "You aren't the blushing type."

  "Oh, I don't know."

  "Please," Delaney scoffed. "Your face is too pretty, and your ego is too big."

  Travis loved bantering with Delaney. Sharp as a tack with exactly his brand of humor, she easily—enthusiastically—matched him quip for quip. However, she had something else in mind. As he opened his mouth, she stopped his response, her lips covering his. Travis pulled her close. Kissing beat out banter any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

  "Thank you," Delaney sighed, kissing him again.

  "Tel
l me what I did so I remember to do it again. You give the best rewards."

  "The email I mentioned? Seems Alma's Heart received a huge donation yesterday afternoon."

  "Oh, that."

  The shelter for abused women and children would carry the name of Delaney's mother. A tribute to the woman who ultimately saved her daughter but couldn't save herself. Travis wanted his gift to be anonymous. He should have known Delaney would find out.

  "The check I sent to pay you back. You signed over the entire amount. And arranged to donate a sizable amount every year."

  Travis shrugged. "Since you weren't supposed to pay me back, the money was never mine."

  "And the yearly donation?"

  "I believe in you." He touched Delaney's face. The look in her eyes made his heartbeat stutter. "And the cause you chose to champion. A little money thrown into the pot is the very least I can do."

  "Hardly little."

  "Depends on your point of view. Which reminds me." Travis' eyes narrowed. "I meant to ask, but with everything that happened, I forgot. Where did you get the money to pay me back? Professionally, I know you've established a successful, growing practice. But you haven't had time to save that kind of cash."

  Delaney shot him a look—one telling him she wished he hadn't asked.

  "Some of the money I saved," she said. Standing, she moved to look out the window where Candice pitched a ball to her daughter. The sight of Emma, expression determined as she choked up on a bat almost as big as she was, made Delaney smile. Football was the traditional Thanksgiving sport. Not baseball.

  Travis' influence had touched them all.

  "Emma has quite a swing."

  "You've been coaching her."

  "I like to nurture young talent." Travis slid his arm around her waist. "About the check, Del? The money I sent was for you to spend."

  "I did. At first." Delaney had been grateful. However, as soon as she could, she found a job. Added to her scholarship, within four years, she had' been able to support herself.

  "I asked you to stop sending money—through your lawyer," she added, eyebrows raised. "He must have told you."

  "He had a standing order. Send the checks once a week, without fail. No argument."