by Kathy Altman
“I’m sorry about that.” If her guilt were any sharper, her insides would be in shreds. “I’m hoping to convince Dix to run. He was always the better choice, anyway.”
Pratt plucked a tissue from the box on her desk and turned away, ostensibly to clean his glasses.
Charity swallowed hard. “By the way,” she said, then had to clear her throat and try again. “That night you came by my house and chased Grady away? You said that something had happened, and you wanted to talk about it. But we never did.”
He kept his back to her, and took his time fitting his glasses back onto his face. Afterward he made a harrumphing sound. “Brenda June asked me out. On a date. I thought maybe you had something to do with that.”
Charity didn’t know whether to cuss or cheer. “Forget cleaning those glasses. I think you need a new pair altogether.”
He swung around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she’s been wanting to ask you out for a while. Please tell me you said yes.”
His scowl provided the unhappy answer. Before Charity could try to talk some sense into him, someone rapped twice on the door.
Mo poked his head in. “Good. You’re both here.” Oblivious to the tension in the room, he pushed the door wide and flapped a piece of paper. “We got the results back from the samples we collected in the West house. Some of the hair we bagged from Hampton West’s shower drain is a match to Sarah Huffman.”
Charity collapsed back against her desk, ignoring the stack of folders that slapped against the floor. Finally. Solid evidence. But why did it have to lead to Grady’s father?
The sheriff grabbed the report and looked it over. “Drew Langford. Does he use that shower?”
Mo shook his head. “There’s no DNA evidence that he’s ever been in the bathroom, let alone used the shower. Same with everyone else in the family.”
“Are you suggesting,” Charity asked slowly, her pulse a deafening thud in her ears, “that Hampton West killed Sarah Huffman?”
“Either that, or they were lovers.”
Charity stared at Pratt. “You seriously think he was sleeping with Kate and Sarah?”
Mo banged a fist against the wall. “More likely that he killed Sarah and carried strands of her hair in with him when he showered afterward.”
“But he was at the hospital that night. We checked the security footage. Since he was messing around with Kate, I’m betting she shared his shower more than once, and considering Sarah and Kate hung out all the time, it makes sense that she’d have Sarah’s DNA on her. Unless…could there be something wrong with the footage from the hospital?” Charity rounded on Pratt. “We need to check additional security tapes from the West house. See if Sarah was a regular visitor.”
Pratt bobbed a nod, his head heavy on his neck. “Okay, people. I’ll go see the judge. You bring Hampton West in. Let’s figure out what the bloody blue blazes is going on.”
“You take the house,” Mo said to Charity. “I’ll take the hospital.” Jiggling his keys, he hurried out to the parking lot.
Charity followed without arguing. If he wanted the high-profile arrest, he could have it. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want Grady’s father to be guilty of murder.
She yawned as she merged onto the highway. Her incredible night with Grady was about to cost her dearly. If they did end up making an arrest, sleep would not be something she’d be getting anytime soon. She might even have to resort to ODing on caffeine.
She frowned. OD. Overdose. Drugs.
She hit the brakes, skidded to the side of the road, and gripped the steering wheel as her heart floundered in her chest. The night Justine was arrested, Hampton West had shown up at the station barely able to walk, let alone manage a straight line. Could he have been drugged?
Her breath lodged like a stone in her throat. What was it she herself had said to Drew about Justine? Mothers can be fierce when their children are threatened.
She heard Kate’s voice in her brain, loud and clear, when she’d admitted to having an affair with Grady’s father. It’s not for money, I can promise you that.
And Stanford. Kate had told Charity that Allison had changed her mind about Stanford because she wanted some distance from Drew. But Drew had said Allison didn’t have the grades.
They’d found Sarah Huffman’s hair in Hampton West’s shower drain.
Charity scrabbled for her cell phone, practically chewing a hole through her lip as she waited for Pratt to pick up.
“Pratt here.”
“We need to bring in Kate Young.” A scalding sense of urgency shot through Charity’s veins. “She and Hampton met for sex in his office, and she drugged him so he wouldn’t know she left to meet up with Sarah.”
“Hold on.” She heard the scrape of skin against skin as he ran his palm over his head. “You’re saying she killed her best friend?”
“Sarah ruined Kate’s plans for an alliance with the Wests. That was how Kate planned to fund tuition for Allison at Stanford. By having her marry into a wealthy family.” And hadn’t Kate said something about needing a new roof? But money hadn’t been the reason she’d seduced Hampton West.
She’d needed him to provide an alibi.
Brenda June was in the background, talking quickly.
Pratt came back on the phone. “The hospital called. They can’t find Allison. Kate threw a fit, started ranting about payback, and took off. Hit three cars on her way out of the parking lot.”
“When was this?”
“Half an hour ago.”
Oh, dear Lord. Charity checked her mirror, jammed her boot on the accelerator, and swerved back onto the highway. “Send someone to Kate’s house. I’ve got the Wests.’ Sarah’s not the only one who ruined Kate’s plans.”
Drew.
Last night Grady had said Drew and Matt would be home alone today.
Oh, God. Oh, Grady.
Charity flipped on the takedown lights and prayed.
* * *
Judas Priest. Who’d have thought?
Rehab. His mom was going to rehab.
Drew wandered into the house from the garage, still in a daze. He’d just rolled out of the guest bed at Ethan’s when his mom had called and told him he wouldn’t be hearing from her for a while. Uncle Grady, apparently, was driving her to a rehab facility in Billings. Drew had stayed up until two with Ethan, shooting pool, so he wasn’t sure he’d been hearing his mom correctly and asked her to say it again.
Yep. Time to get sober, she’d said.
At first Drew had been hurt. Why couldn’t he drive her? Then she’d asked him, haltingly, to explain things to Peyton, and he’d realized.
She was embarrassed. Justine Langford. The woman who was so drunk she’d stabbed him in the cheek while pinning the boutonniere on his Homecoming suit. Then she’d thrown up all over him. Then she’d taken a picture and posted it on Facebook.
He snagged an apple from the bowl on the island, slung his backpack over his shoulder and started up the stairs. Things were looking up.
Now if only they could find psycho bastard who’d murdered Sarah.
The bite of apple went bitter in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow, then sighed. He’d dump his stuff, find Matt and see if he wanted to play some pool. Drew needed the practice ’cause Ethan had wiped the floor with his ass. Anyways, Uncle Grady had asked Drew to keep an eye on Matt—his grandparents were both working today and Peyton had gone to the mall with a friend. Uncle Grady had said Matt would be okay for a while—he’d left him playing video games in the family room—but he didn’t want him left alone for long.
No sweat. Drew liked to hang with his cousin. When the kid wasn’t dissin’ his own dad, anyway.
Drew opened his door and tossed his backpack at the bed. Blinked when it smacked into Matt, hitting him squarely in the chest. Belatedly Matt raised his arms, and ended up hugging the pack.
“Dude. Sorry about that.” Drew set the apple on his bureau and crossed over to the bed, retrieved h
is pack and dropped it in the desk chair. “If you’re done with Call of Duty, are you up for shooting some pool?”
Matt sat unmoving, his face pale and strained, his eyes as wide as frisbees. Drew frowned. “What’s up with you?”
The kid looked at something over Drew’s shoulder. Drew turned, and came face-to-face with Allison’s mom. She stood with her back against his door, a smug expression on her face and an automatic pistol in her hand.
What the fuck?
Her hands were shaking, just like his, but that didn’t make him feel any better. She looked like she knew what she was doing, with her left hand cupped under her right, and her finger hovering where he figured the safety must be. She didn’t look crazy at all. Her hair was all slicked back in a bun and she was dressed like she was on her way to…
To a funeral. Black suit, black shoes, pearl earrings.
His stomach tumbled, over and over. Shit, were they about to die?
Behind him Matt whispered something, and Kate Young’s eyes got squinty.
His mom. Peyton. Dad. He should have told them all he loved them.
Drew forced his gaze up and away from the gun and tried to swallow, but there wasn’t a drop of spit in his mouth.
“Mrs. Young,” he croaked. “What’s going on?”
“It’s payback time, that’s what’s going on. I’m tired of being screwed over by you and your family.” She reached behind her without looking away and locked the door. “She left. She left, and it’s all your fault.”
“Allison’s out of the hospital?”
“Don’t you say her name,” she yelled, jabbing at him with the gun, while behind him Matt groaned. “You don’t get to say her name.”
Matt was making grunting, choking sounds as he tried not to cry and the noise made Drew’s chest ache. He wanted to start wailing himself, and his legs shook like he’d been running laps all morning. But he had to man up. Matt was scared enough for both of them.
Drew put out his hands, palms down. “I’d like to talk about this,” he said, his voice scratchy like sandpaper. “I’d like to find out what you need, but how about you let my cousin go first? Then it’ll be just you and me—”
“No!” Kate Young shouted. She grimaced, then shook her head. The tiny pearls dangling from her ears quivered. “No,” she said more calmly. “This isn’t just between you and me.”
“But Matt doesn’t even know All—your daughter. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t have anything to do with this. Please. Let’s send him downstairs. I’ll stay. If you do that I promise I’ll stay.”
“You’ll stay because I locked the damned door. And of course he has something to do with this. He’s a West, isn’t he? And you Wests are all alike. Liars and cheaters and thieves.”
Drew was staring at her, mesmerized by her words. He’d known she was pissed at him, but this was over the top. He glanced at his backpack, but it was too far away. He’d never get to his phone before she had a chance to use that gun. And he couldn’t leave Matt alone on the bed.
Why hadn’t he left his pack where it was?
“I had plans for you,” she was saying. “Big plans.”
“What kind of plans?” He had to keep her talking. Weren’t you supposed to keep them talking? Except…his grandparents wouldn’t be home before dinner. Uncle Grady wouldn’t be back for hours. And Peyton—
Oh, shit. What would happen when she got back from shopping? Sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades and fear kicked in his gut. Then he realized. Peyton was Allison’s best friend.
He drew in a breath. “What about my sister? Don’t you think this would scare her? Don’t you think she’d want you to let Matt go so you and I can talk this out?”
Kate Young shook her head, and her eyes glistened. “She’s just like my Allison. She’ll hate me too when she finds out what I did.”
“She won’t hate you. Not if you put the gun down. Not if you let us go.”
“Why would I let you go? You promised my daughter the world, then threw her over. For a woman old enough to be your mother.”
Matt was curled up in a ball on the bed, breathing hard into his knees. Drew flexed and unflexed his fingers. He had to figure something out. He had to get them out of the house. Think, dude. Think.
“I didn’t let Sarah get away with it,” she drawled. “Why should I let you?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Drew began, then stopped. It registered, then. What she’d meant. What she’d already done.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as if someone had stuffed his lungs with dryer lint.
“Sarah,” he choked, and instantly wished he hadn’t. Because Kate Young’s eyes lit with an eerie glow at the mention of the dead woman’s name. Her cupped hands trembled, and Drew knew she’d use the gun. He had to get it away from her. He had to get it away from her now.
I love you, Mom. He gathered his muscles. But Allison’s mom was ready for him. She took two steps to her right and aimed the gun at the bed. At Matt.
“You. Come here.”
Drew threw out his arms, blocking his cousin. “Leave him alone.”
“Get that kid over here, or I’ll shoot you both in the head.”
Chapter Sixteen
An awful, earnest dread slithered through Charity when she spotted Kate’s Volvo parked on the street two houses down from the West property. Her heart thundered against her breastbone as she swung into the driveway. She braked in front of the house and launched herself out of the SUV. At the front door she paused, her breathing too fast, too heavy. Easy, Bishop. She pulled her weapon free of its holster and tried the front door. Unlocked.
Gently she pushed it ajar. A yell had come from upstairs. Drew’s room? Lifting her Sig, she eased up the carpeted steps, back to the banister, eyes locked on the hallway above her head. She should have caught it. Why hadn’t she caught it? The big plans when there was no money. Kate’s coyness when it came to her lover. The bias against Grady…
Kate hadn’t wanted them to work together. That’s why she’d advised Charity to steer clear.
She reached the top of the stairs and a chill dragged down her spine. She could hear Kate’s voice now, high and hard, followed by Drew’s, tight with fear. She crept down the corridor, toward Grady’s old room. The door was shut. And locked?
She flattened against the wall outside the room, heard someone hyperventilating. Matt? Her heart squeezed.
Dix. Mo. Where are you? Kate had to have a gun or some sort of weapon. Otherwise Drew would have taken her down.
“Why would I let you go?” Kate was saying. “You promised my daughter the world, then threw her over for a woman old enough to be your mother.”
Good job, Drew. Keep her talking.
“I didn’t let Sarah get away with it,” Kate said. “Why should I let you?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her.” Drew went quiet.
Charity knew, she could feel, the moment he registered Kate’s meaning.
“Sarah,” he choked, and Charity’s heart squeezed at the anguish in his voice.
“You,” Kate snapped. “Come here.”
Charity heard rustling sounds and pictured Kate positioning her hostages. Away from the window? A movement to her right had her head jerking around, her weapon snapping up. Mo moved stealthily up the stairway, right hand holding his gun at the ready, left hand gripping Charity’s tactical vest. Her shoulders went lax and she nodded at his wordless scolding. She holstered her weapon long enough to shrug into the vest.
“Get that kid over here, or I’ll shoot you both in the head.” Kate’s threat was followed by the unmistakable hiss and clack of a semiautomatic’s first round sliding into the chamber.
And that answered the question about whether Matt was in there, too.
Charity swallowed a hot wave of nausea and stared at Mo with wide eyes. He stood on the opposite side of the closed door, mirroring her pose with his weapon pointed at the floor. Charity had to sweet-talk her way in, and sh
e had to do it fast, because Kate’s voice had been rising steadily.
Hang in there, boys.
She wrenched her thoughts away from Grady and how frantic he’d be and knocked lightly on Drew’s bedroom door. “Kate? It’s me, Charity. Can we talk about what’s going on in there?”
A shaky laugh came from the other side of the door. “I’m pretty sure you’ve already figured out what’s going on.”
“I’d like to talk about it. I’d like to help. How about you send Matt and Drew out and let me come in?”
“Drew Langford is the reason I’m here. Allison and I were depending on him and he let us down. I’m sure you know what that feels like.”
Charity exchanged a frustrated glance with Mo. “How about Matt, then? He’s only eleven. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“He’s a West.”
“He’s a kid. Come on, Kate. Help me out. I’m the only one here who can make things happen for you.”
“I’m not too happy with you, either. Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone? Why couldn’t you just let this loser take the fall?”
“We almost did, Kate. You had a good plan, but it didn’t work, and now you need to let those boys go. Don’t make this any worse. What do you say? Do we have a trade?”
In the silence that followed, Charity struggled to recall the layout of the room. It was a big space with a built-in desk on one side, a walk-in closet on the other, and a full bath between the closet and the outside wall.
Charity motioned Mo forward and whispered in his ear. “Find out if the curtains are closed and whether the bathroom window is locked. And the closet—does it have attic access?”
Mo nodded and disappeared down the stairs.
Charity took the opportunity to dry her palms on her pants. She shifted her weapon back to her right hand and faced the bedroom door. Still no answer from inside. “Do we have a deal, Kate?”
“I’m not an idiot, Charity Bishop. You’re trained law enforcement. You get in here and you’ll find a way to get hold of my gun. As a matter of fact…”
Drew said something. Something thumped, and thumped again. Charity’s pulse began a rabid pound. What the hell? Matt squealed, Charity’s muscles jumped, and she barely refrained from lunging at the door. Instead she hauled in a breath and held it. She placed her left palm on the wall and hung her head.