Secret is in the Bones (Paynes Creek Thriller Book 3)

by Heather Sunseri

  “Ethan!” I yelled. I wriggled my body from under him. As I did, the sharp pain in my abdomen nearly caused me to pass out.

  Blood was everywhere. So much blood that I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, or from whom.

  I gently turned Ethan onto his back, then cradled his head in my hands. “Ethan, look at me!”

  His eyes fluttered open. “Faith,” he said softly, then swallowed hard. “You have to know I would never hurt you. I had no part in John Paul’s insane killing spree. I never wanted anything but the best for you. I tried to stop him. I should have trusted the cops, but I just didn’t.” His eyes closed.

  “Ethan?” I cried.

  His eyes opened into thin slits. “Please forgive me for what I did to you,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Not a day goes by that I don’t pray for your forgiveness.”

  As I watched him cling to life, I looked into his eyes—those midnight blue eyes, eyes of my best friend once upon a time—and I knew he was telling me the truth. This had all been the work of a madman. He was bleeding profusely, and I knew in an instant, I had to decide how I wished to remember this broken man. “I forgive you,” I whispered.

  His body went limp. “Ethan! Ethan!” When I realized he was gone, a tear slid down my cheek as I succumbed to the pain of my own wound and collapsed.

  Oliver continued to cry. I slid my finger into his fist again. Just as I started to lose consciousness, I heard my name.

  Warm fingers brushed down my cheek. “Stay with me, Faith,” Luke said, then yelled, “I need the paramedics over here!”

  “Luke?” I looked up and tried to focus, but I couldn’t. “I knew you’d come.”

  And as the sounds around me faded away, I heard Luke say, “Of course, I came. It’s my home, isn’t it?”

  FORTY-TWO

  LUKE

  “We’ve analyzed all of Gentry’s travel records.” Agent Crain said. “They don’t match up. He arrived in Colorado at least three days after Darren’s murder.”

  Chief McCracken spoke next. “We lifted three prints from the back seat of Paula Shepherd’s vehicle that match John Paul Matisse’s.”

  “That places him at the scenes of Champagne’s, Shepherd’s, and Murray’s murders. We’ll have no problem accumulating enough evidence to prove his guilt.”

  The task force gathered around a conference table at the KSP Post in Frankfort. I tried to add what I could, but I pretty much let Coop fill in what blanks he and I had discovered while going through Ethan Gentry’s home and work offices before and after the attack.

  Gentry’s employees confirmed that Matisse had visited the Spotted Cat the night of the warden’s wife’s murder, and that he had stayed in the back office for a couple of nights. They also expressed that Gentry wanted nothing to do with him, but that he’d had to be careful with how he handled the madman.

  I glanced at my phone off and on; I refused to turn it off for the meeting.

  Why hadn’t anyone called, dammit? Leah. Penelope. Someone.

  “Agent Justice,” Agent Thomason said to my right.

  “I’m sorry.” I straightened and looked over at her. “What was the question?”

  “You interviewed Marla Manfield?”

  “Yes, she confirmed from a photograph that her source for her latest series—of which only one episode was released—was John Paul Matisse.”

  “Good. I hope she rethinks her career as an amateur sleuth.”

  “Not likely,” Coop chuckled.

  I tried to laugh but couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. I glanced at my phone again and willed it to ring.

  The door opened behind me and disrupted my thoughts. In walked Special Agent Coy Stocker. “Sorry, I’m late.”

  Stocker was pulled from his undercover assignment at the prison almost immediately after the attack two nights ago.

  “Oh, good. Have a seat, Agent.” Agent Thomason gestured to the seat beside her. “I’ve read your report. Good work. Give the others the highlights.”

  “I was able to infiltrate the Whiskey Mafia during my time inside the Kentucky State Penitentiary. I overheard various conversations that are detailed in the report, but I’ll focus on information that I learned about John Paul Matisse and Ethan Gentry.”

  I wanted to motion with my hand for him to speak faster, but somehow managed to suppress my rudeness.

  “Matisse was obsessed with Gentry. I don’t know any other way to say it. And Byron Mills was uncharacteristically regretful about his role in Matisse’s relationship with Gentry in prison.”

  “Are you saying it wasn’t a consensual relationship?” I asked.

  Agent Stocker shook his head. “You’ve got to remember that Ethan was seventeen when he was sentenced to life in prison. He was just a kid. Mills—the leader of the Whiskey Mafia, for those who didn’t know—took a liking to Gentry. Anytime Gentry’s name came up, other members went silent. He was off limits.”

  “Alan Acosta had told us that Mills had treated Gentry almost like a son,” Coop said.

  “Right,” Agent Stocker agreed. “Well, that was backed up while I was there. They were getting some communication while I was there. They had enough phones and got calls daily.”

  “And you confirmed that the Whiskey Mafia put the hit out on Betty Parrish.” Agent Crain said. She’d most likely already read the report, as well.

  “Correct. Like the warden suspected, it was in retaliation for the warden shutting down their cell phone operation, but they also took the opportunity to give Matisse a job that Matisse thought would be a repayment of his debt to the gang. Mills had him on the Whiskey Mafia Bad News List, which alerts gang members to take out a fellow member that has a falling out with the gang’s leadership. But Mills never intended to let Matisse off the hook. When he learned that Matisse had been targeting someone Gentry cared about, he gave Gentry a green light to take care of Matisse if he got the chance. Even out of prison, Mills considered Gentry untouchable.”

  “So, it’s true,” I said. “The reason all of his travel records were just slightly off was because Ethan was tracking Matisse. Not Faith.” And Faith was right to sense that she was being followed, but she was being stalked by Matisse and not Gentry.

  “That sounds about right,” Stocker continued. “When Gentry visited Mills a few months back, Mills made Gentry a deal—his way of apologizing for his part in Gentry’s unfair incarceration.”

  Agent Stocker wasn’t speaking to Gentry’s actual imprisonment, now, but more about the control the Whiskey Mafia gave Matisse over Gentry.

  “What was the deal?” I asked.

  “Gentry could ‘take care of’ Matisse however he saw fit, and as long as Gentry looked after members of the Whiskey Mafia who needed jobs on the outside, Mills would consider his debt to the gang forever paid.” He lifted a finger to make his next point. “And here’s how much pull Gentry had with Mills. Gentry agreed, except he told Mills that anyone who worked for him had to play it straight while in his establishment. No drugs. No law-breaking while working at the Spotted Cat.”

  I rubbed my hands over my face. “Gentry felt indebted to Mills.”

  “Correct.”

  “And all this time, he was protecting Faith.”

  Everyone in the room turned to me. After a double tap to my phone, verifying no one had tried to contact me in the minute since I’d last checked, I continued. “Gentry was obsessed with Faith, and he had been since they were kids.” I didn’t get into the details of that. I didn’t need to. “He also loved her. When he was sentenced to life in prison, and when his appeals all failed, he accepted that he was never getting out, and that his relationship with his stepsister was forever damaged. At some point, he trusted someone—Mills, maybe, but more likely Matisse, himself—with his love for Faith. Matisse had a high I.Q. I looked it up. He also read a lot. One way or another, Matisse knew about Gentry’s love or obsession with Faith, and he learned that Faith’s testimony in court was to blame for Ethan’s incarcera
tion—right or wrong.”

  “So, Matisse lost favor with the gang,” Coop said. “And Gentry was no longer forced to be under Matisse’s, or Mills’s, control.”

  “Matisse thought he could bring Gentry back under his thumb by forcing Faith to submit to that same control. If he had Faith, he thought Gentry would also toe the line.”

  “I have to admit,” Agent Stocker said. “I read a lot about the Gentry case before I went undercover. I gained a lot of respect for Gentry after reading that research and listening to the convicts talk about how he handled himself on the inside and since he’s been released.”

  Finally, a text flashed across my phone. I stood immediately, prompting heads to turn in my direction.

  “I have to go.”

  Faith was out of surgery, and I would be there when she woke up.

  FORTY-THREE

  FAITH

  The sun shone bright as it rose over the fields, backlighting the family of deer eating leaves off the saplings in the forest behind the house. It was exactly the view I hoped for when I decided to build.

  I frowned when a series of beeps sent the deer bounding off through the woods.

  When the insistent beeping sound disappeared, I saw a man walking toward me from the path between my land and my neighbor’s. I stood and stepped off the porch. As the man got closer, I realized it was Ethan.

  He looked different. His eyes were somehow bluer, and his hair was slightly longer, like it had been when we were just sixteen. He’d always been so handsome.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “To tell you something,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Be happy, Faith. Let go. And please know, I’m sorry.” A tear fell down his cheek.

  I reached out to touch the tear, but Ethan disappeared in a cloud of gray smoke.

  “Ethan? Where did you go?” I drew my hand back. Someone called my name behind me. I turned toward the porch and smiled. “Luke,” I said. “I knew you’d be there.”

  As the beeps started again, I felt my face scrunch up in irritation. “What is that annoying sound?” I asked, but the words came out a little jumbled. At the sharp pain in my side, I moaned.

  “There she is,” a male voice said. “You going to stay with me this time?”

  My eyes fluttered open; Luke’s green eyes came into focus. The whites were bloodshot in the corners. His hair was disheveled and the stubble on his face was longer than I’d ever seen on him. “Are you okay?” I asked, my words a little clearer. “You’ve looked better.”

  When I touched a hand to his cheek, he breathed out a noise that sounded like something between a laugh and a sob. “I’m more than okay.” He grabbed my hand and held it between his, careful of the tubes coming out of it.

  “Why are you crying?”

  He laughed again as he sniffed. “I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to tell you just how much I’m in love with you.”

  “Well, now’s your chance,” I said.

  “I love you so much that I’d live in that Airstream with you and shower in that poor excuse for a bathroom for the rest of my life. I love you so much that if you wanted to leave this town and never look back, I’d go with you. You name it, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “I want to marry you,” I said.

  He nodded. “Well, that’s a given.” He leaned in and kissed my knuckles.

  I winced at a sudden, sharp pain to my side.

  Luke frowned. “Let me tell the nurse to call the doctor now that you’re awake.”

  “Wait,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Are Oliver and Leah all right?” I closed my eyes while I waited for Luke’s answer. I’d been wanting to ask, but I was so scared.

  “Oliver’s doing great. Not a scratch on him. He’s with Leah. She’s fine, too. She took a knock to the head, but the doctors said she’ll be fine. Not even a concussion.”

  I leaned my head against the pillow and stared up at the small light above me. The room was dark except for the one task light. “Ethan’s dead, isn’t he?” I asked, but I knew the answer.

  Luke leaned his forehead into our linked hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. “He died at the scene. There was nothing they could do.”

  Tears fell down my temples and into my hair. “I knew that night.” I turned my head and met Luke’s sad eyes before he looked away. I reached my hand and forced him to keep looking at me. “I love you. That will carry us through this.”

  “I need to tell you a few things about Ethan.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that,” I said.

  “I know, but you should at least know, he’d been trying to protect you. He’d been following Matisse, not you. He was trying to stop Matisse from hurting you.”

  I nodded. “He loved me. It’s something that’s always been confusing, but in the end, I think his love for me was pure. And I know what he did to me all those years ago was unforgivable, but I forgave him anyway.”

  Luke nodded. “He saved your life. That earns him my forgiveness, as well.”

  “He saved my life, but I’m in a helluva lot of pain. What’s my damage?”

  Luke furrowed his brows. “Let me get the nurse to go through your pain management options.”

  He stood, but I tightened my grip on his hand. “Why are you stalling? Is it that bad?”

  He sat back down. His face relaxed when he realized what I was asking. “No. You’re going to be fine. Ethan took the worst of it when he jumped in front of Matisse’s gunfire. The bullet passed through his liver before it hit you. Doctors were able to repair the damage to your abdomen. You lost your spleen, but you’re going to be fine.”

  I searched his eyes and was satisfied when I saw no signs of worry there. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  He stood and leaned over me. “You’re welcome. Please don’t do that to me again.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, then added, “Now I’m getting the nurse with the magic drugs.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  FAITH

  Six months later.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. I watched from the covered back porch as the wall of dark blue clouds moved closer and promised a magnificent light storm.

  Luke and I had only just moved in last week. We’d yet to furnish even a third of the house, but we didn’t care.

  “Faith?” Luke yelled.

  “I’m out here,” I answered. “Bring the bourbon sitting on the kitchen island. We’ve got quite the show firing up out here.” The back porch had become one of my favorite spots so far.

  Luke came outside carrying three crystal glasses—a new purchase for the house—and a bottle of my latest obsession.

  “You expecting someone else?” I asked as he set the three glasses and bottle of bourbon on the new outdoor dining table, then leaned down and gave me a kiss.

  He was wearing one of my favorite new ties—blue with cats that looked similar to Gus. When he pulled back, he grinned.

  “Just me,” a female voice said behind me.

  I whipped around just as Myra stepped outside. “Myra! What a nice surprise!” I stood and wrapped my arms around her. “You’re just in time for a porch sit, bourbon, and a thunderstorm. One of my favorite new hobbies.”

  “With this back porch, I can see why.” She took a seat to my right. “The house is incredible, Faith. You can give me the full tour later.”

  “It’s still a work in progress, but I most definitely will.”

  Luke poured the three of us drinks.

  “Why didn’t you call? I would have planned something for dinner.”

  “We can call for takeout,” Luke offered.

  Myra held up a hand as she took a sip and swallowed. “No need. I’m not staying long, but I had news that I thought should be delivered in person.”

  For the first time, I realized she had carried a briefcase with her. She reached down and pulled out a folder and set it between us.

  “What’s that?”

  “
You told me last week that an attorney had tried to reach you several times regarding Ethan.”

  Luke’s head snapped in my direction. I hadn’t told him about the messages I’d received. “I’m sorry,” I said to Luke. “I meant to tell you.”

  “Sorry,” Myra said. “I assumed… That was dumb of me. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

  “It’s fine. I meant to tell Luke. It simply slipped my mind.”

  They both knew that was bullshit. Things didn’t slip my mind.

  “So, you spoke to the attorney?”

  “Yes.” Her face was unreadable.

  “What is it? You look so serious.” Luke and I traded looks. When she paused a moment longer, I said, “Myra, you’re one of the most direct people I know. Out with it.”

  “Ethan left you the Spotted Cat.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What am I going to do with a bar?”

  “That’s not all.” She pulled out a piece of paper. “During the past year, as you know, he’d been following his former cellmate around the country.”

  “Yes,” I said long and drawn out.

  “He informed his attorney that he knew his former cellmate was a ‘sadistic, murdering sociopath.’”

  Luke shifted in his seat. He still hated thinking about the night I almost became one of John Paul’s victims.

  “Those were Ethan’s words, according to the lawyer,” Myra added. “Anyway, he left a will and very specific instructions that upon his death, everything was to be left to you.”

  “Okay, but what else could he possibly have had. The house, I guess. But I was under the impression he put everything he had into that bar, and I assumed he had a mortgage on the house.”

  “Those things are true.”

  Luke, who had said nothing so far, tossed back his glass of bourbon, then poured more. Something was bothering him, and it went beyond memories of John Paul Matisse. It was as if he was seeing a storm or something else big that I couldn’t see.