by CJ Lyons
“There’s only one right answer here, Ging,” he said. “What’s it going to be? Your family or your life?”
Before Caitlyn could react, before she could even remember how to move her mouth to form words, much less raise her own weapon, Jessalyn pulled a gun from her pocket and shot Jimmy twice in the chest. His eyes went wide, hands started to rise as if to protect himself from the bullets, then he slumped in his chair, his pistol tumbling to the floor.
Caitlyn whirled on her mother, her own weapon raised. “Drop it,” she shouted, amazed her voice and body seemed to be reacting without her brain being engaged. It was a surreal, out-of-body moment as she stared down the barrel of her gun at her mother.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” Jessalyn said, her voice certain. But she did set her gun down on the floor, rising to face Caitlyn. “And you’re not going to arrest me. That pistol belongs to Poppy. His fingerprints are all over it and the bullets inside.” Caitlyn noticed Jessalyn still wore her leather driving gloves. “We were never here. Do you understand me, Caitlyn? We were never here. Together we’re going to leave and everything is going to be just fine. I promise.”
She walked past Caitlyn, heading to the door. Caitlyn stared after her, dumbfounded. Ran to Jimmy, no pulse. No surprise—the pistol Jessalyn used was a chrome-plated Desert Eagle .357 magnum.
“Caitlyn, let’s go.”
Caitlyn turned to her mother, still holding her Glock, but more out of comfort, not aiming it anywhere. She just needed something solid to ground her in reality. She reached into her pocket and grabbed her cell phone as well. “Why? I don’t—”
Jessalyn frowned as if Caitlyn were particularly slow on the uptake. “What do you mean why? Family, Caitlyn. Blood always comes first. You’re my blood, my daughter. I couldn’t let Jimmy and Poppy bring us down—and you know they would. They’d cut a deal to save themselves, and we’d be the ones to suffer. So I came prepared to save us. You and me, Caitlyn. Just like always.”
Caitlyn blinked at Jessalyn’s twisted attempt to pull Caitlyn into her warped scheme. Suddenly her mother seemed very tall and Caitlyn felt very small. Like she was nine years old again. Her voice emerged in a hushed whisper. “You, you killed Dad.”
“Of course. I told you, I had to save you. Jimmy didn’t have the guts to do what had to be done. Men, they’re all so weak. I’m sorry you’re the one who found him—we had no idea you were there that day. We must have left out the back while you came in the front.”
“And now you killed Jimmy. Your own brother.” Caitlyn understood the words; she just couldn’t force her mind to accept them as fact.
“Yes, dear. Now hurry up. Mama will drive, you seem to be in shock.”
Shock. That was an understatement. Caitlyn stared at her mother, stared at her uncle, then stared at the spot on the floor where her father had died. Full circle. Didn’t make anything right, didn’t ease the pain, but … somehow it felt like this was the only way things could ever have ended.
She straightened. “I don’t think so. You’re not going anywhere except to prison. Let’s go.”
“Everything I did, I did for you. How can you be so ungrateful? Why do you always have to take your father’s side? I love you. I sacrificed everything for you. Don’t you dare talk to me that way!” By the time she finished Jessalyn was screaming just like any other felon Caitlyn had ever arrested. Gone was the facade of superiority.
All her life she’d been waiting for her mother to accept her, to be proud of her. Never going to happen. But as she ushered Jessalyn outside and shut her in the backseat of the car where she wouldn’t have to listen to her, Caitlyn realized she’d earned something more precious. She’d gotten her father back.
The cost was incomprehensibly high—and she’d be paying the rest of her life, she was certain. But the thought helped to calm the turmoil rushing through her brain so she could stay focused on her job.
She found the cell phone sweet spot and put in a call to Markle. As she waited for his men to arrive, Caitlyn stared up at her home.
Her own mother. A killer. And Caitlyn had just arrested her.
She knew the words should have disturbed her, but standing there, the chill wind cutting across the mountain, she was too numb to care.
The sun rose across the valley, golden beams giving the house a glow. Home sweet home.
Then mist from the mountain crowded out the sunbeams, shrouding the house in snow flurries. Making the house look cold and lonely, just as it had every day since her father died.
Not a home, Caitlyn thought. Not anymore. Just another crime scene.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Back to the sheriff’s station. Back to answering questions. Back to dissecting her actions, forcing herself to stay unemotional and professional while inside she felt like her feelings were ready to boil over in a confused mess she couldn’t even begin to label or analyze.
Finally a deputy drove her to her Subaru. She was tempted to just head home—didn’t have the courage or strength to face Paul if he was still at the VistaView—but needed her laptop. And she wanted to pack up Eli’s papers, arrange that Lena got them along with the original pact.
Paul, in his usual thorough thoughtfulness, had taken care of everything. When she got to the room, he was gone, her bags packed, and a note left for her along with a sandwich from room service. She sank into the chair, forced herself to eat even though every bite stung with regret.
A man like Paul. A man who’d take care of her, comfort her. She very much wanted to love a man like that. But she didn’t. Maybe she couldn’t. She was too exhausted to do more than blink away tears as she chewed her turkey club and read his note.
Caitlyn,
First, you need to know I love you. But I think we both need a little time and space to think about what happened here. To think about what we both want.
No, that’s not true. I know what I want. But I need you to be certain.
I love you and I think you love me as well. Trust your heart, Caitlyn. It won’t lead you wrong.
I’ll be waiting. Love always,
Paul
Trust her heart? Laughter bubbled out of her. High-pitched, insane; if she didn’t laugh she’d be on the floor sobbing. Love? Her mom loved her dad, look where that got them. Her mom loved her brother—whoops, that hadn’t worked out very good, either, had it?
Her mom said she’d done everything because she loved Caitlyn.
Her laughter died. She shoved the sandwich away along with her emotions, tucked Paul’s note into her pocket, grabbed her stuff and left. Paul was right about one thing: she did need time. To think. To feel. To understand.
But not now. Later.
Now she just wanted to go home.
* * *
As Caitlyn pulled out of the casino parking garage she met another vehicle coming in. An armored truck. With Florida plates.
This is silly, she thought even as she turned the Subaru around and parked where she could watch the truck. Made perfect sense that a casino would need spare cash on a Sunday, especially with all the tourists in town for the poker run.
Except. It just didn’t feel right.
She grabbed her monocular from the glove compartment. The logo on the truck had a different style of lettering from the one she’d seen on Friday. Meant nothing. Companies changed logos, didn’t take the time and money to update every truck. But there was also no agent operator license or US DOT number listed.
The truck she’d seen on Friday was picking up coins. This time the armored car guards were unloading shrink-wrapped bundles of bills from the truck under the direction of a man with a clipboard and another man who wore a VistaView security uniform. A large man dressed as a guard pushed a handcart loaded with bills out of the truck. Tiny, her favorite Jolly Giant. Bingo.
Wanting backup, she called Goose. “Where are you?”
“Sitting on Caruso. With the poker run canceled, looks like he’s sleeping late.”
“Forget
Caruso. There’s nothing in his saddlebags except dirty underwear.”
“What the hell you talking about? Our guys—”
“If you want your marked money it’s being unloaded from the back of an armored truck into the VistaView as we speak.”
“And you know this how?”
She shook her head, too exhausted to even try to explain. “Truck’s marked GUARDIAN SECURITY with Florida plates. Four men, at least three of them armed. I’d hurry if I was you.”
She hung up before he could say anything. Goose wasn’t her problem anymore. Neither were Lena, Paul, or her mom. Only thing Caitlyn had to worry about was what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
But still, she wasn’t about to let Caruso get away with it. The man with the clipboard turned around, and he looked familiar as well. He’d been at Poppy’s house with the other Daytona Reapers.
The exchange was moving along nicely. The loading dock was equipped with an industrial scale. The guards would drive their handcart loaded with bills over the scale; the man would record the weight, then transfer the cart to the second man dressed in the VistaView uniform, who would hand him a check. Turning illegitimate money into legally obtained and documented casino winnings. It was elegant in its simplicity.
The exchange was obviously a familiar routine for these guys. Familiar and all too fast. There was no sign of Goose by the time they had the last handcart from the truck on the scale being weighed.
She was so damn tired, she actually thought about letting them get away. But Goose had worked so hard, sacrificed so much for this bust. He deserved it.
Caitlyn snuck out of her Subaru and crept between the other cars until she was at the front of the truck. A blind spot for the men at the rear, but by twisting one of the side-view mirrors she could see them easily. She held her Glock at the ready. The man with the clipboard was unarmed as far as she could see, both hands occupied. The two guards from the VistaView were loading bundles already exchanged onto a second handcart. Tiny was in the back of the armored car, making the final exchange.
Which meant they all had their hands full. And were close enough together that she could cover them all. Best timing she’d get.
She waited for Tiny to emerge from the cover of the truck, pushing the cart. Then she stepped forward, Glock aimed at them. “Freeze and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Tiny stared at her, dropped the handcart, and raised his arms. Not in surrender but as if he planned to leap off the loading dock and tackle her.
“You,” he growled. It should have scared her but after the wild animals of last night, it had no effect. “I’m gonna kill you, bitch.”
The man with the clipboard laughed. The other two just watched—obviously not paid for their brains.
Caitlyn sighed, sighting on Tiny’s no-miss target of a chest. Was she really going to have to kill someone again?
“Tiny, please. I’m in no mood to kill you. And that’s what’s going to happen if you try anything. First, I kill you. And then”—inspiration struck—“I go after DeeDee. Ever seen what happens to a bike sitting unprotected in a forfeiture lot for a year or two? Pushed around, scraped up, sitting in the rain, maybe even broken down and sold for parts? You want that for DeeDee?”
It was a long shot. Trying to connect with a sociopathic biker’s soul.
At first Tiny’s face grew red, but then it drained of color faster than sour milk going down a drain. “DeeDee—you wouldn’t, you couldn’t…” His voice was hardly a whisper, it was so choked with emotion, as he crumbled to sit on the concrete, hands on his head.
The man with the clipboard made a move for his jacket and Caitlyn shifted her aim to him. “Hold it.”
There was a split second when everything seemed to move in slow motion. The clipboard falling to the ground, the man’s hand reaching for a semiautomatic in a shoulder holster beneath his blazer, Caitlyn’s finger slipping from the trigger guard to the trigger.
“Do what the lady says.” Goose came up behind the man on the other side of the truck, his gun aimed at the back of his head. Another man and a woman appeared from the casino entrance, holding weapons on the guards.
Caitlyn blew her breath out, took her finger off the trigger. So close, so close. “Nice timing,” she called to Goose.
“Just returning the favor. Technically, I guess this collar belongs to you.”
She shook her head and holstered her weapon. “Not me. I was never even here.”
* * *
Caitlyn drove east until she reached Raleigh, where she should have headed north on I-85. Then she saw a sign for Route 64. The way to the Outer Banks. What the hell, she thought, as she steered the Subaru off the interstate. Because of the holiday tomorrow, no one was expecting her at work until Tuesday. Hell, they might not even notice if she didn’t show up then—or at least not care.
It was almost nine by the time she reached Duck, North Carolina. Seemed like the Outer Banks pretty much closed down during the off season; she was lucky to find a tiny Mexican restaurant in a small strip mall north of Duck with its lights still on. The waitress and cook, obviously mother and daughter, recognized a weary traveler when they saw one and took pity on her, feeding her the best seviche and fish tacos she’d ever had.
“Where are you staying?” asked the daughter, who had a better command of English.
“Tonight? I don’t know. Are there any hotels near here?” All she’d seen on the windy road up the barrier island were condos and large mansions.
The waitress spoke in Spanish to her mother, who nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later she emerged with a slip of paper and a key.
“Our cousin is a Realtor, rents out condos, houses,” the daughter explained. “We clean them between guests. He says you can stay as long as you like—family discount rate.”
Caitlyn shook her head. Seemed like every family had an Uncle Jimmy. “Thanks. I’ll just need it for two nights. I think,” she added, wondering what it would be like to live on the beach. “I don’t have much cash, can I put it on my credit card?”
“Sí, sí. There are fresh linens already there. You can’t buy groceries tonight, but the Food Lion opens again at nine in the morning.”
“You be okay?” the mother asked, worry crinkling her eyes. “Alone?”
“I’ll be fine.” She paid, leaving a generous tip, and stood to leave.
“You come back again,” the mother called, waving her apron. “Tomorrow lunch. I fix you special.”
“Thank you. I will.”
The condo was a gorgeous two-bedroom, one half of a duplex that was on the second row from the beach. She couldn’t see the ocean from her balcony in the dark, but she could hear it. The air was crisp, more tang to it than the mountain air, still chilly but promising sunshine rather than clouds and snow. She found cushions for the divan on the balcony, brought a comforter out from the bedroom, snuggled in to listen to the waves and think.
A man calling her name carried over the sound of the ocean. She struggled, trying to orient herself. Dad?
She shook herself awake. The moon was directly overhead, and she could see its reflection off the sand beyond the backyard. The tide had come in. There was the ocean; wave after wave of white frothy moonglow.
“Caitlyn!”
She looked down into the backyard. A familiar figure stood on the other side of the locked privacy fence. “Goose?”
“Can I come in?”
She ran down the stairs and let him in. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“GPS tracker on your car. I never had a chance to take it off.” He rocked on his heels, hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “You mad at me for coming?”
She thought about it. Somehow it didn’t bother her that he was here, sharing a moment that she’d thought was reserved for her and her dad. That aching hole Dad’s memory used to leave didn’t feel so empty.
The head shrinkers at Quantico would probably hav
e a field day with that, but she didn’t care. She took his hand and led him back out the gate, following the boardwalk over the dunes to the ocean. “No. I don’t mind. But why did you come?”
“You were right about the truck. We got them all. They’re sending me to DC. Grand jury, debriefing, all that jazz. Trying to figure out what to do with me while I’m waiting to testify. Anyway, I figured I might not have the chance to see you again and, well”—he suddenly focused on his boots as if the shifting sands had left him off balance—“we never had a chance to say good-bye.”
The high tide made the sand soft so that their boots sank into it as they walked. Caitlyn gave up and sank down onto the sand. Goose hesitated for a brief moment, then sat down beside her, stretching his legs out to where the incoming waves brushed against the soles of his boots.
“What do I call you?” she asked. “I can’t stop thinking of you as Goose, but—”
“Goose is just fine. If you like it. Carver’s fine as well. Or Jake.” He shrugged. Obviously it’d been so long since anyone used his real name, he wasn’t sure what to call himself.
“Why Goose?”
“When you become a prospect for the Reapers they shave your head. Then tattoo it.” He ran his fingers through the back of his hair. “Guess my head looks a bit funny when it’s shaved. Like a big, old—”
“Goose egg.” She laughed. It felt good, not as painful as she thought it might. “My dad was going to bring us here when I was a kid,” Caitlyn continued, smoothing her hands over the wet sand, feeling its grit and heft before it slipped between her fingers and was gone. “But then he died and I never made it until now.”
“Really?” He leaned back on his elbows, gaze fixed on her—or the moon beyond her. “We used to come here all the time. Stayed a bit farther up the road, another five miles or so. Not so crowded there.”
She looked up and down the dark beach. No lights visible except for the one she’d left on behind them at the condo. “Crowded?”
“We came during the summer when school was out.”
“Sounds nice.”