by Stacy Green
“Stop.” He took his hand out of his pocket. He clutched a shiny hunting knife. “I tried to save him. But you did this to Holden.”
A paralyzing moment of clarity washed over Jaymee. Fresh sweat erupted over her hot skin. Her lungs expanded and then contracted painfully, cold terror filling them.
She stepped away from her brother.
He smiled.
“No.” Jaymee’s whisper was weak. Her rapidly beating heart sent blood rushing through her veins. It pounded in her temples, the pressure causing the room to sway. She stumbled, bumping against the table. She grabbed the edge for support.
Darren watched, his face an ugly mixture of amusement and sheer disgust.
“It’s not possible.”
“What’s not possible? That I would go to any length to protect the one person who’s always been there for me?” Darren grasped her shoulders, his fingernails digging into her skin.
“That’s what family is about, Jaymee. Protecting your own. But you never understood that. Everything has always been about you. No sacrifice for the greater good.”
“The greater good?”
“Holden served a higher purpose. He was a speaker of God, a champion for children. A good man.” He shook her hard enough to slam her tailbone against the table. She bit back a cry of pain.
“He helped so many people. Guided the confused, sheltered the lost, loved the abandoned.”
“Like he loved you.”
“He was the only father I had.” Darren’s spit hit her face. She didn’t dare move. “Paul treated me like a duty. Nothing was ever good enough for him. Only thing that did make him happy was my relationship with Holden. Gave me a purpose. A sense of worth, of self.”
“Holden manipulated you the same as he did me. He just used you differently.”
Another shake. Jaymee’s neck snapped back, and this time, she grabbed Darren’s shirt collar. “Stop. You’re hurting me.”
He dropped his hands. “Of course. And this isn’t the plan.”
Never taking her eyes off him, Jaymee rubbed her neck. “What is the plan?”
“You’re going for a little ride with me.”
“I don’t think so.” She slid around the length of the table inching toward the door, trying to remember what little she knew about self-defense. Go for the tender spots: the groin, the knees, the stomach. Kick. Scream. Run.
Her legs gained fifty pounds, weighed down with fear. Jaymee barely managed to lift them an inch off the floor.
Think. It’s Darren.
Her brother. The one person who truly understood the hell and horror and heartache of growing up in the Ballard prison. Deep down, he still cared about Jaymee. He had to, or she was in deep shit.
“Darren, listen to me. I never meant for Reverend Gereau to hurt Holden. I only wanted the truth to come out and to get my daughter back. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” The high-pitched words bounced off the metal walls. “Never mind ruining his reputation and sending him to prison.”
“He broke the law. He sold children!”
“He gave them a better life. You think Sarah would be happy here with you? Living in this piece of shit trailer that could be demolished by the next storm? Wearing hand-me-downs from Goodwill and being left alone while her Mom slings slop at the diner?”
His cruel words registered and then evaporated. She’d never told anyone in her family what she’d named her daughter. Only Lana, and later, Cage. Finally, Nick. No one else.
“How do you know her name?”
His once-cherubic face turned ugly, the corner of his mouth angled up in a smile that made Jaymee envision putting her hands around his neck and strangling him until he pleaded for a breath of mercy.
“Her adoptive parents kept the name. Holden suggested it to them.” He smiled wider.
That did it. She lunged for him, fingers outstretched, reaching for his neck. He caught her by the wrists, spun her around, slammed her back against his chest, and pinned her in a sweaty embrace.
“You should be nicer to me. Your daughter’s leaving the country on Sunday, and I know where she lives. With Holden half dead, I’m the only one with the answer you’re begging for.”
Her pulse sped up to a marathon beat, but her rational mind spoke first. “If you’re not bluffing, you aren’t telling me.”
“Isn’t that a risk you’ll have to take? After all, your friends died for this information. They begged for their lives. Don’t you owe them a little faith?”
The realization that Darren had killed Lana, and then Rebecca and Crystal, cut Jaymee off at the knees. He’d stood next to her at Lana’s funeral, shed his own tears over drinks and memories of their lost friend.
Jaymee barely caught the rage that sparked and boiled in her veins. She stuffed it down into the recesses of her mind, reserved it for the later strength she knew she’d need. She’d never been a very good actress, but she would have to fool Darren if she wanted to take her revenge.
She went limp in his arms and then bit her lip hard as she could. Tears sprang in her eyes and dropped onto his fisted hands locked around her ribcage. Not bad.
Jaymee licked the metallic-tasting blood off her lip. “What do you want me to do?”
Minutes or hours later, they emerged from her trailer. Darren had her change into a fresh work t-shirt, the only one she hadn’t taken to the Foster’s house. She’d washed her face and brushed her hair, all with him shadowing her.
The nightstand had caught her eye. Last hope.
“You want me to change. Can you at least turn around?”
“I’m your brother. I’ve seen you in your bra before.”
The response she’d expected. She didn’t have to fake the shaking as she struggled out of her shirt. She tried to put it in the laundry basket, but Darren held his hand out. He folded it up and tucked it beneath his arm.
Last chance. She pulled the clean shirt over her head and then stumbled back a few steps. She hoped to God her bastard brother believed fear caused her clumsiness. Her butt smacked the nightstand, and she heard the clatter she was hoping for.
Darren didn’t stand the picture back up.
Outside, the humidity dropped a bucket of moisture on them. In the west, the sun began to drop, and an ugly looking storm cloud crept into the pretty picture. Darren held her elbow and guided her to his van.
His thumb dug against her bone. “Say goodbye to beautiful Ravenna Court, sis.”
28
“You got it all, right?” Nick asked Kees, who’d just had an officer escort Debra to a squad car.
“Every word.”
Dressed in her usual khaki slacks and white shirt, Kees adjusted the badge hanging around her neck, then brushed her short, dark hair off her forehead. Despite her ebony complexion, Kees had a new smattering of freckles across her cheeks. She’d been out in the sun too long.
“Talked to your Detective Charles. They found Holden Wilcher. He’s not in any shape to talk.”
“What happened?” Elaine asked.
“Seems he got his ass kicked by the town pastor.”
Nick stared in sickened surprise as the detective sergeant repeated the story Charles had shared: Penn Gereau had kidnapped Holden Wilcher and tried to beat the truth out of him. For Jaymee.
“He said Jayme was his daughter?” Nick couldn’t process the information.
“Yep. Sonia Ballard confirmed it, too. Confessed everything when Detective Charles showed up with news of Wilcher.”
“What did Paul do?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“What does all this mean?” Elaine asked.
“Means Holden Wilcher didn’t run off with Royce Newton,” Kees said. “Royce’s in the wind, and I’d still say he’s a prime suspect in the murders. Charles thinks he’s here in Jackson with his mistress. Sent a unit over there to check.”
Elaine reached into her purse and pulled out a wrinkled envelope. “These are the original documents proving Holden’s paternity of my son, i
ncluding his signature. If you can get Debra to give up Sarah’s location, will that be enough to help find Jaymee’s daughter in time?”
“Maybe. But we’ve got to find out where Sarah is first.” Kees took the envelope. “You realize the D.A. could decide to bring charges against you. Most likely, you’ll be a state’s witness, but you did participate in the sale of your child.”
“I still have the money.”
“Good. They might go easier on you.”
“You going to arrest me?”
“Not unless I have to,” Kees said. “I’m assuming you’re not a flight risk.”
Elaine shook her head. “I accepted the responsibility when I decided to tell the truth. My husband isn’t happy with me, but he’s willing to stick it out. I’m not going anywhere.”
Kees held up the envelope. “Between this and Debra’s story, I’m hoping it will be enough to get a paternity test. Problem is, Holden’s unconscious and unable to defend himself. I’m going to have to fax this to Detective Charles–it’s his jurisdiction, and he’ll have to get a judge to issue a warrant. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can get any more out of Debra.”
“Keep me in the loop,” Nick said. He looked at Elaine, who finally stood up from the table. “Thank you. This wouldn’t have been possible if you hadn’t helped.”
She brushed her fingertips over her cheekbones, breathing deeply. “I’m just glad the truth is coming out.”
“Do you need a ride home?” Kees asked.
“I’ve got my car.” Elaine took Nick’s hand. “Please, let me know about Jaymee’s little girl. And when Holden wakes up. I want to hear all about the look on his face when he realizes he’s been shoved off his gold pedestal.”
“I will. You know you may have a case for getting your son back.”
“No. He’s happy with a good family. I’m not going to interrupt his life.” Elaine weaved between tables, ignoring the stares of still-shocked customers.
“I need to call Detective Charles,” Nick said. “Find out how Jaymee’s doing. I can’t imagine finding out what she did today, especially after the way Ballard’s treated her.”
“Seems you’ve made a new friend. Good for you.” Kees dug into the bag she carried. “Listen, before I go, I’ve got the information back on the typewriter used to write the letter about killing your wife. We tracked down a forensic document specialist with thirty years’ experience. Testified in hundreds of forgery cases, altered medical records–that sort of thing.”
“So he knows what he’s talking about.”
Kees nodded. “Semi-retired, but still consults. He says a typewriter’s print can be identified through several methods. A slight variation of alignment of the letters and uneven wear on the keys means each typewriter has a fingerprint. All looks the same to me, but apparently he can see it beneath a microscope.”
“So what kind of typewriter was used for the letter?”
“An IBM Wheelwriter 3–one of the earlier electronic typewriters. Problem is, it was really popular, and you can still buy it online.”
“Great.”
“He said if you had the typewriter, he could use the ID system to match the paper, but without the machine, that’s damned near impossible. But the ‘k’ on this particular typewriter sticks. Forensic guy said it looks like a smudge to the naked eye, but to a trained expert, the darker imprint is obvious.”
“Fantastic. All I need to do is find a shitty K in a haystack. Perfect.”
“Better than nothing,” Kees said. “I’ll let you know what the queen in the car says.” She left, leaving Nick to deal with the staring customers. He dropped a fifty on the table and stalked out of Char’s.
Kees’s unmarked car drove away, Debra’s devil-red hair glowing in the back window. She’d no doubt roll for the best deal. Nick only hoped the district attorney didn’t give her too much leniency.
Detective Charles answered on the second ring. “Good job, reporter.”
“Thanks. Debra gave us enough to implicate both Holden and Royce in the adoption scheme.”
“But not in the murders.”
“Not yet.”
“I still think Paul Ballard’s the muscle. He’s bullied Penn Gereau all these years.”
“So he knew the truth about Jaymee?”
“Oh yeah. Sonia felt so guilty she told him. And Paul made her pay. Jaymee, too.”
“Why didn’t Penn step in and do the right thing?”
“Coward. Ballard threatened his career, told him he and Wilcher–who was Roselea’s pastor at the time and every bit as powerful ‘round these parts as he is in Jackson–would make sure he was ruined and never set foot in a church again. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to provide for her and the kids. And when Sonia refused to leave, wasn’t much he could do.”
Nick swallowed his disgust. “How’s Jaymee?”
“Okay. Stunned, I think. Sent her back to the Foster’s with a uniform. She wanted to clean up before she went to work.”
It was past five already, and Jaymee was probably getting ready for the evening rush. Hopefully the chaos of the diner would help ease her mind, but news about Holden was no doubt spreading. “You keeping a lid on Penn’s confession?”
“Long as I can.”
“I’ll be on the road soon. I’ll stop by the diner to get her. You hear anything more between now and then, call me.” Nick relayed the information about the typewriter. “You see anything like that in Evaline?”
“Not that I can recall, but I can probably get search warrants for Newton and Wilcher. I’ll have Kees fax the information. Hoping to get a warrant for Ballard, too. But we don’t have much concrete evidence.”
“Other than his threats.”
“Not enough. If Wilcher wakes up and realizes the heat he’s in, he might break down and give us everything, including who he hired to kill the women.”
Nick didn’t plan on holding his breath. Wilcher was cocky enough to believe he’d be able to weasel out of anything.
“I’ll let you know when I’m back in town.”
###
Afraid to move, to breathe, to speak. Jaymee hunched down in the passenger seat of Darren’s minivan.
He’d stuck the knife in the cubbyhole on the driver’s door. She had no hope of reaching it, especially since he’d ziptied her hands as soon as they got in the car. Her fingernails dug into her palms. Sweat heated her armpits and dotted her upper lip. The cold air blasting from the vents stung. Child locks employed. Trapped.
They drove by the cemetery. A dagger of pain sliced through Jaymee. Is this how Lana had died? Did he toy with her, let her believe she had a chance, or had he simply snuffed her out?
Her throat swelled to bursting. She squeezed her eyes, refusing to bawl. Feeling sick, she searched for focus. Direction. They were heading southwest. Dusk approached, overrun by storm clouds filled with bright lightening. Past the cemetery, around the sharp bend, and away from Roselea.
Away from salvation, away from help, away from Nick.
He’d be on his way back. Maybe he was already in town. Did he know about Gereau and Holden? Surely he’d seek her out at the diner. Nick would search for her. He’d know something had happened.
“Soon you’ll join her.” Darren’s gravelly tenor cultivated a brand new wave of terror.
Jaymee said nothing. Couldn’t have spoken even if she wanted to. The lump in her throat was stickier than super glue.
“Your meddling friend. The one rotting in the graveyard.”
With his left hand, he reached for the knife. Jaymee stopped breathing. He waved the blade in the air. “Holden gave me this knife on my thirteenth birthday. Took me hunting. Taught me how to skin my first deer. Paul was there, too. On my ass about not doing it right. Holden hadn’t been there, I might have stabbed Dad.”
Jaymee pried her lips apart. “You should have.”
He jabbed the blade against her cheek. The pointed tip dug into her skin enough to draw blood. It trickled down
her cheek, past her collarbone, and dribbled onto her shirt. She ground her teeth against the pain. Darren withdrew the knife, staring at the crimson staining the tip. He wiped it on his jeans before the blood dripped onto the leather seats.
“He’s my father.”
“You hate him same as me.” Her skin stung. Jaymee refused to scream.
“Hate’s a strong word.”
“That’s why I used it.”
“I hate you.” He spat the last word. Knife still clutched in his hand, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “You and your pathetic bullshit that had to screw up everything. Why didn’t you just keep your mouth shut? Better yet, your damned legs.”
“You think that’s how it was? I seduced him?”
“Of course you did.”
“No. He played on my youth, my stupidity, my desperation to be loved, to feel cared for. And I wasn’t the first girl. If you had Lana’s evidence, you know that.”
“Another whore.”
“Another naïve girl taken advantage of by a predator.”
The van swerved with the jerk of Darren’s hands and nearly skidded off the road. Jaymee threw her tied arms against the window before her head smacked the glass. In the confusion, she managed to skim the blood trailing down her chest and mark the door with a good smear. Supposedly, blood remained even after a good cleaning. She’d be damned if Darren was going to kill her without a battle.
He steadied the vehicle. Both hands on the wheel, knife still clutched. Tendons in his arms bulged. His eyes popped wide open, nostrils flared, breathing so heavily he might have been having a heart attack. His gasps seemed to suck the air out of the vehicle, his simmering anger leaving Jaymee tense and ready for a fight.
“Damn you.” Rage flushed his face in angry streaks. “Damn you. Damn you, bitch.”
She balled up her fists, pressed her feet against the floorboards. If he came at her, she’d be ready.
“Should’ve killed her after Lana.” Darren rocked in the seat, lips moving so quickly Jaymee barely understood. “No one would have missed her. But that’s all right. Take care of her now. Holden’ll be okay. He can go back to Jackson a free man. All that matters. All that matters.”