A squeak sounded off to his left. A door opening and closing. Callen raced toward it as wood cracked and splintered from inside the room.
“He’s coming out the northwest side of the cabin,” he hollered to Teni.
William cussed as Callen broke through the door and found him halfway out the open window. Teni waited to greet him with a gun aimed at his head from outside.
Callen grabbed William by his shirt, hauled him back in, and aimed his gun at William’s center mass. “Ten?”
“On my way in,” she said, rounding the cabin, unable to climb up through the window with her injured shoulder. No pressure or weight should be put on it, Paul had said.
A few moments later, she entered the room behind them.
“Hold the gun on him while I cuff him,” Callen said.
“With pleasure,” she said.
Callen waited until Teni was in position before cuffing William and reading him his rights. Now to restrain him somewhere until the nor’easter passed and he could be moved to a precinct on the mainland.
“Where is Julia’s body, you sicko?” Teni asked, fury resonating in her tone.
William smiled smugly. “I’m not saying a word until I speak with my lawyer.”
“You’re definitely going to need one,” Teni said as they hauled him out into the storm and on to Callen’s house, where they’d hold him until the police arrived to work in conjunction with NRP on Julia’s death, and with ATF on the attempted murder of Teni via arson.
One vital question remained in Callen’s mind—was Teni’s ex-fiancé part of William’s scheme to kill her off, and if so, how would they prove it?
seventeen
IT WAS A LONG, TENSE NIGHT, with Teni and Callen both remaining on high alert while guarding William, who held insufferably true to his word, refusing to say anything until he spoke with his lawyer—literally not a word. But thankfully, his expressions and body language confirmed many of Teni’s suspicions.
She taunted, questioned, and prodded, and William’s smug expressions or flutter of his eyes or flush of red up his neck gave away the answers he refused to give audibly.
By eight the next morning, the storm finally died out, and Callen and Teni got calls out when the lines came back up several hours later. It wasn’t long after that they received a call back letting them know the mainland police were headed out to take William into custody. They’d planned to send an ME to collect Julia’s body, but her body still hadn’t been found. Unfortunately, facial expressions wouldn’t give up locations—unless Teni named the right one and William reacted in some way, but clearly she hadn’t guessed the right location yet, or he’d simply managed to maintain a stoic expression throughout that specific round of questioning.
By one o’clock, the Crisfield police officers arrived at Callen’s front door. After once again Mirandizing William Kent, they took him into custody and transported him via boat back to their precinct.
Teni and Callen followed in his boat.
Flooding had swamped a good portion of Talbot, and once the waters receded, the extent of coastal erosion would be revealed. There would be much damage to repair and deep wounds in Teni, which would require deep healing, but her eyes were finally open to the only true source of healing—her Father in heaven.
Callen clasped her hand as he helped her from the boat, his hesitation to let go of her hand apparent on his face.
After a tight squeeze and a gentle kiss on her brow, he said, “We’ve got this.”
Inhaling and then exhaling in a slow, soothing stream, she nodded, praying God would give her the strength and forbearance to remain professional and not to react in any way that would provide William with even the slightest amount of pleasure. He wasn’t in control of this conversation—she’d be when it was her turn.
She and Callen watched William’s interrogation by one of Crisfield’s detectives from behind the viewing glass. Though William only responded once his lawyer finally arrived, even then, every answer he provided was clipped and devoid of emotion.
“Let us have a crack at him?” Callen asked the precinct chief out of courtesy, because technically, both he and Tennyson had jurisdiction under the circumstances.
“Be my guest,” the chief said, gesturing them toward the room.
The interrogating officer looked up as they entered the room. He nodded and stood, excusing himself, giving them the room.
William’s jaw tensed along with his entire frame. He looked to his lawyer, anger flushing his cheeks. “I won’t speak with them,” he gritted out.
“You don’t have to talk, but you do have to listen,” Callen said. He proceeded to lay out all the charges against William and the evidence they had to back up said charges—Teni’s processing of Julia’s body on Henry’s Point before moving her to the icehouse, along with the photographic evidence taken of the bruises forming along Julia’s right cheek, where she’d been struck with what appeared to be a fist, perhaps a gloved fist, but still a man-sized fist. Then there was the cut gas line and his fleeing the arson scene. Not to mention his shooting Teni in the shoulder in the forest.
William’s lawyer grimaced. “Please give me and my client a few moments to confer?”
“Absolutely,” Callen said as he and Teni stood, exiting the interrogation room and moving back into the viewing one.
It didn’t take a lip reader to translate what was occurring. William’s lawyer was laying the cold hard facts out for him and urging him, quite vehemently it appeared, to cop a plea.
Teni prayed she was right because she already had recommended terms in mind—a full confession, naming of any accomplices—though she still couldn’t fully wrap her mind around the possibility of Alex being one, even though he had been fixated on selling the island.
But the most important of the terms to her was that William reveal where he had hidden Julia’s body.
It took hours for the DA to solidify the terms, and William and his lawyer even longer to try to barter out of some of them, but the DA, thankfully, held firm. A maximum punishment of life in prison in a moderate-level facility that was neither hard-core prison nor the type that more resembled a country club than a jail.
Finally, the agreement was struck, though reluctantly on William’s part. He confessed to the charges against him—killing Julia, attempting to kill Teni, first by arson and then by shooting her. His motive was as she and Callen had suspected. William wanted Talbot for himself and was willing to do whatever it took to obtain ownership of it.
The final admission on William’s part, and by far the most shocking to Teni, though clearly it hadn’t been to Callen, was Alex’s role in it all. Alex had brokered the deal between William and the developer to take place once the island was legally William’s. He’d even gone so far as informing William of when he’d be leaving Teni alone, and at what time she and Julia had their swim planned.
How could a man she’d loved, at least as a friend, a man she’d so foolishly almost married, want her dead?
eighteen
AFTER THE POLICE LEFT TO ARREST ALEX, William finally gave up the fact that he’d “disposed” of Julia’s body—his cruel word—by anchoring her down and dropping her off the side of his raft in Hunter’s Cove. Thankfully, the cove was sheltered from the raging nor’easter far more than the open bay, and the cove was relatively small.
Anxious to dive in and attempt to recover her dear cousin’s body, Teni and Callen headed for the precinct door, passing a handcuffed Alex on the way in.
He refused to look at her, but Callen didn’t waste the opportunity to block his path and force him to look him in the eye. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”
Alex offered a smug smile—one Teni had rarely seen before. “I haven’t done anything,” he said.
“That’s exactly what William said . . . at first.” Callen smiled.
Panic flashed across Alex’s face. “What did William say?”
Teni smiled and waggled her fingers g
ood-bye as they exited the precinct, confident that Alex would get what he deserved. She trusted the DA to see to it.
Now to find Julia.
Thankfully, the bay settled quickly after the nor’easter dissipated. Hunter’s Cove was calm and sheltered. Callen tried to talk Teni out of diving, given her recent injury, but she didn’t need both arms fully functioning to dive. Her shoulder was sore, but her arm was moveable. She was an underwater investigator. Locating and retrieving bodies was in her wheelhouse. She was going under. Paul joined the conversation, but after finally realizing she wasn’t backing down, he relented only by getting her to agree to signal for help if she found Julia’s body, rather than trying to carry her cousin to the surface herself.
Her gear in place and regulator in her mouth, Teni slipped off the dive deck on the rear of Callen’s boat into the water. Four other divers on the island and, of course, Callen had volunteered to help her search. The six of them spread out in a grid pattern they’d established before going under.
A half hour into the dive she began to despair, until something reflecting in her dive light caught her attention.
She swam toward it and discovered her sweet cousin tied with sailor’s rope and anchored with metal diving weights.
She photographed the scene with her underwater gear, then cut Julia free, grabbing hold with her good arm. Callen spotted her waving her dive lamp and came to help her, taking Julia from her and carrying her in an arm-around-the-waist backward hug up to the surface.
Callen lifted Julia to Paul’s outstretched arms as he knelt on the edge of the dive platform on Callen’s boat.
Callen climbed up and waited until Teni was on board before carrying Julia’s body below deck once again, laying her on the same bench as when they’d found her at Henry’s Point.
The ME Teni had personally requested arrived within hours.
An autopsy would be needed to officially determine Julia’s cause of death, but William had already confessed. Now they could have a proper funeral, and although Julia had been taken from their lives so young, at least they’d retrieved her from an unknown grave, and she could be buried alongside her parents in the Kent family graveyard, where Teni could place Julia’s favorite flower—purple tulips—as often as they were available.
Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
Teni watched Callen nail the final beam in the frame of her home restoration.
It had taken more than a month for them to begin reconstruction, due to pending structural approval of the safety of the original homestead’s foundation and load-bearing support beams, which had been of such quality they had withstood the explosion and fire. Being able to rebuild around the heart of her ancestral home made Teni happy, but not as happy as her renewed relationship with Callen.
They’d spent a week of uninterrupted time together after William’s arrest—she on bereavement and “injury” leave, and Callen on long-overdue leave time.
Then they’d spent every free day since working on rebuilding her home, despite winter coming on. They’d been blessed with the gracious help of a fabulous gang of local friends and neighbors, who worked together in solid but rapid fashion, reminding her of an old-fashioned barn raising.
During this time, she’d been bunking in Becky’s parents’ guest room. Now that the threat to her life was over, Callen was comfortable with her being out of sight . . . at least for the night. But they’d been spending every other minute of their days together—attending church on Sunday mornings, watching movies on Saturday nights, taking long walks in the woods, which, at Callen’s side, had once again become a place of great memories.
“All right, everybody. Great work,” Callen said, setting his hammer back into his toolbox. “Let’s take an hour lunch break and meet back here at one.” They still had a ways to go, but it was a strong start, and if the weather turned and they had to break until spring, they had at least gotten a head start and could begin again when the weather warmed.
Everyone dispersed for lunch, leaving her and Callen alone.
“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
She pursed her lips. She’d seen that mischievous twinkle in his eyes before, and it always spelled trouble in the most delightful way.
“Where are we off to?” she asked, clasping her hand in his.
“You’ll see.” He winked.
“Will we be back on time?”
“Close enough.” He smiled as they trekked through the now leaf-barren forest down to his house and around to the front, which faced the bay.
Then, leading her down to his lowered rowboat, he smiled again as she caught sight of the two plaid wool blankets—one on each bench seat—and an old-fashioned wooden picnic basket nestled on the floor between them.
“A December picnic? On the bay? Isn’t it a little chilly?”
She clasped hold of his outstretched hand and stepped into the boat, awaiting an answer.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm.”
Already warming at his mere words, she took a seat on the rear bench and draped the wool blanket across her lap.
Light flakes of snow began falling as Callen settled into the seat opposite her and rowed them toward Wilson’s Key.
She looked at him, questioning. “Why Wilson’s Key?” It was the largest of Talbot’s three barrier islands, on the west side of Talbot.
“Since we’re making a fresh start, I figured we needed a new island hangout for making new memories together.”
She smiled as he anchored the boat, grabbed the basket and both blankets, and offered his hand. “Ready?”
“More than ready,” she said, placing her hand in his.
He smiled and squeezed her hand as they stepped onto the island’s snowflake-laden shore.
Callen laid out one of the blankets, set down the basket and the other blanket—clearly to drape over their laps as they ate—and then pulled her into his strong, sturdy arms. “I’m glad you’re ready. Because, you know, we’ve got a lifetime ahead of us.”
She bit her lip, excitement racing through her. “Is that right?” A lifetime spent at Callen’s side. Nothing, absolutely nothing, sounded more amazing.
“Yeah. I’m thinking three or four kids, a dog, and maybe even a Volvo.”
“A Volvo? No way.”
His smile spread wider. “Prefer being a minivan mom?”
“No. I mean, nothing against them, but I’m just more a Jeep kinda girl.”
“No,” he said, snuggling her tighter and tipping up her chin, “you’re my girl.” He pressed his lips to hers.
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Epilogue
“On my honor, I will never betray my badge, my integrity, my character, or the public trust. I will always have the courage to hold myself and others accountable for our actions. I will always uphold the constitution, my community, and the agency I serve.”
—Law Enforcement Oath of Honor
one
“GET HIM TO SURGERY, ASAP! OR NUMBER FOUR.”
Dr. Ruthie St. John followed the gurney down the hall to the elevator that would take them to the second floor. As a trauma surgeon in a busy city, she wasn’t often bored. This shift proved to be no different. “Go, go! How’s his blood pressure?”
“Low, but he’s stable right this second. Bleeding is slowing.”
Another team hurried past them with Dr. Hugh Stancil working on the woman in the gurney next to her patient. He glanced at her. “I’ve got room four.”
The elevator doors opened and she raised a brow. “Not if I get there first.”
The doors shut on his scowling features. Ruthie wasn’t worried. She knew room three was open and he would be directed there. Everyone just seemed to like room four. For h
er, it was because it was where she’d performed her first surgery. For Hugh, it was a matter of putting her in her place. Something she did her best not to let him get away with.
They continued to monitor the patient on the ride up. He blinked up at her. “What happened?”
“You were shot.”
“Who are you?”
“Dr. Ruthie St. John. I’m going to take that bullet out of your shoulder.”
“I’m fine.”
She patted his arm. “You will be.”
“No, seriously,” he slurred. “I can’t . . . have to . . . people trying to kill . . .”
Then the medicine took over and his eyes closed, shutting off whatever protest he was trying to form.
When the doors slid open, the surgical team met them and whisked him off to the operating room. Ruthie ripped off her gloves and tossed them in the biohazard bin. She nudged the faucet on and began to scrub in. Working quickly, she followed all procedures before entering the room where she’d do her best to repair his shoulder so he wouldn’t have any lingering aftereffects. Granted, he wasn’t knocking at death’s door, but bullet wounds were sneaky. “What’s his story?”
“Police officer,” she heard over the speaker. “Isaac Martinez. A detective, actually. He responded to a domestic disturbance and caught a bullet for his trouble.”
Ruthie wondered if her law enforcement family knew him. “Did someone call the chief?” she asked as she entered the OR, sterile hands held in front of her.
“Don’t know.” Her attending snapped the gloves over her hands.
Tabitha St. John, Ruthie’s mother and the Chief of Police for the city of Columbia, South Carolina. Any time there was an officer-involved shooting, the chief was informed. She’d probably show up at the hospital before they were out of surgery.
No matter. It wasn’t her problem. His wound was, and it was time to do her stuff. “Is he under?”
The Cost of Betrayal Page 22