Dread Champion

by Brandilyn Collins

  Erica stared daggers at him.“Your Honor,” she said in quiet malice, “I request that the witness’s unwarranted remark be struck from the record.”

  “Granted.” Judge Chanson instructed the jury to ignore the statement.

  “Let’s try again,” Erica said. “When did your anger at Shawna Welk ‘pass’?”

  Buddy glanced from her to the judge, uncertainty flicking across his forehead. In a heartbeat it was gone. “When she was killed,” he said, drawing out each word. He cocked his head in contempt.

  Erica smiled knowingly. Her eyes slid over Buddy Hottsteter as if he were scum. “Did you kill her?”

  “Of course not; that’s ridiculous!”

  “You just said your anger was quelled once she was gone, isn’t that so?”

  “I didn’t mean that! I just meant …”He shifted in his seat. “I just meant that once she was dead, I felt sorry for her, that’s all.”

  “Once she was dead,” Erica repeated.

  “Yeah.”

  The attorney nodded slowly, her gaze at him piercing. “I see. I have no further questions then.”

  She returned to her seat with a meaningful raise of her eyebrows.

  Stan Breckshire stood to try to redeem the witness as much as he could. Kerra hardly noticed. She tugged at Brett’s hand, casting a questioning glance to Buddy. “Please,” her expression begged, “tell me, could he have killed Shawna?”

  Brett’s face slackened. His eyes filled with empathy, as if he realized for the first time the extent of her fears—for his dad, for him. For them. He tried to smile but his lips twisted. Slowly he raised a shoulder. Then patted her hand.

  Sickness roiled through Kerra’s stomach. Clearly, he wanted her to cling to her hope. Even though he had none.

  THIRTY-NINE

  ...after the revealing video of the defendant, an obviously defiant boyfriend of Shawna Welk’s testified for the defense, opening up questions regarding his own motive for her murder…

  Milt’s evening news report flowed through his head as he pulled into the parking lot of Tracey’s seedy apartment building.With his recent scoops about the case, no doubt his number of viewers had increased significantly.And when he’d privately told his news director, Ron, about the story he was working on, the guy nearly choked.

  Milt jerked off his tie and smoothed his hair.He’d phoned Tracey, saying he wanted to see her again. His gut told him she was holding out on him about the money. By the time this night was over, he expected to have a few more answers.

  As Milt started to open the door, a familiar spike-haired figure stomped into the parking lot from the direction of Tracey’s apartment. Lynn Trudy’s head was bent, her arms pumping as she hissed what had to be curses under her breath. Milt ducked down in the seat. Seconds later he heard a car start. Cautiously he raised his head in time to see her screech out of the lot and in front of an oncoming truck. The driver’s horn blared.

  Milt sat a moment, puzzling.

  At Tracey’s door he rapped twice and heard the scurry of approaching feet. “I told you I’m not going to talk to you anymore!” Tracey yelled from inside.

  “Tracey? It’s me,Milt.”

  Immediately he heard the door unlock. Tracey opened it and stood breathing hard, clad in a clingy black dress, her legs and feet bare. “Oh, I’m so glad it’s you.”Her eyes closed in relief.

  Milt took her in his arms.“Did I just see your aunt scorch out of here?”

  “Yes.”Tracey laid her head against his shoulder, still trembling in her anger. “I kicked her out.”

  “What did she want?”

  Silence.

  Milt pulled back and looked at her. “Come on, what is it?”

  Tracey backed out of his arms, her face darkening. “I’ve had it, do you know that? Had it with people telling me what to do. I’m tired of it, really, really tired of it!”

  Milt spread his hands, nonplussed. “Okay. Sorry.”

  “No.” The lines smoothed from her face. “Not you. Other people.”

  He put his arms around her again. “Tell me what the trouble is.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Milt started to push further, then thought better of it. “Okay then, we won’t.”

  As she leaned against him, his eyes fell on her computer across the room. It was on, apparently again to an email in-box. Milt pressed Tracey against his chest, squinting at the monitor. No way could he read it from that distance. As he lifted her chin and kissed her, he wondered who would be writing her. She relaxed as their lips lingered.

  Tracey led him to a seat on the couch. “Want something to drink?”

  “That would be great.”

  She turned with all the grace she could assume and glided across the room, her short dress swishing against her legs.Milt’s eyes took in the sight, then rose to her computer. Tracey passed the monitor and snapped it off without slowing. She disappeared into the kitchen.

  Milt puffed out air.

  She returned with two glasses in hand and placed them on the coffee table. Then settled beside him on the couch.

  “Been writing something?” He pointed his chin toward the computer.

  “Just typing some emails to friends.Until Lynn showed up.” The name edged her voice.

  He rubbed a strand of her hair in his fingers, hoping she would say more. She focused on her lap.

  Apparently, she needed a bit more loosening up. “How about if I take you to dinner?”

  “I can’t be seen with you.”

  “Mm, true.Wouldn’t want anyone to know about us.”He let the word dangle, play with her head. “We could slip into a back booth at a restaurant away from here. Near Monterey, perhaps.”

  Tracey bit her lip. Her longing was palpable. “No.We can’t take the chance.”

  “Okay, I’ve got it. Let’s do dinner on the beach. We’ll stop by some take-out place and I’ll go in alone.We’ll take a blanket, watch the stars come out.” He laid fingers against her neck. “Just the two of us.”

  Her thin cheeks flushed. “Sounds wonderful,” she whispered. “Just let me get something warmer on.”

  “Okay. But don’t worry about that too much. I’ll keep you warm.”

  She slipped from his grasp with a “Five minutes.” He made a sound in his throat loud enough for her to hear as she hurried down the short hall into her bedroom. She laughed. The door closed.

  Milt tapped an impatient finger against the couch. Then a thought sped through his brain. The computer. Swiftly he crossed the room and stood before it. Punched on the monitor, glancing over his shoulder. A Flying Windows screen saver appeared. He smacked the mouse and up came Tracey’s in-box. One new arrival, unread. From Maria, email address Bananas4U@starmail.net. He hesitated, then clicked it.

  A noise sounded from Tracey’s bedroom. Milt spun around, heart revving. Silence.Water ran through the apartment pipes. He licked his lips and turned back to the computer. Read the email.

  And froze.

  He read it again. Blinked. Read it a third time. Breath puffed from his mouth as he scrambled to make sense of it.What was this? It was crazy! Excitement and revulsion sucked up Milt’s veins. Think, think! But he had no time to think; he had to do something with this email—now.With a trembling glance at Tracey’s bedroom door, he punched some buttons and forwarded a copy of the email to himself. Then he clicked the reply button.His legs shook as he bent over the keys, fingers flying.

  Maria,

  I don’t want to hear any more from you. I’m dumping this email address right now. Don’t bother to write me here again; I won’t get it.When I’m good and ready, I’ll contact you.

  Tracey

  He jabbed the send button, trashed Maria’s email and his reply, then emptied the trash. Smacked off the monitor and lurched toward the couch.

  He heard the bedroom door open. Milt gulped in air, forcing calm, his brain skittering to think, think, think. The implications of what he’d just seen numbed him from
head to toe.

  “I’m ready,”Tracey declared in a silky voice as she slid to his side and placed a hand on his chest. She drew back, feigning disapproval. “My, Mr.Waking, your heart is racing already.”

  He swallowed. Smiled his charming smile. “Just anticipating, that’s all,” he managed. “Just anticipating.”

  FORTY

  Brett gazed over the rolling hills and the bay beyond, the large, flat rock upon which he and Kerra sat still warming his legs. It was their second evening in a row at the vista point. He knew Kerra was just as frustrated with him as she’d been last night, even though she was trying to hide it. Brett blew out air. This silence between them could not continue.

  Face it: his life was a train wreck. Yet miraculously, Kerra had come along to help him pick up the pieces. He knew she agonized about the truth of Shawna’s death, fearing for him should his father be convicted. Their weekend talks about his past and hers had been good but not good enough to sustain them. They needed to talk about what was happening now. Brett’s eyes drifted toward the darkening sky.How ironic this whole mess was! Kerra offered him hope. And he offered her healing. But if they couldn’t surmount this wall of silence, their relationship would go nowhere.

  Kerra laid a hand on his arm. “What are you sighing about?”

  “Nothing.” The word sprang automatically to his lips. He shook his head, angry at himself. Weariness washed through him. He turned to her, took in the blue of her eyes, which were filled with concern. His throat tightened. “Everything.”

  Pain tripped across her face. “Tell me.”

  He traced a finger down her cheek. “Do you realize we met only a week ago?”

  “I know. Seems more like forever.”

  “And you go back one week from today.”

  She studied a ridge in the rock.When she looked up, her eyes were misted with tears. “I don’t want to go.”

  “I don’t want you to go, either. I don’t ever want to let you go.”

  She stilled. Brett watched her consider the words, accept them. Embrace them.“And I don’t want to be without you,” she whispered.

  He pulled her to his chest and stroked her hair. Out of nowhere his father’s face rose in his thoughts. That silent, stoic face, smoothing with the recognition of Brett’s love for him. For twenty-two years that relationship had been one of unspoken words, of frustration and regret and boyish yearnings turned to adult complacency. He was headed the same way with Kerra if he didn’t find a way to open up to her.What a waste that would be. A total, sickening waste.

  “Brett, what are we going to do?” Kerra breathed, almost as if she’d read his thoughts. She raised her head, fixed her eyes upon him. “We have to talk. I can’t stand this. I don’t know what you’re thinking about the trial and your dad. I want to help you through it all, but how can I?”

  He nodded but remained silent.

  “Brett, say something!” She pushed away from him. “I’ve gone against my aunt to be with you. I’ve stood with you publicly with all the media watching. I’ve even been called to see the judge because of you. I deserve to have you talk to me. Please!”

  He swallowed hard, images of that February night, of his dad’s arrest and all their awkward jail visits, flickering in his head like some old horror movie. “I’m afraid I’ll lose you,” he heard himself say.

  Surprise wrinkled her forehead, then faded into apprehension. She stared at him, as if realizing for the first time there may be more to the story than she’d ever guessed. “You won’t lose me,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  He flexed his jaw, fighting the fear. “First I want to ask you something. Why is it that every time I ask you about God in your life, you act like you don’t want to talk about it?”

  She seemed taken aback.“I don’t know. I guess I have a few questions myself, after everything that happened.”

  “Well, I want to talk more about it. I can’t forget what you told me about God reaching out to man. Right now I’m feeling like I could use all the help I can get. I’ll bet you could, too.”

  Kerra lowered her eyes.He sensed she was making an important decision of her own. Then she nodded. “Okay.” She was silent for a moment, then reached for his hand.“Now. Talk to me.”

  Brett took a deep breath. And told her his story.

  FORTY-ONE

  Mama Yolanda stared at Rogelio, a mixture of shock and wonder on her wrinkled face.“Mi Jesus! This is why God called me to pray for the trial!” She sucked her gold tooth, a faraway look appearing in her eyes. She slumped back on the couch as if weighted by the realization, crooked fingers working wrinkles into her dress.

  Rogelio watched her in dismay. Didn’t she understand the risk he’d taken? What faced them both when the story was aired? As the hours counted down to Milt’s news report, Rogelio grew more and more anxious.Would reporters soon find their home, bang on their door night and day? Kristin’s door, too? Would they be on Kristin’s side, as Milt had promised? Or would they point at her new car and accuse her of horrible things?

  Such unknowns they faced—and all Mama Yolanda could think about was God calling her to pray?

  She turned to him suddenly, reached for his hand.“Mijo, I see the look on your face.Do not be afraid. God is watching over us.He has heard my prayers for you and for Roselita.He is changing your heart, and he is protecting her, since she is not in a good home. You think you have done this thing alone. No, mijo. God has led you. He will lead us out of it.”

  Rogelio frowned.How could her words be true? He’d never asked God to change his heart.

  “Mama Yolanda,” he said, squeezing her hand gently, “can you forgive Kristin for what she’s done? When we have Roselita, I want Kristin …”He could not finish.

  “You want Kristin to be her mother.”His grandmother nodded in understanding. “You want me to accept her.”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Mijo, I did not want any of this to happen. Still, I forgave Kristin long ago. It is the Christian thing to do. I would love her as I love you and Roselita. But who can know now what she will do? You go see her. Talk to her. I will stay here and pray.”

  ROGELIO KNOCKED ON Kristin’s door, his stomach in knots. Of their own accord his eyes pulled toward the fancy black Mustang in her driveway. Her mother’s battered car was nowhere to be seen.

  The curtains moved. Rogelio caught a glimpse of a hand.

  Silence.

  He knocked again.

  “Go away, Rogelio; I don’t want to talk to you!”

  Her voice, thick with emotion, came from just the other side of the door. The tone told him so much. Rogelio’s heart constricted. She didn’t mean those words. She wasn’t mad at him; she was mad at herself, sick with all she’d done. Longing for her surged through his chest. Even if Roselita never existed, he realized, he’d be right here on her doorstep, trying to get her back.

  He gathered his courage. “Kristin, I’m not leaving. I love you. And you love me. I’m tired of this.We’re going to work things out, once and for all. Now let me in.”

  Nothing. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying she would listen.

  The door clicked open.

  She looked at him and her face crumbled. Before he knew it, she had her arms around him. He hugged her back, surprised.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

  She led him inside and to the couch, still holding on to him. Rogelio could hardly believe it. “What happened?” he asked.

  She sniffed.“I just don’t want to go on like we are—with you mad at me for everything. I just want us to be the way we used to be.”

  “We will be, Kristin.”He swallowed. This was going too well; he didn’t want to ruin it.

  She stilled, almost as if she’d heard his thoughts. Pulled back and looked deeply into his face. Her expression slackened.

  “It’s okay, Kristin, it’s okay.”

  She shook her head and looked at her lap.“You haven’t changed. Have you?”
>
  The question ran so much deeper than she could know. He thought of Mama Yolanda’s words. “God has led you.” And of that day—was it only last week?—when he’d thrown down his waxing rag and determined to set things right. “Yes,” he said. “I have changed.”

  She raised her chin. “You don’t want the baby anymore?”

  He told her then. Everything.About his grandmother’s pain and his guilt. How Mama Yolanda had been praying for the trial. About Delgadia.How afraid he was for Roselita, having such a father.How he’d gone to court and ended up talking to Milt.His words sped up, his muscles tensing as he tried desperately to explain to Kristin, holding her shoulders and forcing her to listen.Her green eyes grew wide, then filled with tears. Rogelio wasn’t sure if they were tears of weary anger, grief, or both.

  By the time the words ran dry, his throat ached. Kristin huddled against the arm of the couch, quietly crying. “I don’t want the baby, Rogelio. I don’t know how to be a mother.”

  “But you said you were sad to let her—”

  “Of course I was sad! You weren’t there. You haven’t seen everything in here.” She thumped a fist against her heart.“You don’t know what it’s like to have a baby and then give her up, and miss her and be glad she’s gone at the same time! You don’t know how many times I wished she was with you, so I could see her. The only thing I could tell myself was that she was in a better home than you and your grandmother could have given her. Now you tell me that’s not true at all.”

  “That’s why I had to do something.”

  She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have talked to that reporter without asking me first.”

  “I didn’t have time, Kristin. As soon as I heard how awful Del-gadia is, I had to do something.”

  Kristin hid her face in both hands. He slid next to her and drew her close.

  “I’m scared,” she said, sobbing. “Tell me everything is going to be okay.”

  “It will,” he replied soothingly, rubbing her back. “Everything is going to work out just fine.”

  BY TEN O’CLOCK ROGELIO had returned home. Mama Yolanda informed him that he’d had no calls. A disquieting doubt wormed through Rogelio’s brain. Where was Milt? The guy should have phoned long ago.