The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  I arched both eyebrows. “Okay.”

  “As long as he gave me five minutes on his phone. He agreed, and that’s when I called Kelly.”

  I crossed my arms against my chest. “Did you have to…?”

  “Hell no,” she said, swatting a hand. “I acted like I was having a seizure, and he ran out of here. He thinks I’m batshit crazy. I was actually, at least for a few minutes.”

  We both shared a quick laugh, and then her eyes went right to mine. “You didn’t just come to check on me, did you?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve gotten to know Emma more. Me and my friend are helping take care of her right now, since Dillon was shot. Did you know?”

  “The news is my best source. Too bad the guy couldn’t have had a better aim.”

  A knock at the door.

  “Crap, that must be Molly with my midnight meds. Hide,” she whispered.

  I hopped up and down, unsure where she was directing me. She threw her arm to the right. I tiptoed to a closet and slipped inside just as the main door opened.

  “Are you awake, darling?”

  That was definitely Molly’s voice.

  “I just woke up, and I’m sitting here, thinking about my little girl,” Cheryl said.

  “Well now, I guess you wouldn’t be missing her so much if you hadn’t gone and kidnapped her, huh?”

  My breath caught in my throat. Did she just mock Cheryl?

  “I know it’s my fault, Molly.”

  Cheryl’s response was void of emotion. How could she contain herself after such a mean-spirited comment?

  “I have no one else to blame but myself,” she continued.

  “At least you’re starting to understand that you’re the real problem. Here, take the pills in the cup, just like normal.”

  A moment later, I heard a paper cup rustling between fingers and then a tap against something plastic.

  “Open up. I wanna make sure you’re not hiding the pills.”

  Damn, she wasn’t cutting Cheryl any breaks. While Cheryl was an addict, the harshness of Molly’s comments had my mind swirling.

  “Good girl,” Molly said. “Hopefully those pills will knock you out, help you forget about all of your problems.” Her voice grew closer. I assumed she was walking toward the main door. “I don’t like to sugarcoat things; you know that.”

  “I do. I appreciate you being truthful with me. That’s what I need.”

  I was amazed at Cheryl’s self-control, unless they’d essentially brainwashed her. Anything was possible with the right narcotic.

  “In my opinion, you just need to forget about that little girl of yours.” Molly’s voice had an extra bite to it.

  “Why is that?” Cheryl asked.

  “You get through this little rehab stint, and that’s just the beginning. Don’t you remember? You kidnapped your so-called beloved daughter? You’re going to prison. I don’t know how long…two, three, four years. Maybe longer. But by the time you get out, your daughter will despise you.”

  “I—” Cheryl started.

  “You were going to say something?”

  “Nothing. I’m going to sleep now.”

  “Good-for-nothing druggie,” Molly mumbled as I heard the door shut.

  I waited an extra beat, then climbed out of the closet. Cheryl was still sitting upright, her arms wrapped around her knees that were pulled tight against her chest.

  “Are you okay?”

  “It’s not easy. I just want to claw out her eyes. Three other nurses are just like her. They do nothing but cut me down, make me feel worse about who I am and what I’ve done to people I care about. I can’t feel any worse.”

  A single tear rolled down her face. I pulled a tissue from the box, but she shook her head. I put my hand on her back and rubbed it gently. I could feel the beat of her heart racing like a runaway train.

  “Mentally, I’m just not sure how much longer I can put up with this.” She swallowed back some emotion. “I know I shouldn’t let these haters bring me down. But they’re right.”

  “Don’t say that, Cheryl. Molly and the others that say these mean things, they’re the bad people. They should be helping you get better, not cutting you down.”

  “I’ve thought about…”

  I stopped rubbing her back and went to the end of the bed and faced her. “About what?”

  “Killing myself. They don’t think I have the means, but I do. I found a pair of scissors and cut up a sheet and tied it into a noose. I’d hang myself right in the main foyer.”

  I could feel the air empty from my lungs, but I somehow kept my composure. “That’s not an option, Cheryl. You’re hurting, but you can push through this, learn from it. You’ll be a shining example to Emma about never giving up.”

  She sniffled, then finally plucked a tissue and wiped her nose and under both eyes.

  I checked my phone, knowing I didn’t have much time before Goose would be back. “Pudge says Dillon put you in here because he knew they could control you. Do you believe that?”

  “Does a bird have wings? Dillon gets his way, even if he’s telling you otherwise. He could lie right to his own mom. In fact, he has on several occasions, although she might be able to see through his bullshit.”

  She blinked a few times, as if something had suddenly stolen her thoughts. I wondered what type of drugs she was forced to take.

  “Cheryl, do you think Dillon would harm Emma?”

  She lifted her red-rimmed eyes to mine and just stared at me.

  “Cheryl?”

  She licked her lips. “I want to say yes, just because I hate him so much. But while I don’t think he’s a good influence on her, he does care about her. He thinks he loves her.”

  “Not a good influence?”

  “How he treats women, or I guess I should say teenagers.”

  I tilted my head.

  “Oh, so it hasn’t come out that this isn’t the first teenager he’s raped?”

  My pulse ticked faster. “I haven’t heard anything like that, and I have some pretty good resources.” Was she so bitter at Dillon that she was making this up?

  “He was the first person to give me meth.”

  “What?”

  “On our honeymoon in the Bahamas.”

  I thought about the photo I’d seen of Cheryl with Dillon in a tropical location.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I didn’t know at first. But looking back, I think it’s all about control.”

  “To do what?”

  “I think he’s got a screw loose. He thinks to interact with someone you’ve got to have something on them, or you’re in a position of weakness. But he sure as hell knew my weak spot. He knew I’d experimented a lot in college. But I’d been mostly clean for three years. We only drank while we dated, but right after we got married, we went full tilt and everything changed. At least for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He teased me with the drugs, forced me to do things I wouldn’t normally do. Like on our wedding night.”

  Tears streamed down her face so fast she couldn’t wipe them away before they dropped to the sheet.

  “What is it, Cheryl? You can tell me.”

  “And you won’t go tell Dillon? You won’t try to keep my little girl from me?”

  I knew I couldn’t promise her anything, but it was obvious how much she cared for her daughter. “I just want the truth to come out. I want Emma to be safe. And when you’re ready, I want you to be her mother again.”

  She gasped out a breath full of more tears. I reached for her hand, and she clutched it, as if she were trying to squeeze out her demons.

  “On our wedding night, in a daze of coke and meth, I had to sit in the corner and watch…”

  Her chin began to quiver.

  “Watch what?”

  “I had to watch Dillon rape a thirteen-year-old local girl. Repeatedly.”

  I made it to the side of the bed as she collapsed against my arm. She sob
bed for at least a minute.

  For some reason, maybe subconsciously, I’d believed if Dillon were guilty, there had to be some extenuating circumstances. Maybe he was the one who’d been drugged, or…What had I been thinking? His charm, good looks, and money had obviously clouded my instincts. But Cheryl’s story had made it clear that I’d disregarded his true self: he was a predator.

  “He’s raped girls since then, but I don’t have any real proof. A few text messages that soon thereafter disappear. I heard him on the phone a couple of times. And he’d come home late and not tell me where he’d been. Six months ago, I got tired of it all, and I started pressing him more. I frankly didn’t care if he was having an affair. Our marriage had turned to shit long ago. But I just knew there was something dark inside of him. I dared to ask him if he was hurting little girls. That’s when he kicked me out of the house.”

  He was a monster. Any young girl could be his next victim. While the DA’s office had the video and hair and blood evidence, for some reason it seemed like Dillon wouldn’t see a day in prison. I recalled Saul saying that he’d heard that Dillon had an alibi, and Ross would use it at the appropriate time.

  I let my mind swing in the other direction for a moment. Was it conceivable that Dillon had been set up? That type of conspiracy would have to involve several members of the police force, crime scene investigators, maybe doctors, the DA’s office. Even Stan. I just couldn’t wrap my head around Stan being involved. And did I actually think that Claudio Belsito had the capacity, resources, and know-how to pull off such a massive scheme?

  Hell, could Cheryl be so full of drugs that her imagination had run wild? I had to find definitive proof of Dillon assaulting the victim, or any young girl. Or leave open the slight chance that he was as perceived—a clean-cut, charming man, and a loving dad, who’d been wrongly accused. “Cheryl, is there anything you can think of that might give us proof of him…?”

  “I think he takes them to another place, not at the mansion. You’ve got to stop him from hurting another little girl.”

  I walked to the door and peeked through a crack to see Goose headed toward the room. I turned back to Cheryl. “I’ll make sure Emma is okay. If you think of anything, get a note to Goose, and he’ll pass it along to me and Pudge. Be strong and take care of yourself.”

  She grabbed something from beneath her bent knee, then opened her hand to show me three pills. “I never trusted that bitch, Molly.” She smiled. “Thank you for everything, Ivy. But I need your help…someone’s help, more than ever now.”

  I snuck out of the complex feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders.

  37

  The orange glow of the dashboard in Black Beauty made me feel exposed, so I quickly killed the engine. It was after two a.m., and I sat in the parking lot at Lena’s apartment complex. The car to my left was on blocks, three of its four tires missing. I was still trying to process everything from my interaction with Cheryl—her struggle to survive in a facility supposedly meant to help, her allegations that Dillon was the second coming of Milton Weber, and her admission that she’d come close to ending her life.

  I needed to talk this out with Stan. I could trust him, right? I pinched the bridge of my nose, wondering what I could tell him…should tell him. I wasn’t sure how much longer Cheryl would hold up. The Mollys of the world would make her life hell. And what if Dillon found out that I’d snuck in to see her? Was I putting myself more at risk?

  Only if he’s guilty of committing the sexual assault.

  I had to find solid proof. But I needed to find out more about his alibi. “Saul,” I said aloud. He would be my next stop.

  For now, I was following a hunch. I’d been sitting in the parking lot for a good five minutes. No sign of Clyde or anyone else. I did see a stray pit bull trot by just after I’d pulled in. Definitely wanted to stay clear of any stray dog.

  I pushed out of my car and shut the door with just a slight click. I stuck my hand inside my purse and gripped my Luger. I was taking no chances, especially not in the middle of the night. With my heart beating like a Texas oil rig, I walked cautiously into the courtyard and avoided the single cone of yellow light in the corner. I noticed the fixture had been smashed, exposing most of the lightbulb. Even in the cloak of darkness, it was easy to see the entire place was in shambles. I made my way up to the third floor landing without hearing a single baby crying or voices of any kind. Everyone was either asleep or not there.

  Given what I’d witnessed a few hours earlier, I was betting that Clyde was off making a drug deal. Or doing something else illegal.

  I wasted no time in reaching the end of the hallway and then turned into the dark corner at Lena’s apartment door.

  Or did Clyde now consider it his apartment?

  Even if the apartment renter was up for debate, I doubted he and Lena would settle their dispute in a judicious way. In this world, things were settled by intimidation, if not brutal force.

  I glanced down the hall where there was some light from below. All clear. I put my ear against Lena’s door and heard nothing. I hesitated for a moment before gripping the doorknob. If Clyde was home, this would not go well. What could I say? That I thought I left my Luger in the apartment and I wanted to make sure no one got hurt?

  Drugs. I’d have to pretend I needed a fix. I blew out a breath and convinced myself I had the necessary ammunition—verbal and otherwise—to deal with Clyde.

  Sweat glistened off my arm as I finally allowed my hand to grip the doorknob. It rattled, and I cringed from the noise. After waiting a couple of seconds, I twisted the knob. It wasn’t locked. A bolt of excitement shot through my extremities, but after a quick breath, I knew I wasn’t necessarily safe. Clyde could be passed out on the couch. With one hand on my Luger, I pushed the door open and slipped inside. Light seeped through the edges of a living room window just enough for me to see I was alone in the front section of the apartment. Everything looked and smelled the same from earlier—trash on the floor, torn cushions on the couch, pots and pans stacked a mile high, and a foul odor that now smelled like rotten eggs. One thing was missing, however. The baggies on the table.

  Maybe Clyde had indeed run out to conduct some business.

  Stepping over shoes and fast-food bags, I padded across the living room. There was a bathroom on the right, a door to my left that housed the St. Bernard, and another room straight ahead. I had to eliminate any possibility that Clyde was still around so I continued moving forward to the room at the end of the hall. Ten more feet, and I stopped at the threshold. I leaned forward so slowly I could feel my back creak like an old rocking chair.

  All I found was a mattress with no sheets and more trash. I flipped on my heels and went back to the first room. I listened for a sound. Nothing. I sniffed. I couldn’t pick up any scent of a dog—food, feces, or even just a regular dog smell.

  I touched the doorknob, then realized I was being naïve. Clyde could be in this room. Before fear convinced me to get the hell out of the apartment while I was still alive, I tightened my grip around my pistol. I opened the door a couple of inches. No sign of Clyde or a dog, or even a dog crate. Just more trash and a tattered blanket. I pushed the door open another few inches.

  A woman was curled up in the corner. “Lena?” I whispered, running over to her side.

  She didn’t move. Duct tape covered her mouth. I could see her wrists and hands wrapped in tape, and her ankles were also bound together.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. She shuddered and let out a groan. Eyes opened, and she turned to look at me. One side of her face looked deformed—she’d been beaten.

  “Lena, my name is Ivy. I’m a friend of Cristina’s. I want to get you out of here. Don’t move. I’m going to take the tape off your mouth.”

  I picked at the edge of the tape, then slowly pulled the tape away. Dried blood surrounded her lips, and as I looked closer, down her neck. I saw more bruising on her chest.

  “My Cristina?” she said with
tears in her eyes.

  A door slammed. I jerked my head around. Clyde must be back.

  We were as good as dead.

  38

  I took one tug on the duct tape around Lena’s ankles and realized getting her loose was not going to happen in the short time I had. I pulled my pistol out of my bag and ran to the bedroom door, pressing my back against the frame. I could hear the sound of shoes kicking through sacks of fast food. They were loping strides of a tall person. It had to be Clyde. He couldn’t be more than twenty feet from the door opening and moving closer.

  While I’d gone through all the safety classes and had developed a pretty accurate shot, I’d never fired at a person before. I glanced at Lena, who was using her teeth to frantically tear at the duct tape around her wrists. Her clothes were ripped, and I could see her skeletal frame. Had he raped her too?

  I could feel a fresh line of perspiration form on the back of my neck. Anger boiled inside. But I couldn’t let my emotions control my actions. I pushed out a slow breath and gripped the gun with two hands. He had to be less than ten feet from our room.

  I swung into the hall with my gun raised, shouting, “Stop where you are, Clyde!”

  But he wasn’t there. No one was there. All I could hear was the thump of my heart against my chest. I took a step, and then a waft of marijuana invaded my space. I waved a hand in front of my face and turned to my left.

  All I saw was a wall of a huge man. Clyde jumped out of the bathroom and plowed right through me, ramming me into the wall. A gush of air pumped out of me. It felt like my lungs had collapsed. I dropped the gun. He growled and started throwing punches into my rib cage.

  “Let her go, dammit,” Lena said from back in the room.

  He turned his head, and I squirmed away from his grip, dropping to the floor. I tried crawling, but his mitt of a hand clutched my ponytail and yanked me backward.