Paranoid

by Lisa Jackson

  The important thing was, they were safe. They were all safe.

  “So . . . how are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been run over by a Mack truck, and then they give me something and it’s tolerable. But I’m afraid my dreams of becoming an NFL quarterback are over.”

  “Tom Brady will be so relieved,” she said and Dylan laughed while Harper rolled her eyes. Again, like Rachel.

  She smiled, that little grin that always touched his heart, and showed off her bandaged hand. “Didn’t escape unscathed.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing.” But there was an unspoken message in her eyes and he knew she was thinking of those she’d lost.

  “So.” He looked at his two kids. “You two—stop giving your mother any trouble, okay? You’re both going back to school tomorrow.”

  “We know,” Harper said.

  “And, Dylan, no more selling any spy stuff—yeah, I heard about that. Get a regular job if you want. And you, Harper, I expect you to do what Mom says, if you ever want to get a car.”

  Harper glanced down at the floor before meeting her father’s eyes. “What about Xander?”

  Rachel opened her mouth, but Cade said, “I heard about him, too. He gave a statement. He explained what happened, that Lucas, using Violet Sperry’s gun, forced him to give him the keys to his Jeep and his cell phone. After he did, Lucas shot him, point blank, to make sure he wouldn’t give him any trouble. I figure the only reason he kept Xander alive was as bait, for you, Harper, just as you were bait for your mother.”

  “I hate him,” Dylan said, his face pulled into an expression of disgust. “I know it’s bad to say with him dead and all, but I hate him.”

  “Me too,” Harper said. “He was awful.”

  Rachel opened her mouth to protest, then shut it.

  Cade, hating how the conversation had turned, said, “Hey, come on, you two, give your old man a hug.” They came close to the bed and he held them for a second before the pain was too much.

  “You look weird,” Harper said.

  “Super weird,” her brother agreed, “but kinda cool, too.”

  “Nah.” Harper shook her head. “Not cool at all.”

  “Speaking of ‘not cool,’” Rachel said. “I got a call from Mrs. Walsh at the school today.”

  Dylan groaned and Harper’s eyes rounded.

  Rachel continued, her gaze focused on their son. “There seems to be some suspicion that you might have hacked into the school’s grading system.”

  Dylan turned as white as the sheet on Cade’s hospital bed.

  “She’s being lenient, I think, because of everything that’s happened to us,” Rachel said, “but when you go back to school she wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh, man,” Dylan said and sent a beseeching glance at his father.

  “Uh-uh. You know how I feel—‘you do the crime, you do the time.’”

  Dylan looked like he might be sick. Cade added, “Serious stuff, son,” then shifted on the bed, his ribs and nose beginning to ache as the pain meds were wearing off.

  “I told him he would be in trouble,” Harper said.

  “Oh, like you’re so innocent.”

  They started bickering and he expected there was more to the story, but obviously Rachel was on it and would bring him up to speed. Right now, he didn’t much care, was just grateful that they were safe, that the terror was over. “Now, give me a second with Mom, okay?”

  They slid out of the room and he motioned Rachel near. She stepped closer, placing her hands on the bed rails. “I don’t know if you know about Ned,” he said.

  “I heard. Kathy, his neighbor, called.” Her eyes grew moist and she had to look away for a second.

  “You okay?”

  She let out a disbelieving huff as she looked at him again. “No.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. But Lucas did it,” she said, swallowing with difficulty. “You know that, right? Dad wouldn’t have killed himself.”

  He wasn’t completely certain of that but didn’t let on. “We’ll sort it out.”

  She blinked, fighting tears. “He wasn’t happy. Ever since losing his job and breaking up with Mom, he was kind of lost, so maybe now . . .” Her voice cracked and she quickly brushed her tears aside.

  Cade considered, then thought that she was strong enough for the truth, that she had the right to know. “There’s something you should know, Rachel,” he said so solemnly her head snapped up.

  “What?”

  “It’s about your dad and Luke. They had a weird relationship and there’s a chance that the gun recovered at the scene and the bullet lodged in your father was fired from the same gun as the bullet that killed your brother. Ballistics will prove it one way or the other.”

  “What’re you saying?” she whispered and he watched her think back to that fateful night in the cannery.

  “Lucas had to get the gun somewhere. And . . . hell, it’s most likely . . . I mean, it looks like it might have been Ned’s. Unregistered.”

  Rachel was shaking her head. “No.”

  “If it is the same gun, I think it’s possible that Ned actually pulled the trigger that killed Luke. In all the ensuing years the murder weapon was never located, never turned up.”

  “That doesn’t mean Dad had it. . . .”

  “The officer who found your dad after he was called to the house? He saw a gun case left near your father’s toolbox. Ned’s initials were on it. That’s why the first thought was suicide.”

  “But . . .” She paled, her forehead furrowing as she tried to grasp what had happened. “No,” she whispered. “No, I don’t believe it.”

  “Fine, but I wanted you to know,” he said, and despite her denials, he noticed the doubts beginning to form in her eyes. He hated to put her through this but believed the truth was always best. No matter how much it hurt. Carefully gauging her, he said, “Also, I talked to Nate Moretti’s father before all of this”—he motioned to his injuries—“before all this went down and he told me that Ned had convinced him to lie, that Luke hadn’t come in DOA as we thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They let him die, Rachel. They thought he was too far gone, or at least that’s the rationale. Your father said that it would be best for Melinda, that Luke could have never woken up from a coma or worse.”

  “So they didn’t give him a chance?” she whispered, obviously stunned. She blinked back tears. “I don’t think . . . I mean . . .” Words failed her. “Why?”

  “When I get up and on my feet again, we’ll figure it out.” He felt his eyes narrow as he thought. “Someone who was there might know more.”

  “And you intend to dredge it up again.”

  “I don’t have the corner on that. Mercedes—”

  “Yeah, I know. Between her and half a dozen other reporters, this story will never die.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather I looked into it?”

  She paused and thought, then shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “I will ferret out the truth.”

  She held his gaze and he saw in her eyes that she’d come to terms with what he was saying; her denial was seeping away. “You think my father would really let me carry around all the guilt I’ve been dealing with?”

  “I know it.” His respect for Ned had plummeted in the last few days.

  She swallowed, glanced away from him for a second, and he heard a cart rattle past in the hallway outside his door, felt the pain in his ribs begin to throb.

  “I thought you should know.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.” Then she cleared her throat, and when she caught his eye again, she looked stronger than she had in a long, long while. “Well, you just get better, Detective, okay?” she said, then after a moment’s hesitation added, “And when you’re released from here, you come back and live with us.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Do it. For a while.”

  “You’re sure?
”

  “Positive. At least temporarily. It would be good for the kids. Something’s going on with Dylan and he could use you around more. Yeah, Ryder, you do it. Come stay with us.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. She never failed to surprise him. “So now you’re bossing me around?”

  “Have I ever stopped?” she asked, and, leaning forward, brushed her lips over his, a soft little kiss that promised nothing, but hinted at so much more and made him, for the moment, forget about his pain.

  * * *

  Kayleigh drove home, cut the engine of her car, and rotated her neck. She was so damned tired. She swore she’d sleep for the next week solid.

  And maybe the week after that.

  Once all of the reports were filed and in, other officer interviews completed, body cams and audio tapes reviewed, she had no doubt that she would be cleared of the shooting of Bruce Hollander. By all accounts he would survive but had bought himself a one-way ticket back to prison. And she’d had a bit of good news. Akira Wu had called and the feline hair found on the painter’s tape had been white. They were now matching it to Lucas Ryder’s cat and it had just turned out that Lila Ryder had recently painted the interior of her home in colors that depicted the era of her historic home. Several rolls of blue painter’s tape had been discovered in the Ryders’ garage, a separate one discovered in Lucas’s car. Even more damning was the pistol recovered in the cannery, the one Lucas had used to shoot his “friend” Xander Vale. It had turned out to be registered to Leonard Sperry. The enhanced footage of the tape taken from the camera located in the parking lot of The Right Spot wasn’t completely clear, but the man with Nate Moretti that night, the guy in the hoody and cap who drove Moretti away from the tavern’s lot, sure looked like Lucas. Kayleigh was willing to bet her badge that Lucas had befriended Nate at the bar, then followed him to meet Annessa. Once there, he got the jump on Nate, then took care of Annessa and prodded a stunned Nate back to the vehicle. But she wasn’t certain they would ever know, as both Moretti and Ryder were now dead.

  Yeah, the case had finally come together. And it was over. Like so many things.

  She got out of her Honda, stretched, and listened to her back pop. Squinting against the sunlight of the late May afternoon, she decided she should take some serious time off. Get away from Oregon. Away from the past. At least for a while. Maybe she should go to Southern California, or Bermuda or Costa Rica . . . better yet, Australia. She smiled around a yawn. Yeah, that sounded good.

  If she could afford it.

  She walked into her apartment and dropped her keys onto a side table. Her stomach rumbled. It had been hours since she’d eaten but she knew her refrigerator was bare. Thankfully the local pizza place delivered. She was about to give the place a call when her cell rang.

  Travis McVey’s number flashed onto the screen.

  She thought for a minute about answering, let the call go to voice mail, then listened to his message: “Okay, let’s get it out there. You’re obviously avoiding me. A lesser man would take it that you didn’t want to see him again, but I’m thinking you do; you’re just afraid to admit it or of where it might lead. So, Kayleigh, I double-dog dare you to call me. Are you woman enough to take the challenge? Let me know.”

  She clicked off.

  Erased the message and stood in the middle of her little apartment with its secondhand-store furniture and crappy view.

  What the hell was she waiting for?

  It was long over with Cade Ryder.

  He was in love with his ex-wife and always had been. From where she stood, they were bound to get back together.

  She wondered about McVey. She liked him a lot. And yet, he could piss her off like no other.

  Was that a good sign? Probably not. She flipped the phone over and over in her hands as she thought, her tiny apartment bare and lifeless. She remembered the last time they’d seen each other, how easily she’d tumbled into bed with him, how good he’d made her feel.

  She stopped flipping the phone and stared at the keyboard.

  She considered his message. How he’d challenged her. She liked that. She liked that a lot.

  So, maybe she would take him up on his dare and call him. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t.

  Patient, near tears: “This is all so horrible! Horrible!”

  Therapist: “Just take a deep breath. Now, go to your safe place. It’s calm there.”

  Patient: “Yes, yes, the beach, the waterfall, the warm breeze, but . . .”

  Therapist: “Lose yourself in the beauty. In the serenity.”

  Patient: “But I can’t feel it. It’s not there.”

  Therapist: “Breathe in and out. Let yourself go. Feel the warm sand beneath your bare feet; listen to the birds singing in the trees.”

  Patient: “Yes. It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s calm. Serene. There are fish in the water and it gets darker, deeper. I can’t see the bottom.”

  Therapist, slightly relieved: “Just relax. Now, touch a toe into the water . . . See the ripples?”

  Patient: “Yes.”

  Therapist: “Soothing ripples.”

  Patient, suddenly frantic: “No . . . the water isn’t clea. It’s dark. I can’t see. Oh, God, he’s there in the water And not just Ned. Rachel, too. And that other woman, the cop. They’re all in the pool, no, the river. It’s cold and freezing and my son . . . I’ve lost my son!”

  Therapist, concerned: “Let’s try again. You’re in your safe place.”

  Patient: “No! It’s not there. They are in the water and they know. They all know I lied. It’s my fault.”

  Therapist, losing patience: “I think it’s time to surface.”

  Patient: “I can’t!”

  Therapist, insistent: “Three. You’re coming around.”

  Patient: “No! I should never have lied. Don’t you see?”

  Therapist: “Two, and you’re waking . . . coming away from the water and the sand.”

  Patient, sobbing: “I should never have lied. I should have told the truth. Now he’ll never know who his father really was and all those people who died. My friends . . .”

  Therapist, agitated, but trying to keep calm: “One. And you’re back.”

  Lila opened her eyes, felt the tears on her cheeks, remembered that both Ned and Lucas were dead. Father and son. Neither really knowing about the other. Oh, Ned had guessed and he, upon learning of her involvement with Luke, had been mad with jealousy. Hadn’t she hoped he’d be? And the night that she’d gone to the cannery, to see Luke, to tell him she was pregnant, hadn’t she known that Ned would be there, that there would be hell to pay?

  But she hadn’t expected Ned to bring a gun or to shoot his own stepson. The lie had been so easy, that she’d gotten pregnant by Luke, that he’d never gotten the chance to know his son and to let Rachel believe she’d killed her own brother. Lila had never let it slip that Lucas was really Ned’s son. But Ned had suspected the truth and though he’d claimed to be looking for his own children to keep them out of trouble, he’d come to the fish plant with a gun and shot his own stepson. Or so Lila believed. She’d even accused Ned of the crime. That’s when Lila and Rachel’s father had really broken up. They’d fought before, of course, often, and passionately, but after the night in the cannery, it was really over.

  Their affair had started innocently enough. Well, no, not really. She’d always had a thing for older guys and while Luke was still involved with Reva, and Lila had set her sights on Rachel’s brother, she’d spent a lot of time with her best friend and she’d kept running into Ned. God, he’d been handsome then. Smart. Funny. And interested. He would take Rachel and Lila places, or pick them up, and Lila had turned on the charm. She’d known he was interested, had seen him checking out her butt, or her breasts or her legs, when he’d thought she wasn’t looking. She loved the attention and had always been a bit of a tease, so she’d worked it. When staying over at night with her “best friend” Rachel she’d make sure she’d be only half dre
ssed when Ned was around and loved the thrill of it as his gaze had slid over her.

  He was a much older man but buff and, really, just into his forties. He’d also been a cop. And married. Making him forbidden fruit. Lila had always been a risk taker, and back then, Ned Gaston was good-looking, brooding, and sexy.

  She remembered initiating the first kiss after he caught her in a bra and panties running from the bathroom to Rachel’s room. In truth, she’d waited until she heard him come into the house from work in the middle of the night, while everyone else was asleep. As he’d stepped into the hallway, she’d opened the bathroom door, scampered out, and run into him. She’d gasped and pretended to be all virginal and embarrassed. But when he hadn’t moved, blocking her path to Rachel’s room, she’d kissed him, standing on her tiptoes, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest through the lacy bra.

  That was all it had taken.

  He’d grabbed her, eased her back into the bathroom, never once breaking the kiss, then locked the door behind them and hadn’t asked any questions as he’d spun her around, stripped off her panties, and entered her hard. Rough. And oh so good.

  From that moment on, they’d been hot for each other, screwing whenever they could, rutting like horny animals. She loved his mature body and the fact that he knew how to make love. At that point in time he’d been able to turn her inside out. Sometimes, she remembered, he’d even toy with her with the barrel of his gun, running it over her naked body, thrilling and teasing her before he’d drop the pistol and pull her roughly atop him.

  And wouldn’t you know? Suddenly Luke had started getting interested in her and eventually had broken off his relationship with Reva. It was almost as if he’d smelled the sex. At first, she’d used Luke as an excuse to hang out, but Ned had gotten jealous and Luke had sensed something was up, despite the fact that she’d started sleeping with both of them.

  Oh, wow, had that been a rush! The fact that Reva had been pissed as hell had only heightened the excitement.