by Eve Gaddy
For her heart had died with Elijah.
November Present Day
CLAIRE WOKE, TEARS streaming down her cheeks in the predawn light, and looked at the man sleeping beside her. Her heart turned over, anguish so real, so intense she thought she’d die from the pain of it. Oh, God. Jonas, what am I going to do?
She clenched her fists, willing the shaking to stop. The dream. The damned dream that haunted her, asleep and awake. So real, so horrifying. Her helplessness intensified as she remembered watching Elijah die, as she felt the slash and burn of the whip against her bare skin. She knew who he was now. And she knew, with every fiber of her being, that he had died because of her.
Sarah and Elijah couldn’t let each other go. And died because they couldn’t. Bella and Calvin defied everyone to be together, and paid for it with their lives. Was it possible the only way to save Jonas was to let him go? And if it was, could she find the strength to do it?
JONAS WOKE AND went into the living room in search of Claire. She was reading Rachel’s journal again. He wished she’d get over her obsession with her ancestor’s journal, but he suspected she wouldn’t any time soon. For a long moment he watched her, thinking how right she looked sitting on his sofa, all mussed from sleep, with a cup of coffee beside her. If she hadn’t been reading that damned journal, the picture would have been perfect.
“Move in with me,” he said.
She jerked like he’d shot her, raising her head to stare at him. “What?”
He walked to the couch and smiled down at her. Reaching for her hand, he repeated, “Move in with me. There’s no reason for you not to anymore. I want to be with you, Claire. Come live with me.”
Her hand lay limp in his as she gazed at him in surprise. “Jonas, there’s something we need to talk about.”
“That wasn’t the response I wanted.”
She pulled her hand away and used it to gesture. “You can’t just ask me to move in with you out of the blue. We haven’t talked about it, haven’t even mentioned living together.”
“You weren’t divorced until yesterday,” he reminded her. “I’m talking about it now. There was no point earlier.”
“We need to talk about something else. We need to talk about Sarah and Elijah. And Bella and Cal and how they each relate to the two of us. We can’t keep putting it off. Have you thought about why this is happening to us? Our dreams and why we’re having them?”
God, not that again. “Claire, you know I have a hard time believing in the whole concept of the two of us having lived before. If I hadn’t seen and felt Calvin die, I would say it’s complete bullshit.”
“But it’s not. You know it isn’t. My dream last night . . . ” Her voice trailed off, then she began again. “I think I’ve figured it out. Why the two of us didn’t work in the past.”
“Our relationship didn’t work in the past because of jealousy, racism, and prejudice. Pick one or all of the above. Outside forces kept them—or us if you prefer—apart.”
“Yes, partly. But it was more. Maybe it was fate, I don’t know. All I know is it can’t work now either. We can’t be together, not in this or any other lifetime.”
He frowned, scrubbed his hands over his face. “I need coffee. Particularly if you’re going to talk bullshit.” He went to the kitchen and poured himself a mug, strong and black, just like he liked it. Took a sip and scalded his mouth. Took another, more cautious sip, and the fuzziness began to recede. What had gotten into her? Dreams, or that damned journal she couldn’t stop reading?
He went back into the other room and sat beside her on the couch, setting his coffee mug on the table. He gathered her hands in his and strove for patience. “Didn’t you tell me last night that you loved me?”
“Yes. I do love you, Jonas.”
“And I love you. You’re divorced now. You’re free. There’s nothing keeping us apart.”
Her eyes, those beautiful, unusual eyes, looked so sad. Sad and resigned and brimming with unshed tears. “I wish that were true.”
Claire rarely cried. He hated when she did. He tried to clamp down on his annoyance. She had a right to her feelings, even if he did think she was being ridiculous. “What happened? Why have you reached this conclusion? Was it a dream or the journal?”
She jerked her hands away. “Both. Everything. When I dreamed about Sarah’s husband finding her and Elijah together—” She broke off and shivered. “It was horrible,” she said flatly. “Last night I had another dream, after the first one. I dreamed about the hanging again. Only this dream was longer, more detailed. Elijah died because of Sarah. If she had given him up, let him leave without her, they might both have lived.”
“Might being the operative word. And not if she was pregnant with Elijah’s child. Once she was pregnant there was never a chance for them. Sarah and Elijah died because her husband was an evil son of a bitch. They died because he killed them. Not because they loved each other.”
“Sarah and Elijah died because they wouldn’t let each other go. Because they got involved in the first place. Because they chose love.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? Think about it, Jonas. Calvin and Bella died because they loved each other too. Lawrence wanted Bella. Lawrence would never have killed Calvin if Bella hadn’t been in love with him and carrying his child.”
“Calvin and Bella died because Lawrence Westbrook and Buster Cantrell were racist bastards. Cal and Bella died because of jealousy and racism.”
“Don’t you see, they all died because they couldn’t—wouldn’t—give each other up.”
“No, I don’t see.”
“Read this.”
She handed him the journal, opened to a page near the end of the book. “Read that entry and tell me I’m wrong.”
She wouldn’t give up until he read the damned thing and probably not even then. In spite of his reluctance, he was curious to see what had affected Claire so powerfully. He started to read.
Rachel’s Journal—August 2, 1859
Sarah is gone.
I can hardly bear to write the words. Sarah and her unborn babe are both dead. Murdered by Victor Lawrence. He has no shame, no feelings of remorse. I believe he has no feelings at all. Victor is truly evil. He had Sarah and her maid driven into town and dumped at the front door of the store. Sarah was alive, though barely. Her maid, Celia, was not. The bastard had lashed them both, lashed Celia until there was not an inch of her skin that did not carry the mark of the lash.
Horrible as his treatment was of Celia, his treatment of his own wife was even worse. He cared not that there was a chance the child Sarah was carrying could be his own. There was the greater likelihood that the babe was Elijah’s and that was enough for Victor Lawrence to do his worst.
From what little Sarah was able to tell me before she died, Celia betrayed her. Betrayed both her and Elijah, though not voluntarily. When one is lashed to within an inch of one’s life, one will say anything to make the pain stop. But Victor did not stop, even after she confessed. He whipped Celia until she died.
Victor and his cronies lynched Elijah, early this morning. Sarah watched it from her bedroom window, in agony that she could do nothing to stop them. Then Victor came for Sarah, stripped her, and whipped her. He laughed, taunting her with Celia’s death, laughed as he lashed my sister. Victor had one of his minions dump Sarah and Celia on my doorstep, as if they were refuse. The doctor came but he could do nothing except try to ease the pain of my dear sister’s passing. But there was no easing Sarah’s agony. Not when her dear maid—her friend—was dead, and she the cause. Not when she had watched the man she loved beaten and hanged. Not when she had lost her babe and had nothing left.
Sarah blamed herself. She told me if she had never pursued Elijah none of this would have happened. Elijah would never have imagined the two of the
m could be together. Their love affair was her doing. She would have gone on in her miserable, unhappy marriage and never known what it was like to love a man beyond all reason. Honestly, I believe she wanted to die. With Elijah dead and her child as well, she felt she had nothing left to live for.
I know who to blame. That evil man who calls himself Sarah’s husband.
God help me, but I can find no forgiveness in my heart. Because Victor will not pay. The sheriff answers to him, not to the citizens of the town. Victor Lawrence murdered three human beings and he is smugly certain nothing will happen to him. But I will not stand for that. I will make it my life’s work to see that justice is served. God be my witness, Victor Lawrence will pay for his crimes.
Sarah and Elijah died for love, but I shall live for revenge.
“DO YOU BELIEVE me now?” Claire asked when Jonas put down the journal. He had been affected, as much as she had, even though she knew he would deny it.
“Believe that we can’t be together because of something that happened more than a hundred and fifty years ago? No. Hell, no. I think your interpretation is flawed. Slavery still existed when Elijah and Sarah fell in love. Calvin and Bella fell in love in the nineteen sixties. The world—our world—has changed a lot since then.”
“Are you going to deny racism still exists? How can you?”
“Of course racism exists. But I don’t believe the solution is for us not to be together. That makes no sense. If you really believe we’re reincarnated, then we have to get it right this time. We have to find a way to be together. Despite racism and prejudice, jealousy or murder. Despite Lawrence Westbrook and what he has done or is trying to do.”
“I’m not going to be the cause of your death. Not again.” She couldn’t bear to think she might have a hand in Jonas’s death. If she had to give him up to keep him safe, then she would.
Jonas stared at her, disbelief clearly written on his face. “You won’t move in with me.”
“I can’t. No matter how much I want to, no matter how much we love each other, we can’t be together.”
Jonas’s phone rang. He glanced at it, then said, “It’s O’Connor. I should take it. But this discussion isn’t over.”
“Go ahead.” She’d known he wouldn’t react well, but she couldn’t give him a choice. Her mind was made up. She listened to the rather one-sided conversation Jonas was having with Detective O’Connor. He hung up, his expression grim.
“What happened? What did he say?”
“Guess who’s dead now.”
Claire simply stared at him.
“Frank Dervish. The cop who took over Calvin’s murder investigation when O’Connor was injured. The one who maintained it was a gang slaying. The one we believe was in Westbrook’s pocket. He’s dead.”
“How did he die?”
“Suicide. At least, that’s the assumption.”
“What does O’Connor think?”
“Same thing I do. His suicide is a little too convenient. Just as Henry Young’s death was too convenient.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Claire asked. “Everyone connected with, or trying to look into Calvin Davis’s case, is dying or hurt. I’m damned if you’re going to be another casualty.”
“What are you planning, Claire?”
“I’m going to get out of your life. And you’re going to stop trying to prove Lawrence Westbrook killed Calvin.”
“No. No way.” Adamant, he shook his head. “I may not be able to convince you you’re wrong about the two of us, but I won’t give that murdering bastard a free pass. If what we believe is true, Lawrence Westbrook not only killed Calvin, he’s responsible for two other deaths and Emmitt’s attack as well.”
“Your life is at stake.” She knew it, even if Jonas couldn’t admit it.
“I doubt it. But if that’s true, running away won’t solve anything. And I won’t walk away—not from you, and not from the truth about Calvin’s death.”
“Are you willing to die to prove it?”
“I’m not going to die. But Lawrence Westbrook is going to pay for his crimes.”
There was no reasoning with him. She knew conviction when she heard it, and could see it in his face. Implacable. Jonas wouldn’t quit until he’d exposed the truth. Expose the murderer, or die trying.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
LATER THAT EVENING, when Claire had gone to sleep, Jonas called O’Connor. “I’m as sure as I can be that Lawrence Westbrook murdered Calvin Davis. And now he’s doing everything he can to get rid of anyone who might be able to implicate him in that murder.”
“I don’t disagree,” O’Connor said. “But we can’t prove it. I’ve been over it and over it with the detectives on both Davis’s case and your friend Emmitt’s. They’re just not buying it. Until they have cause, they can’t go after Westbrook. His lawyers would laugh if they tried.”
“What if we had proof?” Proof beyond the fact that he’d seen the murder in a dream.
“You got any ideas? Because I’m fresh out.”
“A taped confession.”
“That would help. It’s legal in Texas to tape a conversation with one party’s knowledge.”
“I know. At least, that’s what it said when I looked it up on the Internet.”
O’Connor chuckled. “Wonders of the Internet. How are you going to get him to confess? Not to mention, how are you going to approach him at all? Much less get him to confess.”
“I have a plan.” Claire would not be pleased to know she had given him the idea.
“Are you going to fill me in?” O’Connor asked when Jonas didn’t elaborate.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But I think it will work. I need to see him. Confront him.” He planned to drop a bombshell on Westbrook. There had been an eyewitness to the murder. Jonas, in a convoluted sort of way. He had an idea that the things he knew were going to rock Lawrence Westbrook’s world. Things no one but Calvin and Lawrence would know. And Jonas.
“I don’t know, Jonas. If you’re putting yourself in his sights, how do you plan to protect yourself? If we’re right, Lawrence Westbrook is a dangerous man.”
“I can be dangerous too.” Certainly his knowledge of the murder was dangerous to the man’s freedom. “I’ll set up the meet in a public place. The coffee shop by work. You can be there too, for backup. He wouldn’t recognize you if you sat at a nearby table, would he?”
“I doubt it. He met me once, years ago. I’ve changed since then. What if he won’t come? What if he won’t confess?”
“He’ll come. If for nothing else, to find out what I know. And if he doesn’t confess, then I’ll have spooked him enough for him to do something drastic. In fact, he’s already worried.” He told O’Connor about Glenn’s revelation.
O’Connor gave a low whistle. “Looks like Westbrook has a screw loose. I don’t like the sound of that. “
“Yeah, neither did I. But clearly he doesn’t want to kill me himself. Not if he can avoid it.”
“Again, if we’re right, he has no problem hiring someone else to do the job for him.”
“Who’s he going to trust? Dervish is dead. Glenn refused. He’s between a rock and a hard place now. He’ll have to come after me himself or forget it. I don’t think he’s going to forget it. Not after what he’s done so far to save his ass.”
“I don’t like it, Jonas,” the older man repeated.
“We don’t have a choice if we intend to prove he’s the killer. You haven’t been able to convince the cops to move on Westbrook, to try to obtain a warrant or even look deeper into Henry Young’s death, have you?”
O’Connor’s answer was long in coming. “No.”
“Neither have I.” Having proven his point, he continued, “I’ll need his phone number. It’s probably unl
isted. Can you get it?”
“Maybe. Why don’t you ask Claire? She should have it. What does she say about this plan?”
Nothing. “Claire and I aren’t on great terms right now.”
“Because of this cockamamie idea of yours?”
Jonas had to laugh. “Not so cockamamie. No, it’s nothing to do with the plan. She doesn’t know anything about that.” No, they weren’t getting along because of Claire’s crazy-ass idea that they couldn’t be together. But he couldn’t exactly talk that over with O’Connor. “Will you help me?” Jonas asked again.
O’Connor sighed heavily. “You’re set on this course, aren’t you? No matter what I say.”
“I’m going through with it, yes. I need your help, though. I don’t want to do this alone.” He needed help, if for no other reason than he didn’t trust Westbrook one tiny bit. Jonas didn’t think the man would try to kill him in a public place, but on the other hand, he couldn’t be sure what Westbrook would do when threatened. And Jonas meant to threaten the hell out of him.
“I’ll see what I can do. I hope I don’t regret going along with you.”
“Thanks.” Jonas hoped none of them regretted it. But since he didn’t believe there was another way to prove Westbrook’s guilt, he was going to put his plan into action as soon as he had the man’s number. He was off work for the next few days, and there was no time like the present.
And if he had to ask Claire for the number, then he would. Unfortunately, he knew he’d get nothing from Claire until he explained his plan to her. That should be fun.
If Claire refused, he had other avenues. Although Emmitt had no notes and still couldn’t remember the accident, he would at least know ways for Jonas to contact a reluctant suspect.
At least Jonas would be acting, instead of sitting around passively waiting for something to happen. Had that been part of Calvin’s problem? He didn’t act soon enough?
THREE DAYS LATER, Jonas admitted he would have to ask Claire for help getting in touch with Lawrence Westbrook. Both he and O’Connor had tried, but neither could gain access to either the man’s address or his phone number. Emmitt’s suggestions hadn’t worked either. So he decided to call Claire, unsure what he was going to say to convince her to help him. Especially since she’d been stubbornly insistent that she was doing the right thing and hadn’t spoken more than a few words in passing to him since she’d decided they couldn’t be together.