by Eve Gaddy
Fate? It seemed to him if you believed in that sort of thing, then you’d believe that he and Claire were fated to be together. Not so, Claire. Jonas considered the whole thing ridiculous and illogical and settled back to wait for Claire to come to her senses. He didn’t dwell on what he would do if she never changed her mind. She had to figure it out on her own, that they were meant to be together.
Normally, he wasn’t a big believer in fate or destiny, but recent events had challenged his previous concepts. Challenged everything he believed in, to be honest. Everything he had known to be true was suddenly on shaky ground. He supposed having dreams of a previous life—dreams that were apparently factual—would do that to a person. Even someone as grounded in reality as he typically was.
He ran into Claire at the hospital that day and decided there was no time like the present. “Do you have a minute?”
She looked at him warily, but nodded and followed him into the doctor’s lounge. “Is this about a patient?”
“No. I need Lawrence Westbrook’s phone number. Do you have it?”
Claire stared at him. “Why?”
“I want to set up a meeting with him and see if I can get him to admit—to me—that he murdered Cal. O’Connor said if I had a taped confession it would help the police proceed.”
“Are you insane? What’s to stop him from pulling out a gun and shooting you? Again.”
“I’ll set up the meet for a public place, and O’Connor will be there for backup.” She didn’t speak, but was obviously unconvinced. “I don’t need your approval, Claire. I just need the phone number.”
“Why do you think he’ll admit the truth to you? Or to anyone, for that matter? If we’re right, he’s been running around trying to kill off everyone involved.”
“I’m going to tell him the truth. That there was an eyewitness to Calvin Davis’s murder.”
Glancing around to make sure they were alone, she lowered her voice. “You think telling him you’re Calvin in another life will make him confess? I repeat, are you crazy?”
“It’s worth a try. If nothing else, I’ll spook him some more and maybe he’ll make a mistake that will convince the cops we’re on the right track. He has to be stopped, Claire.”
“Not by you.”
“Yes, by me.” And by her, if she’d only admit it. “I’m the only person who can remind him of exactly what happened the night he shot Calvin. It’s engraved on my memory, and you can be sure he’ll remember as well. The arrogant son of a bitch needs to be shaken up. I can do that. I may be the only person who can.”
“If I don’t give you the number?”
“I’ll find a way.”
She glared at him for a long moment, then pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll text it to you. I haven’t gotten around to deleting some of my contacts, so Lawrence’s info is still in there. Aren’t we lucky?” she asked sarcastically.
“Thanks.”
She looked up from the phone, poised to hit SEND. “I have a condition. I want to know when you set up the meeting. Will you call me?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer, cupped her face. “You could make this easier and move in with me. Forget your idea that we can’t be together.”
“If I wasn’t convinced I was doing the right thing, I would. I miss you.”
He kissed her, short, sweet, and a bit desperate. “Come back,” he murmured.
She sighed and put her hand on his wrist, his hand still cupping her face. “I wish I could.” Her pager went off, and she stepped back, looking down at it. “I have to go. Call me.”
“I will. Don’t worry, Claire. Everything’s going to work out. This time.”
Her eyes looked as sad as he’d ever seen them. “I wish I believed that,” she said, and left.
JONAS MADE THE call early that evening, intending to set up the meet for the next day when he was off work. He kept it short. “This is Jonas Clark,” he said, when Westbrook answered the phone.
Silence. “What do you want?”
“A meeting. I know something about Calvin Davis’s murder I think you’ll be very interested in.”
“Why would I care about that? I had nothing to do with it.”
Jonas laughed. “There’s an eyewitness to the murder. If you want to know who it is, meet me at Java Joe’s by the hospital tomorrow at two p.m.”
“How do I know this isn’t bullshit?”
“You don’t,” Jonas said. “But can you afford to take the chance?” He hung up, satisfied the man would show.
Chapter Thirty
DAMN JONAS, CLAIRE thought. He was the most stubborn man she’d ever known.
He’d kept his word and called her to tell her the meeting was set up for the following day. She wasn’t to worry. He had backup. Yes, backup. O’Connor, a retired detective. She liked O’Connor and trusted him, but she’d feel a lot better if some current law enforcement officials were there as well.
But that was the problem. None of the current detectives believed the theory that Lawrence had been Calvin’s killer, and that he’d been involved with Henry Young’s and Frank Dervish’s deaths, if not responsible for them himself. And Jonas was convinced he had to prove it. Jonas was convinced that it was on him to see that justice was served.
Justice. She wondered briefly if Rachel had found justice for Sarah’s murder. If so, Claire hadn’t read about it yet, but she still had some pages left in the journal. Maybe in the end, Rachel had found justice. Or at least peace.
Claire still had work for another hour. Something was nagging her, something beyond her fear for Jonas and what he was getting into. Something practical, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Forty-five minutes later, what had been annoyingly just out of reach hit her like a Mack Truck as she was starting an IV in one of her patients. Lawrence knew where Jonas lived. Glenn had used a private detective to follow her, and Glenn said the man had followed her to Jonas’s apartment. Glenn had known she’d fled to Jonas after he beat her up. Glenn knew where Jonas lived. It wasn’t a stretch to believe Lawrence had gotten hold of that information as well. If not immediately, shortly after Jonas and Lawrence talked tonight.
What was to stop Lawrence from taking care of Jonas now, before the scheduled meeting? Not a damn thing. Would Jonas have thought of that? Would he have taken steps to protect himself now, tonight?
As soon as she finished with her patient, she left the hospital. She dialed Jonas on the way to the doctor’s parking lot but got his voice mail. Hurry, her mind screamed. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she was wrong and Lawrence didn’t know where Jonas lived. He couldn’t have found the information easily if he hadn’t gotten it from the PI or Glenn. That was not only a foolish hope, it was stupid to even think it.
Her heart knew. Jonas was in danger, and she had to find a way to save him. She didn’t intend to lose the man she loved for the third time. This time would be different.
I SHOULD KNOW better than to eat tacos at 9:30 p.m., Jonas thought as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. For him they were a recipe for indigestion. As he fitted the key into the lock, he felt something hard jammed into his back.
“Open the door. Don’t try anything, or I’ll shoot you right here.”
Shit. Jonas recognized that voice. How did Westbrook find out where Jonas lived? Then he remembered and cursed himself for not realizing it before. Of course the bastard knew. Jonas should have thought of that before arranging to meet with the murderer. But he hadn’t, and here he was with a goddamn gun in his back.
“You wouldn’t shoot me here. Too public,” Jonas said, wishing he had his own gun.
“Don’t count on it,” Westbrook said, digging the gun into Jonas’s back again.
Jonas wouldn’t put anything past the crazy bastard. He opened the door, intending to go for Wes
tbrook’s gun hand the moment they crossed the threshold. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance since the man shoved him inside while staying too far away for Jonas to easily get to him.
Jonas turned around to face him. “What do you want, Larry?” he asked, deliberately using his nickname.
Westbrook kicked the door shut behind him. “Lawrence will do. No one has called me Larry in years.”
Jonas felt the outline of the cell phone in his pocket. He might be able to dial 911 before Westbrook realized what he was doing. “You haven’t been Larry since you murdered Calvin Davis, have you?”
“It wasn’t murder. The bastard deserved to die.” His gun hand shook as he pointed it at Jonas. “Your death won’t be murder either.”
Jonas fumbled with the phone, wishing it was easier to dial blind. “I wouldn’t be so quick to threaten me, Larry. Not this time. You won’t get away with killing me.”
“We’ll see about that. Take your phone or gun or whatever you’re messing with out of your pocket. Do it slow and easy and toss it on the ground.”
Crap. So much for Westbrook not noticing, he thought, as he did what the man demanded.
Westbrook laughed. “I couldn’t believe you played right into my hands.”
Yeah, neither could Jonas. So much for his bright idea of meeting in public. “Can you take the risk? You came to my apartment openly. It’s not late. Lots of people are around. What if someone saw you?”
His hand wavered. “You’ll still be dead.”
“And you’ll be in prison. Probably on death row. Why don’t we sit down? Talk.” He took a seat on the couch, as if he entertained crazy men with guns on a daily basis.
Lawrence seemed confused that Jonas wasn’t more frightened. He took the chair, still pointing the gun at Jonas. “Say what you want to say.”
“Did Henry Young deserve to die too? Is that why you killed him? Because he was going to recant his testimony?”
Westbrook shrugged. “Dervish killed him, not me. You can’t lay that one on me.”
“But you told him to, didn’t you, Larry? And then you killed Dervish.”
He didn’t deny it. Instead he scoffed and said, “So what if I did? The man was a useless drunk. He was no good to anyone. You can’t prove anything, and neither can the cops. Why do you even care?”
Jonas didn’t think it was a particularly good sign the man was admitting guilt. Even though that’s what Jonas had wanted, he knew that only curiosity kept Westbrook from pulling the trigger. He had to get the gun away from him, the sooner, the better. He couldn’t just rush him. Not without at least a moment of distraction. “I want justice for Calvin Davis. Dervish and Henry Young are all a part of it. And my friend Emmitt. I owe you for him, too, don’t I?”
Westbrook waved away Emmitt’s attack as if it had been nothing. “Nosy journalist should know better than to interfere in what doesn’t concern him.”
“Justice concerns everyone.”
“Justice?” He laughed. “Davis got exactly what was coming to him. The black bastard knocked up a white girl. He deserved to die. He needed to die.”
“The girl you wanted. The girl who didn’t want you.”
He snorted, looking disgusted. “Bella was too young and foolish to know what she wanted. What kind of life would she have had, married to a nigger?”
Better than one married to a racist and murderer, Jonas thought. “Bella knew she didn’t want you. She knew she loved Calvin Davis.”
“All you know about it is what your mother told you. Naomi was just a kid. She doesn’t know what really happened.” He paused and said, “Or does she? Is she the one who’s got you poking into all this? Maybe I should have taken care of Naomi too. I still can, you know.”
No way in hell was this bastard touching his mother. “Naomi doesn’t know anything. She still believes Buster Cantrell murdered Calvin. Leave her out of it. I know what happened because I was there.”
“You’re talking crazy. All this happened before you were born.”
A homicidal maniac was calling him crazy. Priceless. “Look at me, Larry. Who do you see? Who do I look like? You knew it the first time you saw me, in the hospital. You looked like you’d seen a ghost. Because you had.”
His face reddened. “Calvin Davis died when he was eighteen. Just because you bear a family resemblance to him doesn’t mean anything. You’re his cousin, after all.”
“I don’t just resemble Calvin.” He leaned forward, holding Westbrook’s attention. “Look closely. You can see it in my eyes. I am Calvin.”
Westbrook laughed, though unconvincingly. The gun wavered. “You’re nuts. How can you be Calvin? He died over forty years ago. I should know. I killed him.”
“I know you did. You want to know why I know?”
He gestured with the gun. “Sure. I got nothing better to do than listen to your crap.”
Jonas told him about every conversation the two of them ever had, everything the man had done to have Bella for himself and destroy Calvin. He said things only Bella, Calvin, and Larry had been privy to. Westbrook looked sicker every moment that Jonas talked. “I remember the night you shot me. You showed up at my house and told me to leave Bella alone.”
“Get out, Larry. Bella and the baby are mine,” Jonas quoted. “We’re leaving town tonight, as soon as Bella gets here.”
Jonas waited for his words to sink in. “You shot me, Larry.” Jonas touched his stomach where Calvin had been shot. “You left me to die.”
Westbrook had paled dramatically. “You can’t know. You can’t be . . . him,” he whispered.
“You shot me and left me for dead. But I wasn’t dead, yet. I died in Bella’s arms.” Any moment now, Jonas thought. Any minute Westbrook would lose it and Jonas could jump him.
Hand shaking wildly, Westbrook aimed the gun at him again. “Then I’ll just have to kill you again.”
“It won’t matter. I’ll just keep coming back, haunting you, until you’ve paid for your crime.”
Jonas gathered himself to jump. Someone knocked on the door. Suddenly, the broken man was gone. His grip on the gun tightened. Westbrook was back in control. I should have gone for it, Jonas thought. Too late now.
A key rattled the lock. Jonas watched the doorknob turn, his blood slowly freezing. Two people had a key, but only one would be out this late at night. Jesus, why did Claire have to show up now? Couldn’t she have stayed away a little longer? “Go away, Claire.” Please, go away.
“Jonas, Lawrence knows. He knows where you live. I remembered, just now. The first night I came here, Glenn had me followed.”
“Don’t open the door,” Jonas said. But of course, she did.
“Lawrence knows, I tell you,” she said as she entered. She stopped short when she saw Westbrook, who had risen at the sound of her voice.
He smiled broadly. “He certainly does. Get in here,” he said, motioning with the gun. Claire’s eyes widened, but she shut the door behind her. “Now, which one of you wants to die first?” Lawrence Westbrook added.
“I CALLED THE police before I came,” Claire said, even though technically she hadn’t. She thanked God she had talked to O’Connor on her way over. He had promised to do everything in his power to send the police to Jonas’s apartment. She had to trust that he managed to get their attention this time. If only they arrived before it was too late.
With Lawrence looking like a madman waving that gun around, too late might come very soon.
“You won’t kill either of us, Larry,” Jonas said after shooting her a sharp glance. “You won’t kill me because I’m Calvin. I’ll come back. I’ll never leave you alone. I’ll haunt you until you die. And you couldn’t kill Bella. You loved her.”
“Bella’s long dead. I didn’t kill her. Some quack doctor killed her when she got an abortion
.”
“The abortion her father forced her to have. I bet you had a hand in that, didn’t you? And you’ve felt guilty ever since.”
“It wasn’t my fault. I loved her. I didn’t want her to die.”
Claire wasn’t sure where Jonas was heading, but she played along. “I talked to my Aunt Sophie, Lawrence. Bella’s sister, Sophie. She said their father drugged Bella and took her to Mexico for an abortion. She didn’t even know what he’d done until she woke up, sick and in pain. Sophie had to tell her.”
“I tell you, it wasn’t my fault.” He ran a hand through his hair, cursed. “I’d have let her have the kid as long as she gave it away. Damn Buster anyway.” He paced, furious, waving the gun as if he’d forgotten he held it.
“You won’t kill Claire. Look at her eyes,” Jonas said. “They’re like Bella’s. Because Claire is Bella.”
“No! You can’t—it can’t be true.”
“It is true,” Claire said. “You loved Bella but you hated her too. Because she loved Calvin, not you.”
“Why did she want him? I could have given her so much, but she wanted him.” He glared at Claire. “You,” he said with loathing. “You always looked at me with her eyes. Reproaching me for something I had no part in.”
“You killed Calvin,” Jonas said. “Even if you didn’t kill Bella, she died because of you.”
“No. Buster killed her, not me. He’s the one who made her have the abortion.” He turned the gun on Jonas. “Shut up! I always hated you. Putting your hands on my girl, getting her pregnant. I took care of you once, I can do it again.”
Intent on protecting Jonas, Claire lunged forward, pushing Jonas aside as she cried out, “Don’t, Lawrence, don’t!”