by Nancy Bush
West yanked open the door and hauled Teddy out as Tucker ran around the back of the vehicle and into Callie’s arms. She could feel Tucker’s small body shaking and held him close. On the sidewalk, she burbled, “How did you do that? How did you know to do that?”
His face had been buried in her neck, but now he pulled back enough to say, “Furrall cats bite. And I does, too.”
Four hours later they were released from the police station and allowed to return home. West drove them in his Explorer and Tucker was nodding off in a car seat borrowed from one of the administrative assistants who’d overheard Callie worrying about the issue and had offered hers up.
“I heard the car start,” West had told her earlier. “Andre was unconscious by then and I’d called for help, and that’s when I heard the car. Coulda been the neighbors, but I knew it wasn’t. I ran out the way Tucker did and saw you and Tucker’s heads in the Trailblazer. Didn’t know whose it was, but I just followed and called in the plates. Ted Stutz. Figured it wasn’t Cal.”
West had gone on to say that Andre was at Cedars-Sinai Hospital. He was going to survive, but he was scheduled for neurological tests. “Fast-growing tumor, squeezing his nerves,” was the educated guess at this point. He’d probably been suffering hallucinations and an extraordinary amount of pain. Whether he was really Andrew Laughlin was yet to be determined, but both West and Callie were fairly certain it was true.
Aimee did not survive the gunshot wounds. Nor did Derek, but then Callie had known he was dead before Andre had ever taken them away.
West, at Callie’s request, had taken Tucker and her to his apartment. Derek’s body was picked up by the coroner’s van, and other officers had collected Callie’s purse and phone and locked the door to her house. Diane Cantrell had been asked to identify the body and had screamed at the ME and his staff all the while she was there. She’d been given a sedative and officers had driven her home.
As they pulled into West’s parking spot, Callie lifted her head from the seat rest and asked, “Are we home?”
“Yeah,” West said, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the lips. “We are.”
Together they gathered Tucker from the backseat and carried him upstairs to West’s couch. He lay on his side, the sweep of his lashes resting on his cheeks, his chest rising and falling evenly.
“Think he’ll be okay after all this?” she asked.
“He’s tough,” West said.
“Teddy called him a wharf rat. Made me angry, but I don’t know . . . it’s almost a badge of honor.”
“It is,” West agreed, putting his arms around her. “Teddy’s going to jail for a long, long time. Did I tell you that Victoria woke up and recognized who she was and where she was?”
“That’s good news.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” He guided her down the hall to his bedroom. “We just have to convince her that Tucker would be better off living with us.”
“Are we planning to live together?” Callie asked, pulling him down on the bed beside her.
“Well, I need someone to help me with home decor.”
She laughed silently, holding him close, relieved and happy to be safe in his arms. “Yes, you do.”
Epilogue
Callie slid the gray, metal box from the slot and took it inside a special room within Security One. Opening the lid, she found stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Without counting, she did a quick estimate and decided a good deal of the money from the mortgage was still there. There were also two passports. She opened the first and saw her deceased husband’s smiling face. The second was her own. Her name. Her state of residence. Her birth date. But it was Teresa’s picture smiling up at her.
She didn’t know how he’d done it, but Jonathan had managed to have a fake passport made. Had Teresa even known about it? She somehow doubted it. Whereas Jonathan had been obsessed with her and planned for them to run away together, Teresa had been just as obsessed with Andre, at least at that time.
There were snapshots as well. Digital pictures printed on photo paper, probably from the jump drive labeled MARTINIQUE, if she were to guess. They were candid shots of Jonathan and Teresa, most likely from their earlier time together. Behind them was a panorama of sky, sand, and beach. Both of them looked tan and beautiful. Not a care in the world. Nothing like the Jonathan she’d come to know who’d become surly, tense, and dissatisfied.
She wondered who’d taken the photos . . . Andre, perhaps ?
She emptied the contents of the box into the duffel bag she’d brought with her. Diane could have the money. It was hers, along with the house, though she’d lost her fire over the last few weeks. It had been extinguished when she’d lost Derek.
Callie slid the empty box back into its slot, then went to the outer room to meet Victoria’s lawyer, Gary Merritt, who’d greased the legal wheels to gain her access to the box. Victoria was out of the hospital, wan, but as sharp and in control as ever. She’d insisted on Callie using Gary, and Callie had been grateful for the help.
William Lister was waiting with Gary. Callie kept the pictures, jump drive, and passports, then handed over the bag of money. “You’re sure?” William asked. He was looking worse for wear himself.
“I’m sure. I think Jonathan spent some of it looking for Teresa, but most of it is there.”
Gary Merritt cleared his throat and reminded her again, “As his wife, it’s rightfully yours.”
She shook her head and headed outside into bright LA sunshine. A lot of people had thought somebody else’s money was rightfully theirs, whether it was or not, and all it had gotten them was misery and death.
West was leaning against his Explorer, which was parked at the curb. The back door was open and she could see Tucker inside, his skinny legs swinging to the sound of something he was listening to inside a pair of headphones.
“You good?” West said.
“I’m excellent.”
“I’d have to agree.”
They’d moved into his apartment together and were looking for a new place as a family of three. Victoria hadn’t liked having Tucker outside of her control but had let it happen.
“Andre’s tests came back. No surprise that it’s a tumor. He doesn’t have long to live,” West said.
Callie shivered and let herself be folded into his embrace.
Gary Merritt came out of the Security One offices and walked over to them. Callie was faintly embarrassed to be caught in a PDA, but didn’t really care. She was too happy with West and Tucker.
“I just spoke with Victoria,” he said.
“She said she wouldn’t stand in the way of Tucker’s adoption,” West warned.
“She isn’t. She just asked me to tell you that she recently rewrote her will.”
“And named Tucker her heir, which damn near got him killed,” West guessed.
“Actually, she’s leaving everything to you, Mr. Laughlin.”
West froze. “She wouldn’t dare,” he said grimly.
The lawyer smiled slightly. “She’d already signed the papers at my office. That’s what she was doing there. And now that you and Ms. Cantrell will be Tucker’s legal guardians, she wants everything in place. She’s requesting that both of you meet with me sometime in the near future in order to go over particulars. Good afternoon.” He nodded and walked away.
The look of horror on West’s face as he turned to Callie made her cover her mouth to keep from laughing. “Guess you really are a Laughlin,” she said.
“I’m not moving to the ranch, if that’s what she thinks this is all about.”
Callie’s eyes danced. “I think your black sheep days are over.”
“Don’t bet on it,” West warned.
“You just hate the idea that she might actually like you,” Callie said with a grin, to which West grumbled under his breath.
From inside the car, Tucker yelled, “Knock, knock!”
“Oh, here we go,” Callie said. “Who’s there?” she called back.
“Cows g
o,” Tucker declared.
Callie bent down and peered into the car where Tucker had ripped off his headphones and was holding tight to the stuffed meerkat she’d found on the Internet. “What happened to Lena?”
“I might’ve told him a new one,” West admitted behind her shoulder. “With a Laughlin spin.”
“COWS GO!” Tucker repeated.
“Okay, okay,” Callie said. “Cows go who?”
“No! Cows go MOO!” Tucker started laughing at his own joke and Callie and West joined in.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
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Copyright © 2014 by Nancy Bush
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-3462-9
First Electronic Edition: July 2014
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3463-6
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3463-9