by Amarie Avant
“No ransom and no financial request was made whatsoever. The abduction of Hosea Murrell was beginning to transpire in the same manner as an episode of Without a Trace, until our investigators got ahold of very vital clues as to why this thirty-two-year-old man was targeted and taken,” the commentator exclaims. Then a photo of Siobhan Lowe and me pop up onto the screen.
“Lincoln Zager is proprietor of one of the most affluential weapons manufacturing companies in the United Kingdom. He is worth upward of nine hundred million dollars. He also has a very hefty kidnapping policy. On the other hand, is the gorgeous Siobhan Lowe prey or predator? Stay tuned as we account for such a bizarre turn of events…”
The lovely photo of hers bleeds color until it fades to black and white, all before exploding. Then a commercial pops on.
“Predator?” I mouth. What the fuck is this rubbish?
I sink down onto the couch, and my kid sister plunkers down beside me.
“Oh, Lincoln, turn it off. I honestly thought you knew. It’s all a bunch of hogwash anyway.” She gingerly reaches for the remote. I place it on the coffee table and offer the evil eye.
When the broadcast returns, various bystanders are asked their view.
“So you’re telling me this chick and her boyfriend set up a scheme to use the rich guy, Zager? A millionaire whose wealth is in the selling of guns? That right there has me on pause. She had better luck turning to a senile old geezer,” the skeptic says. “I don’t believe this. Her then boyfriend rots away for over two years. By the way, why would they hire some bipolar dude who actually forgets that this abduction and sad chick story is all a ruse? Yeah, let’s just keep adding to the pile of a B-list plot.”
Another viewer is interviewed on the scene. “Zager was seen just a day ago, purchasing Siobhan Lowe an engagement ring. So I’m going to go out on a limb and say, just maybe there were some ill intentions there. She’s got a pretty face, maybe she tricked them all.”
Bloody fucking nutter. Siobhan tricked them all for what?
The main host appears before the camera, walking in front of a condominium. There are palm trees in the background and cars lining the block. “Here we are in West Los Angeles. Public records indicated that this is the home Siobhan Lowe lived in when she began appealing to the Los Angeles Police Department about a stranger stalking—”
I turn the channel. “Bloody bullshit, that’s what that is.”
“Let’s go eat, Lincoln. I had a long flight. I’m knackered but oh so very famished,” Maggie speaks up.
“Okay, what would you like to eat?” I start to arise, finger headed for the off button, when an infomercial switches gears: “This production is being interrupted for a special broadcast. Siobhan Lowe has been spotted, being escorted from Cedar Sinai with two special agents from the FBI.”
“Well, the plot surely has thickened,” Maggie mumbles.
I drop the remote and head to the bedroom in a hurry. From the corner of my eye, Maggie reaches over, grabs the remote and presses the off button. I pull my cell phone from the nightstand table and dial Siobhan. The call goes straight to voicemail.
“Siobhan, now is not the time to screen my calls. We must bypass our feelings. Please tell me where you are so that I can send some form of legal representation to you.” And by some form I mean a whole fucking law firm.
Bernard left and I stayed on the scene the instant Jeffrey mentioned that Hosea was alive. We didn’t need the two of us caught in the hornet’s nest.
Fuck, I had provided Ortiz with the business card to my attorney and advised he should consider calling before even making a move to speak to me further. Of course, I knew there’d be future consequences, but I’ve got a good attorney, who runs an entire fucking law firm as well.
And if all else fails, Fitz is just a drop in the bucket when it comes to associates in the army. There’d be no argument on the side of the LAPD nor the Feds.
But…Siobhan.
Why hadn’t I told Detective Ortiz to utilize the same business card as needed?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Siobhan
Everybody and their momma wants a piece of Jeffrey Peterson, and they assume that I am the key to get to him. I no longer need to put Al Green’s “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart” on repeat; the lyrics rove around in my psyche. While I was trying to get the song from my mind, two men in suits and that idiot Ortiz came to get me. The agents flashed their federal badges, and there was no question as to whether I’d be staying in the hospital with minty breath and a bad-ass attitude. No fire needed to be lit under my ass, I followed.
Mom offered to call Lincoln. My father had the decency to inquire about any legal representatives I have ever worked with. Unable to think straight, I told him Tamara would have the information, and to my mother, the look on my face said “don’t you dare.”
The sound of air chopped in half and people yelling over each other forces me to glance sideways at Ortiz. He had said he was only tagging along since he knew me. As if we were old friends.
“Stay close,” Special Agent Quigley advises, ushering me nearer to him with his forearm around my arms.
The sliding glass doors of the hospital open. In the parking lot there is a sea of news media vans and reporters with their crews standing at the edge of the lot. A few helicopters hover above.
“This is all that fucking Zager’s fault,” Ortiz grumbles. “High profile businessmen make for a high-profile case.”
No comment.
***
The Federal Bureau of Investigation’s building is where I’ve been escorted to. I sit in a room with a two-way mirror. Quigley is opposite of me. His mouth lifts briefly about the edges in sympathy before he speaks. “I’m sure this has been a very difficult time for you, Ms. Lowe. But we have something very important that we must request of you.”
“I’m pretty sure you can force me to do whatever you’d like,” I scoff. There were no Miranda Rights read but these aren’t the boys in blue.
He reaches out and taps my hand. “I think we started off on the wrong foot. Ms. Lowe, it is us who is in need of your assistance. We need you to talk to Peterson.”
“Fuck no.” I gulp. “That was blunt, damn. I can’t.” Crap, he’s been nice to me and I just flat out refused.
“Ms. Lowe, we have reason to believe Peterson is behind the deaths of your close friend, Regina Godwin, and her husband, Everett Godwin.”
A rush of shock slams through my chest. My hands begin to shake rapidly. “Wh-what?”
“Peterson mentioned the Godwins, and he has agreed to spill the beans once he’s spoken with you.”
“Why?”
“Peterson feels connected to you. Ms. Lowe, we won’t allow him to harm you.” Quigley mentions, “On aggravated abduction charges alone, Peterson stands to get twenty to life. We haven’t even begun to account for you being stalked or Regina and Everett’s death, if he truly was involved. You may be able to even get him to fess up to other past indiscretions. Please consider meeting with him in order to bring justice to the Godwin family.”
“Justice? How about the children never having their parents’ shoulder to cry on?” I snap, glaring at Detective Ortiz. Everett Junior’s dimples and Connie’s chocolate brown eyes come to mind. Shit, I can still hear Junior crying when people attempted to downplay heaven, and the fact that he’d see them somewhere in the very, distant, far out future.
Detective Ortiz keeps his jaw pursed, the fat bastard.
I fold my arms. “And see him? Why not a phone conversation?”
Agent Quigley utilizes a soothing tone. “Ms. Lowe—”
“You have this need to refer to my name each time you speak. Please stop.”
“Peterson is willing to come clean on the Godwin case and other cases if you’re willing to see him in the flesh. I have a hunch that you aren't the first woman he has harassed. I cannot begin to stress how much we need your help.”
I ball my hands into fists to stave off the i
ntense trembling. I’ve forced my eyes not to blink for so long, in an attempt not to cry that they burn. Trepidation washes over me until I am no longer embarrassed in front of the agent. “Okay.”
“One more thing, may I borrow your necklace?”
My brow furrows.
“I promise to have it returned by the end of your chat. There's one last chip in it that Peterson has been using to track you.”
Just fucking keep the damn thing! My lips tense. That grimy motherfucker. My big momma gave me the diamond cross when I was baptized as a child. The pendant is on the tinier side since I've grown, but over the years I would just purchase a larger chain.
I follow Quigley and Ortiz to an interrogation room.
For the first time in forever, I am not the victim needing a strong man like Lincoln Zager to survive.
God grant me the serenity to…
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Stalker
Here we are again, in the middle of an intimate tango, however, some form of senses is always being stifled. I desire to hold her close in my loving arms, but these dank settings remind me that our love isn’t meant to be. That I’ve sacrificed myself to save her.
Today, Siobhan sits before me, in the flesh. Her rich, dark brown eyes drinking me in. The air of familiarity that surrounds us feels like home to me.
“Donald Dudley?” she murmurs.
“I apologize for lying.” I give a genuine smile. “Breakfast with you in San Antonio was the best day of my life.”
“I’ve seen you prior to that. It was dark, very dark outside, but I recall you’ve worn the same green hoodie, with the number twelve on it. The same Dodger cap… You-you were also there when Sammy died!” she screeches. “How long have you been following me?”
“Since Samuel’s death. You and I met by serendipitous design. Your reaction attracted me. Your sadness and shock was so utterly palpable.” I attempt to stare at her without licking my lips. “Never in my life had I known such strong affection. You weren’t even in the same car as Sammy, and I had an awareness of your relation.”
Siobhan seethes through gritted teeth. “Don’t you fucking call my brother ‘Sammy.’ You never knew him.”
“On the contrary, I am familiar with Samuel. Hosea told me how close you were with Samuel, and how he joked with you. Hosea said you were a tyrant as a child. Samuel was the only one who could make you smile.” My lips curve upward about the edges as the fond memories Hosea provided flush through my psyche. For the past few days, I have retreated into the past while Quigley and his team attempted to appeal to my “sanity.”
Her luscious brown eyes lock onto mine. “Why did you stalk me?”
“We were connected the instant you asked me for help.”
She glowers at me, face tilted. “I didn’t ask you shit!”
“You pleaded,” I reply. Though her demeanor holds a note of animosity, I will continue to regard her with interest and fondness. “How is Hosea?”
She rises abruptly. “Don’t fucking bring up Samuel, and don’t bring up Hosea. Discussions about them are off the table. I will leave.”
What the fuck did I do? “All right, may I ask about you and Zager?” I attempt to remove the bite from my tone.
She seems to sneer while reclaiming her chair. “What’s with this fetish you have between Zager and me?”
I rub the handcuffs confining his wrists. “I shouldn’t have allowed you onto that yacht.”
“My necklace is what you used to follow me?” she asks. When I nod, she continues with more questions. “Why leave your cell phone? Why the video snippet?”
“I realized that I hadn’t truly let you go. Well, I mean, Hosea and I hadn’t truly let you go.”
“So, Hosea’s your friend, huh?” she spits sarcastically.
“We are bound in ways that you wouldn’t begin to fathom, Siobhan. At first, I assumed you and I were connected. However, there are certain dynamics in a relationship that I am incapable of acting out. Therefore, in the beginning I chose not to extract Lincoln from your life. I assumed he’d fulfill those needs. I didn’t expect for you to care for him as much as you love me.”
“I love you?” she scoffs, her face contorts in confusion.
“Siobhan, say what you’d like, but you moved to Willow Bluff. You rid yourself of all the outlying variables for us to be together and for that, I am grateful. We are connected, despite your misconceptions and my inabilities. I suppose you and I always will be. Just not to the same degree that Hosea and I are connected,” I say, my handcuffs clanking against the table as I steeple my fingers.
“Whatever, asshole!” She gives a psychotic chuckle. “Half the shit you say is for aliens to decipher, because it can’t be for any rational human to decode. You’re so sick that it’s hard for me to even engage in a simple conversation with you. And really, I’m holding myself back in order to get some sort of truth, but in all actuality your crazy ass probably lost sight of reality, only God knows when.”
I scoff. “Use all the cruel words you’d like, Siobhan. I forgive you. I always will forgive you.”
A darkness seems to shine in her gaze.
“Don’t censor yourself, Siobhan. As I’ve said, I love you, and will not reprimand you for any ill will or words you have for me. You're still under Zager’s spell.”
“Ill will?” She chuckles so hard that a stream of tears inundates her flawless cheekbones. “I wish I had the power to return in time. I wish to the Almighty Lord above you had fucked up and made one simple-ass mistake. I would have shot a fucking hole straight through your heart.”
I am unaffected by her rage. I continued speaking in a calming manner. “We were talking about the video, and Zager.”
She rubs her face, glancing at the ceiling, almost seeming to talk to herself as she mumbles, “There’s no need for this. I’m talking to …”
“I left the recording of Zager dropping by my house because you had to see Zager for his true colors. Weren’t his emotions so profound? He stood there at the front door of my house, after deceiving you into believing the surveillance evidence went to shit! He stood there considering the ramifications of addressing myself! Would he find out what happened to Hosea Murrell? There was a sense of assurance in his eyes—yes, he’d be your savior for bringing me to justice. But where was Hosea Murrell’s fucking body? The wheels of his cognition working in overtime and determination had brought him all the way to Los Angeles.” I speak with such passion that spittle flies from my mouth with each utterance. “Mind you, Hosea and I were in Willow Bluff, near you. But at the front step of my home, Lincoln reassessed his options. His options! What a fucking asshole. He considered the consequences, instead of empathy. Hosea and I,” I slam a fist to my chest, “WE have always put you first.”
My breathing is heavy, and there is a frown on my face as I conclude my monologue. I endeavor to search for any signs that Siobhan still cared for Zager. Either she has the world's best poker face or I succeeded.
A flat effect blankets Siobhan’s beautiful face. I take a lungful of victory. It appears she has no love bone in her body for the bastard. This is winning the fucking war.
If I had won the fight between Lincoln, Lincoln would be dead and Siobhan would be free of his treachery.
If Lincoln had won, well, I would have died, considering him a worthy opponent. I had hoped Zager would try to murder myself and Murrell. Then the video I left Siobhan earlier in the day would have sunk down deep into her bones. That Zager is the worst breed.
Siobhan nods. “Yes, he’s an asshole. But your stupid ass is going to jail forever, so that’s all that matters.”
“C’mon, Siobhan. Stop seeing the glass half empty. The way I see it, I’ve saved you from Lincoln Zager, regardless of how the cards are stacked. I’ve saved you from the monster.” I nod images of the fat slob, Alton, popping into my mind. I wasn’t able to save Glendora from her monster, but I saved you. I sink back onto the hard seat. “Yeah, you’re beginni
ng to see it. The false spark in your eye is gone. You’ll be happy again once you fully disengage from that—”
“Talk to me about Regina.” Siobhan's tone softens.
“What about her? She murdered Everett.” I shrug.
“My friend would not!”
“Clearly she did. There were splashes of blood all over her body consistent of one hacking away….” I pause. “Okay, I love you, so despite my perceived deception over a plate of pancakes, I’ll elaborate. Maybe I had a hand in persuading her. And just maybe the gun residual on her fingers in taking the final shot was staged perfectly. Though the entire situation of her shooting Everett twice and then hacking his body away; that had been Reggie being forced into a situation.”
“Thank you.” Siobhan’s vital signs are stellar. Her palm presses against the steel tabletop to support her. Not fifteen minutes ago, she’d jumped out of the chair. Her dark skin is drained of color
“You’re leaving, so soon?” I inquire, noticing her gaze tracked toward the exit.
She gulps heavily. “Better to let you rot, than end up in a cell across from yours.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Siobhan
I wipe the small trace of bile with the back of my hand while hovering over the trash can just outside of the interrogation room. The line of questioning rooms are on a long corridor, so nobody has to view my pain. There was no way in hell I would get the question out about the nearest ladies room, let alone make it.
My cognition has begun to stream the last moments of Regina and Everett’s lives. A sob wracks through my body, and I reach over and dry heave once more. C’mon, Siobhan, you're stronger than this, I tell myself. Then I lean back against the wall and almost cry myself a river. I am not strong.
“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” Lincoln’s words of encouragement from a Gandhi quote draw me to another time. A time where his love reigned, surrounded me, and kept me safe. He’d turned around, running backwards, matching my sprint while pointing to his brain.