by Debra Webb
Now she was mad all over again. He had no right to tell her how to conduct her personal life. They weren’t in a relationship. As much as she appreciated him being here considering what he’d revealed to her this morning, she didn’t need him deciding what was best for her.
“I need you because of this other crap, but I don’t need you to tell me how to protect my kid or my property.”
With the truth in his words stinging her cheeks despite her proclamation, she wheeled around and stalked back into the saloon. She had plenty to do that didn’t involve discussing the subject of her ex or her son with him or anyone else. She yanked the gloves back on and set to the work of cleaning up the mess behind the bar.
Hayden walked into the saloon a few minutes later, wagging the paint remover and plenty of cleaning rags. Like her, he had gotten worked up over this whole mess. He’d probably been out there cooling off.
“I can work on the paint if you can finish up here.”
That was exactly her point. The man thought he was the boss and they’d hardly done more than hold hands. She could only imagine how territorial he would be if they’d so much as kissed. Why was it guys always thought they knew best?
“Whatever.” This whole day had just been too much.
The plunk of items on the counter made her jump but she didn’t turn around. When he invaded her space behind the counter she had no choice but to meet his fierce gaze.
“You’ve done a fine job raising your son,” he said, the words tight with restrained tension. “I just don’t want you getting hurt any more than you already have by that deadbeat guy.”
His expression relaxed just a little. He looked away before she could analyze the change further.
“I appreciate your concern.” She surrendered. “It made me angry that you were right. I lost control and that was a mistake. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
He touched her arm. It was nothing really. Just a simple slide of his fingers down the length of her upper arm from shoulder to elbow, but the heat that blazed inside her was not simple at all. She was attracted to this man. Had been since he walked through those swinging doors that first night.
She couldn’t go there. The move would have been dumb enough before but it was downright foolish now. His revelation this morning had stolen something from her. The certainty of who she was and where she’d come from. She couldn’t handle anything else.
“You’ve had a lot dumped on you when you were already carrying more than your share. I wish I hadn’t been the one to do the dumping. But this is not going away until we learn the truth. I need you to use caution in all you do.”
She nodded. “I understand. It’ll take some time for me to get my head on straight.” She wished he wasn’t so nice. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like a complete idiot for going stupid in the parking lot.
“We’ll get this place back in shape and you do what you do.” He smiled and her knees went a little weak. “I’ll have your back and I’ll help Tatum keep an eye on Buddy.”
Laney closed her eyes and fought the urge to cry. That was the part that terrified her the most. She needed to know her baby was safe. As torn up as she was at learning her life was one big fabrication, his safety was all that really mattered.
Hayden’s fingers tightened around her arm. “Trust me, Laney. That’s all I’m asking.”
He had no idea what a monumental request that was for her. Trusting him to do his job was easy. Actions spoke louder than words and she had seen in him action. But that personal trust she sensed he wanted as well was a whole different arena, one where she’d made the wrong decision too many times already.
“I’ll give it my best shot.”
Chapter Eight
5:00 p.m.
The house was pretty.
It reminded Clare of the one where she had raised her children…until that day.
The sickening ingredients of fear and hatred stirred into the pot of misery simmering inside her. He had taken all of that from her.
She could not change the past but the future was hers. Clare was free and in twenty-four days he would be dead. Her soul would rejoice.
If there was any justice in the universe he would burn in hell for all eternity. It would almost be worth joining him there just to watch him fry. She wished she could watch him gasp for his last desperate breath, but that was impossible.
Her mission had only just started. She had those same twenty-four days to see her goal accomplished. Rage kindled deep in her belly when she considered that he had so many on his side. The Colby Agency in particular. They were strong and smart. But they would not stop Clare.
She had almost been stuck in that rat hole of an apartment in Copperas Cove. But a blessing in the form of rescue had come at just the right moment.
Clare turned to Tony. What a good man he had become. No thanks to her.
“You’re not safe here.” He studied the house and its nice plot of property. “They could come back.”
Clare smiled. “I think they’ll be too busy to come back. You did a good job.” Maybe too good but she wouldn’t scold him for showing ambition.
Tony ducked his head. “I promised I would. I was careful this time.”
“Let’s hide the car and have a look inside.”
He scowled. “That might be dangerous.”
“Hmm. I don’t think so. There’s no security system. The house is old. Getting in should be very easy.” She gifted her firstborn with a reassuring smile. “And I have you. What could go wrong?”
Reluctantly he obeyed. Farther up the road was a turnoff that led to nowhere. Just one of those places added for turning around or for hunters perhaps since it only led a few yards into the woods. These old country roads were full of little niches like that.
From there she and Tony marched through the field. The sun felt good on Clare’s face. She had lived in that ugly gray cell for so many years. Her youth had vanished in the darkness of that awful place. Nearly half her life. But that was behind her now. She was free. And nothing was going to stop her from making them pay.
One already had.
Clare wrapped her arm around Tony’s. He had made sure no one could harm her. He was a far better son than she deserved. If he only knew what she had suffered before his birth he would understand. But she dared not tell him for fear that the ugly truth would only add to his own suffering.
They had both suffered far too much.
It was time for the rest to suffer.
She had ensured Gus Gilmore could no longer keep his secret. Sadie was not his daughter. He had pretended all these years that she belonged to him. He’d given her a new name—Sadie, of all things—and kept the truth from her all those years. In a moment of heated emotions she had called him and warned that she was coming for her baby girl, but that had been wrong of her. Still, now Clare’s baby girl knew the truth. And one day soon they would be together.
She squeezed Tony’s arm. They would all be together.
“We’ll try the back door.”
“Whatever you think.”
Tony was smart, too. He’d gone to school to be a nurse. He’d used that skill to get to that devil waiting on death row for his time to come. Tony had promised to take care of Clare now that she was free and they were reunited. With him and her three girls, the rest of her days would be filled with happiness.
A mother should be happy. Memories of locked doors and darkness…of her girls crying out for her tore at her heart. Never again… Never again.
With just a minute of manipulating Tony had the back door open. Clare entered the kitchen of her middle daughter and felt right at home. Her kitchen smelled of frequent use. Spices and the aroma of something recently baked. A plate of leftover biscuits sat on the counter.
Clare tasted one. “Mmm.” Made from scratch. “Have a biscuit, Tony. Your sister made them.”
He shook his head, too bashful to be so bold as Clare. She understood. He had spent his life cowering in fear. That w
as her fault. She intended to make that up to him.
Clare wandered to the fridge and admired her grandson’s artwork. “He’s like you, Tony.” She turned to him. “Gifted.”
One of those rare smiles lifted his lips. “He’s a fine-looking boy.”
“He is.”
Clare made her way through each room. She studied the framed photographs and touched the things that held a place in her daughter’s and grandson’s lives. A good, comfortable home.
Tony hovered near the front windows, nervous about being caught. Lisa and this man from the Colby Agency were too busy to worry about anything else just now.
In Buddy’s room, Clare sat down at his little desk and drew him a picture with the crayons and craft paper. When she was finished, she put everything back exactly as it had been. Then she placed the picture on her grandson’s pillow.
“Just for you,” she said softly. There were so many things they would soon be able to do together.
In Laney’s room she found a photo album with oodles of pictures of her and Buddy. Clare took one and slipped it into her pocket. She hated to steal from her own daughter but she wanted desperately to have something to remember her by. She had one of Sarah already.
Tony had handled the situation there a bit poorly. He had left that ugly message to frighten the girl. Clare had chastised him for doing such a thing. He’d sworn that he hadn’t set fire to her house but Clare worried that he might have accidently caused the fire and then feared telling her.
Since no one was harmed, she decided not to torture him about it. He had suffered enough.
With a deep sigh of contentment, Clare joined her son in the living room and took his hand.
“Let’s be on our way. We have much to do.”
No one would stop Clare from reuniting with her daughters. Rafe was going to pay anyway…far more than he knew. And that Victoria woman and her agency had better stay out of Clare’s way or she would pay, too.
Chapter Nine
5:51 p.m.
Lucas had been in Beaumont less than three hours and already he had canvassed most of the hotels, motels and any other dives advertising rooms for rent.
He’d prioritized his list by the ones with the least visibility.
Victoria was worried. She would have preferred that he stay at the office and that one of the agency’s new recruits have taken this task.
But this job belonged to Lucas. It was his responsibility that Clare Barker had jumped off the radar. He had fallen down on the job and now others were at risk. Lyle McCaleb had Sadie Gilmore under close watch; no problem there. But Olivia Westfield was not fully covered at this time. St. James was still watching her from a distance. Joel Hayden had shown Laney the photo album and explained the risks but it was yet to be seen whether Laney would go for around-the-clock, up-close-and-personal protection.
She had no idea how badly she needed that kind of security.
At least one person was dead. Whether Clare Barker, which was highly unlikely since Lucas had been watching her apartment at the time, or Tony Weeden committed the murder—and Lucas suspected it was the latter—dead was dead.
Lucas pulled into the parking lot of the next motel from his Yellow Pages list. Another dive, but those types presented the lowest profile and required the least in the way of identification for anyone looking to stay under the radar.
The air was cooling down, a nice contrast to the unusually warm day. He’d already made his own arrangements to bunk in the office at the High Noon. Clare’s appearance at the saloon as well as the vandalism had ensured Laney’s cooperation. Hayden said Laney kept a cot in the office for her son. That would work. He wanted as close as possible. Particularly since vandals had hit the saloon at some point this morning.
Both he and Hayden understood that this was most likely the work of Clare Barker’s sidekick but convincing the police, or Laney for that matter, without evidence wasn’t likely to happen in time to reap any benefit.
Also because of the vandalism at the saloon, the police had offered to make extra drive-bys the next few days but that was the best they could do until they had a lead on a suspect.
Lucas entered the motel office. The manager looked up from the book he was reading. A small fan sat on the counter stirring the stale air.
“I’ll need a driver’s license and cash up front,” the man informed him. “No credit cards.”
Lucas moved to the counter, his limp a little more pronounced than usual. He’d spent too much time behind the wheel today. “I’m not looking for a room.”
The guy set his book aside. “You a cop?”
“No need to get into the technicalities.” Lucas passed him the photos of Clare Barker and Tony Weeden. “Have you seen either of those two? Maybe they rented a room.”
The manager nodded. “I saw him all right.” He shook his head and handed the photos back to Lucas. “Felt sorry for him because of the missing arm. Even gave him a discount. Sorry sack of—”
“Is he still registered here?” Anticipation sharpened.
“Nah. They cleared out this morning, but they left a hell of a mess for me to deal with.”
“Have you cleaned the room already?”
“No use cleaning it. It’s gonna need a new paint job.”
“Can I see the room?”
The other man’s eyebrows reared up. “I figured you was a cop.” He grabbed a key, the old-fashioned kind attached to a plastic placard sporting the room number.
Outside, the twelve rooms were divided in half by the office. A row of six fanned out on either side. The motel was a one-story place with little recognizable landscaping and even less visible upkeep. Shabby.
Room ten sat near the end to the left of the office. Lucas followed the manager to the door, his aching leg forgotten.
“Yeah, the cleaning lady came into the office raising cane this morning. I figured it was the usual kind of mess. Drugs, alcohol or some freaky sex-party leftovers.” He hesitated before opening the door. “Didn’t expect this.”
He pushed the door inward and motioned for Lucas to have a look.
Dozens of stick-figure drawings littered the walls. Some were what appeared to be three little girls in a row. Others featured the three girls along with a mother and a larger male stick figure. Some had a sixth stick figure, this one much smaller. Clare, her three grown daughters, Weeden and the grandchild.
Dread settled in Lucas’s gut.
“The freak used a felt-tip marker that won’t scrub off. It’ll take some work to cover that up.”
Lucas surveyed each drawing. All were meticulously drawn. Then, as if the artist had decided the work wasn’t right, he’d come along and hastily slashed each one with a large X.
Whether it was Clare or Weeden, Lucas couldn’t be sure. Whichever it was, they were dealing with one very sick individual. Or maybe they were both over the edge.
Either way, in Lucas’s opinion, the desperation of the situation was intensifying. The urgency or hatred one or both of the suspects felt was obvious.
It was only a matter of time before the urgency evolved into sheer desperation… . And then anything could happen.
Chapter Ten
High Noon Saloon, 11:15 p.m.
Joel joined Lucas at the table farthest from the rowdy crowd gathered around the jukebox. Considering it was a Monday night it was hard to believe any one of these folks had to go to work in the morning.
The beer was flowing and the music was loud. Most were either dancing or huddled in throngs talking and laughing. So far nothing but good clean fun. And no sign of Kingston, which Joel appreciated. As much as the guy deserved to have some good sense beat into him, he was still Buddy’s father and Joel had no desire to be the one to get the job done.
But he would, if the need arose. The guy wasn’t getting another chance to make Laney miserable.
Between the woman getting so close to Buddy and the news Joel delivered today, the dead-last thing she had needed was more has
sling from Kingston. The destruction they’d found here was nearly the straw that broke the camel’s back. Laney hadn’t been herself all night.
She’d rushed to the kitchen, and later the office, so many times to check on Buddy that customer service had suffered. Most had been patient but a few had given her a hard time. Joel had wanted to step in but she’d given him that look that said back off. He’d checked on Buddy repeatedly, but no matter how often Joel made his rounds, she had needed to see the boy for herself.
“No word yet on Janet Tolliver’s murder?” he asked Lucas. There hadn’t been much time to talk. Lucas and Laney had hit it off immediately. He’d even thrown in with her behind the bar as if he’d tended bar his whole life. Joel had no idea the man could draw the draft with such skill.
“Nothing new. Marble angel statue from her own home was the murder weapon, it seems. No prints or other trace evidence discovered so far. The coroner suspects the killer was left-handed. Simon has contacted the great-niece to see if she has any background on the angel.” Lucas sipped the same beer he’d been nursing since he took a seat. “Its use as a weapon may or may not be significant.”
“Based on what you found in that motel room,” Joel suggested, “we may be dealing with a bigger problem than Clare Barker. This Weeden character sounds like he may be a little over the edge.”
“There’s nothing in his background that suggests a mental disorder. Prentice, the warden at Polunsky Prison, insists Weeden was a stellar employee who never missed a day of work until he disappeared last week. And his background is clean.”
“Maybe reading the letter Rafe wrote to Victoria tripped some sort of trigger that sent him over the edge.” It happened. A shocking and debilitating illness could lie dormant for the better part of a person’s life, only to surface when an intense physical or emotional trauma occurred.
“That’s certainly possible,” Lucas agreed. “I just hope we can contain it before the onset of more violence.”
“The motel manager reported the vandalism?”
“He wasn’t going to but I pushed the issue.” Lucas checked his cell phone. “I also gave the Copperas Cove police a heads-up on the connection. If the slightest piece of evidence between the motel room and Tolliver’s house could be found, we might be about to turn some aspect of this investigation over to the police.”