Down and Dead in Even: (A Quick-Read) (Down and Dead, Inc.)

by Vicki Hinze

  “You’re not at the ranchette?”

  The wind felt crisp, the sun warm. She lifted her face to it. “No. Martin showed up there so I left. The chef is helping me. We’re in Even, Georgia. I’m not staying here, I’m going to Sampson Park. I can’t tell you any more than that—probably shouldn’t have shared that much—but I’ll phone you when I get there and settle in. It sounds like just the place for me.”

  “Can you trust this guy?”

  What you don’t know, you can’t share. “Definitely. He came highly recommended.” She started to mention the run-in with Martin’s goons and tell how Jackson had shot out their tire, but that would just worry her sister so she kept it to herself. “He also got Dexter Devlin to represent me.”

  “In what? What exactly is going on there?”

  “I told you. Martin came to the house and threatened me. He threatened you too, indirectly. Big trouble unless his wife is back in his house on Valentine’s Day.” She added the part about Pepper, then stemmed her sister’s outrage. “He wants me under his thumb so he can get me declared incompetent—”

  “And get his grubby hands on your money.” Christine’s sigh crackled static through the phone. “Why didn’t you access it and run away from him earlier? I haven’t asked, but now, I want to know.”

  “He hid it from me—my whole inheritance.” Caroline stared into the tree line, then back at the house. “After I left, he discovered that I’d found it and stolen it back and he couldn’t touch it or even find it.”

  “You were afraid he’d attack you and you’d cave and tell him.”

  “Yes.” Pain slices through intentions no matter how determined you are. It just does.

  “So now he’s claiming you’re nuts so he can steal it from you again,” Christine said. “Figures. So was it all there?”

  “Amazingly, yes. I was shocked by that.”

  “I am, too.”

  “Just shows how deeply he believed he had total control and nothing to fear from me.”

  “Getting Dexter Devlin is quite a coop. Martin won’t get anything past that man.”

  His reputation as the country’s top litigator had been earned the hard way and sustained the same way it’d been earned.

  “Your chef must be pretty influential.”

  “He’s a good man,” Caroline said. “I’d actually like you to meet him sometime. He’d be perfect for you,” she said, sharing what she’d thought many times.

  “Unbelievable. You’re running for your life and matchmaking for me.”

  “I want you happy, Christine. You deserve happiness.”

  “I am happy.”

  “You’d be happier with him.” She walked on, let the tranquility of the woods soothe her. “Don’t argue. It’s Christmas and I need my fantasies. Relationships have to work for somebody.”

  “Keep your fantasies, then—and call me when you get settled.”

  “I will.” Caroline swallowed hard. “I love you, sis.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She did. She’d proven it every day, forfeiting her safety, her home, her life. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Caroline ended the call and returned to the house. Jackson stood on the patio, watching her. When she walked within earshot, he said, “You’re not too cold out here?”

  Obviously he hadn’t seen her on the phone. “It’s beautiful.” She smiled. “Jackson, have you ever in your life been anywhere so tranquil and serene?”

  “I have.” He smiled. “Sampson Park.”

  She let out a little laugh. “I take it that means it’s time for us to go.”

  He nodded. “Dex called. He wants to meet.”

  “At the park?”

  “No.” He stuffed a hand in his jacket pocket. “In Dixie.”

  “Dixie?” Georgia was in Dixie, wasn’t it? Sure, it was.

  “Dixie, Florida.” He nodded toward the door. “Paul Perini’s funeral home. Can you be ready to go in half an hour?”

  “Of course.” She nodded. “You people seem to have a thing for funeral homes, Jackson.”

  “Well,” he grinned, “yeah, I guess we kind of do.”

  And what exactly should she make of that?

  SEVEN

  PAUL PERINI STOOD a little over five feet and wore a cap that suited his weathered face. He had to be in his late sixties, and when Jackson and Caroline had arrived, he’d enfolded him in a bear hug that spoke volumes. Mr. Perini was Italian, boisterous by nature, and a deep affection clearly existed between the two men. Almost like father and son. Seeing it, knowing Jackson hadn’t had parental love, though Rose had done her best so Jackson never realized it, touched Caroline’s heart.

  The man planted a smack to each of her cheeks. “Ah, Caroline. So glad you made it, safe and sound. Welcome to Dixie.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. His energy was infectious, and she felt truly welcome. That too had become an alien experience during her marriage. Over Mr. Perini’s shoulder, she spotted a tall man sitting behind the sturdy desk in the funeral home’s office. Recognizing him from TV, she nodded. “Mr. Devlin, it’s good to meet you.”

  “You look different,” he said. “Much . . . healthier.”

  His remark confused her. “We haven’t met.”

  He stood up. “No, not officially.” He smiled an apology. “I saw photos of you when you were in New York.”

  Mr. Perini clapped a hand around her shoulders. “You were bruised up then and your hair was blond. I like it blond better.”

  “So do I,” she confessed. “May I ask why you had photos of me?” she asked Mr. Devlin.

  “I always run a background check on prospective clients. When Martin approached me, I received a couple photos of you.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you really don’t.” He rubbed at his neck. “I declined to represent him, but I wanted you to have the opportunity to get away from him. Devising a plan took time, and by the time we had one in place, you were gone. I was glad to hear it.” He walked around the desk. “I am not glad to hear he’s still tormenting you.”

  Jackson stepped over. “I told her you’d help with that.”

  “I will.” He touched Caroline’s cheek. “Never again will he get close to you. You have my word on it.”

  “Mine, too,” Jackson said.

  “I’m in on that.” Mr. Perini grunted.

  Overwhelmed, she croaked out a whisper. “Thank you. All of you.”

  Dexter Devlin cleared his throat. “Now, let’s get down to business. His morons are about two hours behind you, so we can’t linger.”

  “How did they find us?”

  Mr. Perini frowned. “Barry—my assistant—is sweeping your truck as we speak. My guess is they put a tracking device on it.”

  “I ran a quick check,” Jackson said. “But they could have planted one when I went back into the hotel to get Caroline.”

  “No problem,” Mr. Perini said. “If it’s there, Barry will find it.”

  They sat down and settled in on business and hashed out what they needed and why.

  Fifteen minutes later, Caroline signed a new will bequeathing the whole of her estate to a private off-shore corporation owned entirely by her new identity and executed several powers of attorney to Dexter Devlin. She passed him the papers. “There you go.”

  He double-checked each page. “The will you created after arriving in Dallas, leaving everything to Christine, is solid. We’ll put this will in storage for now, along with your new identity.”

  “Oh, I thought I’d die now and assume my new name before going on.”

  Jackson looked at Mr. Perini, who shrugged, saying, “No need to stage a death. No one’s here to see it.”

  Dex left the papers on the desk. “As soon as Jackson made contact, my staff updated our research. Martin shafted you in the divorce settlement, Caroline. We need the powers of attorney to track the assets and prove it. No doubt, he’s buried them deep, but we’ll r
ecover them.”

  Caroline fretted. “Does that mean I have to share my assets with him?”

  “No, you don’t. You inherited before marrying him. They’re yours.”

  “But he had control.”

  “Yes, he did.” Dex smiled, but there was no humor in it. “He hid them in his name in an off-shore account. You didn’t sign for that transfer, did you?”

  “No. I didn’t know he’d done it for a couple months.”

  “Which means, we can prove he forged your name and stole your inheritance from you.” Dex smacked his lips. “He’ll have to repay that.”

  “I don’t think he can afford to do that.” Not that he had to, since she’d retrieved the money.

  “Oh yes, he can afford it.” Dexter nodded to add weight to his claim. “But it will drain his liquid assets.”

  “It’s a moot point.” She lifted a hand. “I got my money back, Dex.”

  “Did you?” He dipped his chin. “We found where the account had been closed, but only he could close it. Your name wasn’t on the account, and the signature closing it was authenticated as his.”

  “Well, it was his, but . . . there were extenuating circumstances.” She blushed.

  “How did you do it?” Dex asked, not at all surprised. “Attorney client privilege is in effect.”

  “I didn’t forge anything,” she assured him. “I waited until his assistant came to the apartment with papers for Martin to sign and slipped it into the stack. Then, when he was leaving, I bumped into him. He spilled the papers, I removed my one, and that was that.”

  “Elegant.” Dex’s eyes gleamed approval. “I’m pleased, Caroline. That took courage.”

  “Desperation, not courage.”

  “You’ve got your money in a safe place now?”

  “I do. I waited until after the divorce was final, then deposited it under my maiden name. I regained use of it in the divorce.”

  “Yes, you did.” He smiled. “Well done.”

  “So he doesn’t have to repay anything,” she reiterated. “I have what’s mine.”

  Dex frowned. “Do you?” He tapped a long finger to his pursed lips. “He put it in. He took it out. That we can prove. He must prove he repaid you.”

  “I don’t want to go there. It’s not right.”

  “It’s leverage,” Dex said. “We’ll stash it for later, should we need it.”

  If Martin didn’t leave her alone, Dex would use that leverage. Otherwise, it’d stay in his back pocket. That worked for her. “Okay.”

  Dex rocked forward. “Then there’s the matter of the additional assets acquired during the course of your marriage.”

  “I forfeited those to get the divorce.”

  “They’re yours and we’re going to get them for you. You were under duress as a result of his abuse. Unless he wants to fight me in a public court and expose all of that, he will offer you a reasonable settlement.”

  She shifted, extremely uncomfortable. “I don’t need his money, Dex.”

  “No, you don’t. But it’s yours and he stole it from you. I won’t let that stand. And, after all the suffering you endured, you should have it. Maybe having to pay it will slow him down on raising his fists in the future.”

  What did she say to that? Having no idea, she held her silence.

  “Tell you what,” Dex said. “Let me handle this. When it’s all done, I’ll send word through Emily at Sampson Park. You stay put there until you hear from me.” He paused, caught his lower lip between his finger and thumb, then finally added, “I don’t think you have to die, Caroline. Not again.”

  She frowned. “I haven’t died before, Dex.”

  “Yes, my dear, you have. Every day you were with him, you died a little each and every day.” He stood up. “Now it’s time for you to live. I’ll handle Martin Easton, and he will be fair about this or I’ll take him down. He’s done his last damage to you.”

  She believed him. But his confidence could be misplaced. “Don’t underestimate him. Martin can be ruthless and he will be if pushed.”

  “I push back, my dear. You’re under our protection now. He might think he’s prepared to deal with us, but he’s a rank amateur.”

  Protected. Cherished. Guarded. Safe. “Thank you, Dex.” Unable not to, she hugged him.

  “Hey, don’t forget the old man.” Mr. Perini held open his arms, wiggled his fingers.

  She laughed and hugged him. “Thank you so much.”

  “Anything, anytime,” Mr. Perini said. “You’re family now, Caroline.”

  “What about me?”

  Turning, she hugged Jackson. “Thank you most of all.”

  Mr. Perini took a mobile call, listened and then replaced his phone to the case on his belt. “Barry found the bug. “Easton’s men will be here shortly. They’re not yet it town but it won’t be long.”

  “Totally my fault.” Jackson’s remorse filled the room.

  “It happens, Jackson,” Mr. Perini said. “Barry handled it, but they’ve followed you here. You won’t be safe until you get to the park.”

  They quickly said their good-byes and departed with whispered prayers on Caroline’s lips. Please, let us get to Sampson Park before they catch us. Please . . .

  EIGHT

  THEY ARRIVED AT the gate to Sampson Park just after midnight.

  As soon as the door opened, an elderly woman with silver hair and a huge smile rushed out to meet them, her arms extended. “Jackson!” She hugged him hard. “Oh, my boy, it’s so good to see you.”

  He laughed openly. “Miss Emily, you’re cutting off my air.”

  She loosened her hold on him and turned to Caroline. “If he’d come more often, I would remember myself. You must be Caroline.”

  “I am, yes.” Caroline smiled. She already liked this woman. No airs about her whatsoever. Rose had said there weren’t, and she’d assured Caroline she would love her life here. She dared to hope Rose was right.

  “Welcome,” Miss Emily told her. “Jackson, you staying?”

  “I’m afraid not. They’re too close to risk it.” He turned to Miss Emily. “Everything okay?”

  “Fabulous. We had a wonderful Christmas. I hope you did, too.”

  “It was great. We spent it with Rose and Matthew. They send their love.”

  “They need to visit,” she said, then added, “If the unwanted are hot on your heels, you’d best be going. Don’t you worry. We’ll take good care of her.”

  Caroline, who looked beyond the gate to the horse and carriage and the spindly old man standing beside it she presumed was the driver.

  “I know you will.”

  Miss Emily hugged him again, then sighed. “Well, I’ll be in the carriage when you’re ready, Caroline.”

  Jackson turned to Caroline, his eyes tender and filled with truth. “You’re safe now. You’ll always be safe here.”

  “No more evil Valentine.” She said it, dared to hope it, but it would take time to believe it. “How can I ever thank you, Jackson?” Overcome with emotion, she hugged him and didn’t let go.

  He curled his arms around her, squeezed, then released her and stepped back so he could look down into her face. “I’ll tell you exactly. Be well and happy. Build yourself a life you love. You do that, and I’ll be thanked and content.”

  “You’re a special man, Jackson Grant.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Because of you, I have the hope of that kind of life.”

  He grinned. “Your odds are better than even.”

  She laughed at the reminder of how Rose and Matthew had wound up in Even, Georgia. “Yes, they are.”

  “Heal and hope—and dare to dream, Caroline. You have every reason for all that and more.” Jackson squeezed her hands. “You’ll see. One day everything bad that happened in New York will just be faded memories.”

  “I look forward to that.”

  “Me, too.” He smiled then nodded. “Go on now. The carriage is waiting and Speckles isn’t as young as he used to be.” He
nodded at the elderly coachman with the shiny uniform buttons, holding the door open for her.

  Caroline turned, waved, and then walked through the gate into Sampson Park.

  Hope bubbled to life inside her. Hope—and something absent for a long time. Something that had left her the first time Martin showed his true colors. Now, it returned like a cherished friend.

  Peace.

  Author’s Note

  Sampson Park is fictional, but Shelter House, which is located in the general area of Sampson Park is real, and its services include a 24-hour hotline, crisis counseling, advocacy, outreach, primary prevention, transitional housing and confidential shelter in Okaloosa and Walton Counties in Florida. For specifics on services offered or how you can support Shelter House, please visit http://shelterhousenwfl.org. You can also find them on Facebook and on Twitter.

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  If you enjoyed Down and Dead in Even, try the first book in the Down and Dead, Inc. series, Down and Dead in Dixie:

  Two rival mob families, the FBI, local police and others try to force Jackson’s sister to testify or to not testify in a murder trial, but she discovers in Down and Dead in Dixie . . . sometimes to live, ya gotta die.

  Get a copy at Amazon .

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  About the Author

  Vicki Hinze, USA Today bestselling and award-winning author, has penned over thirty novels, multiple nonfiction books and hundreds of articles published in as many as sixty-three countries. She’s also a featured columnist at Social-In Global Network. Learn more at www.vickihinze.com or on her Amazon Author Page.