by Robin Caroll
At least it wasn’t personal. “But that would mean until he’s caught, no one is safe in the parish, right?”
“Very perceptive.” Hayden smiled at her, but it was grim not his usual charm, and her stomach closed off for a very different reason.
“So the police should let the public know to be careful. That’s easy enough.” Thomas took a sip from his mug. He couldn’t abide by cold tea, as he repeatedly informed everyone who asked. A little like a priss, but who was Riley to judge?
“Another theory is that the shooter is a professional in the area.” Rafe kept his stare on Riley as if he were trying to bore a hole in her.
“A professional? As in an assassin?” Riley laughed. “Why on earth would someone hire an assassin to kill me? That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.” No one else, not even Emily, laughed with her. “What? Y’all cannot think that’s the case. Come on, be serious.”
“This is very serious, Ri.” Rafe looked at Hayden, then back at her. “We’re running down forensics to identify him, but right now, that’s the theory we’re working from.”
“We? Don’t tell me the FBI is involved now. Come on, Rafe . . . that isn’t necessary. Hayden and his men can handle this.” Great. She’d heard Remington warn Rafe not to step on Hayden’s toes, yet here he was, pulling FBI rank.
“Actually, his help is valuable. He can access more databases than I. Or at least do it a whole lot faster.” Hayden’s smile warmed her from the inside out. “But thanks for being concerned about jurisdictions. Especially now that there are three levels involved: city, parish, and federal.”
“Well, don’t you feel special?” Emily teased.
“That’s a whole lot of attention for one lady.” Thomas took another sip of his hot tea. “You should feel extra safe now.”
Actually, she felt more scared now than before. Who could hate her so much they’d hire someone to kill her?
“Honey, you’ve gone twenty shades whiter than my lace tablecloth.” Ardy brought everyone’s attention right back to Riley.
“I th-think the pain meds have worn off. My shoulder’s getting really sore.” She blinked several times, trying to absorb everything, but she couldn’t. And the pain grew worse. “I think I need to lie down.”
Maddie, seated beside her, had her up in a flash.
“Y’all, please finish eating.” Riley forced a smile at Ardy. “It was delicious and I’ll have my pie when I get up.” She let her gaze flit around the table. “Please excuse me.”
Maddie helped her to the den and got her settled before bringing her a glass of water and her medication. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No. Thanks. I’ll rest for a little bit and then feel better.”
Her sister kissed Riley’s forehead. “Okay. I’ll be right outside if you need something. Holler.”
“Thanks, Mads. I love you.”
“Ditto, squirt.” She pulled the door closed.
Riley shifted, getting comfortable, but her mind wouldn’t relax. What had she done that was so awful someone would try to kill her? And here in Louisiana? Even worse was her next thought . . .
If Hayden and Rafe were right, he’d already tried twice. Would he try again?
Chapter Twenty-One
“‘Praise be to the LORD your God, who has delighted in you and placed you on his throne as king to rule for the LORD your God. Because of the love of your God for Israel and his desire to uphold them forever, he has made you king over them, to maintain justice and righteousness.’”
2 CHRONICLES 9:8
“Are you hiding out here, wanting to be alone?” Hayden held two cups of coffee as he stepped onto the patio.
Riley smiled. “Just enjoying the cool morning.”
“Mom told me how you take it.” He set one of the cups in front of her. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sure.” She reached for the coffee, noticing it was nicely colored. “Thank you.” She took a sip. Perfect, as if she’d made it herself. His attention to details important to her . . . well, it meant a lot to her. A whole lot.
“How’re you doing?” He lowered himself to the chair beside her. “I know last night’s discussion was a lot to assimilate.”
“About an assassin?” She shrugged with her uninjured shoulder. “I still don’t think that’s the case, but we’ll see.”
He stayed silent, sipping his coffee.
“And I know I’m safe here.”
Hayden chuckled. “Yeah, because Rafe has requested a special reassignment from the bureau and isn’t leaving until you do.”
She sighed. “I hate when he does that. Goes all big-brother-protective on me.”
“Hey, it’s a big brother’s right. I know.” He smiled, but there was seriousness, toughness, behind it.
Her pulse pounded, having nothing to do with the coffee’s caffeine. She stared out over the bayou.
“So, if it’s not being shot that’s bothering you, what has you looking so alone and bereft on a beautiful Saturday morning?”
“Work.” For one.
“Your series?”
“I still can’t grasp how Jasmine’s dad is in prison.” She shook her head. “I’ve read the trial transcript over and over. I can’t see how a jury could convict him. Except for the pawnshop owner’s testimony.” She gestured toward her arm in a sling. “As soon as I can, I’m going to talk with him. See if I can find out something.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Riley.”
“Why not? It was his testimony that sealed the conviction. The attorney who defended Armand didn’t really do an adequate cross-examination.” She took a drink of coffee. “I could’ve done a better job. He didn’t even ask for a photo lineup, nothing. A cut-and-dried case of mistaken identity.”
“What makes you say that?” There was no argument or defensiveness in Hayden’s tone, only curiosity.
“The questions he asked. Or didn’t ask.” She let out a frustrated breath. “He never asked if the witness wore glasses or contacts and if he had them on the day the item was pawned in his shop, supposedly by Armand. Or how long it had been since he’d had his eye exam and his prescription adjusted.”
“What if he already knew the man didn’t wear glasses, so it was a moot point?”
She smiled. “That would be interesting if there weren’t a copy of the man’s driver’s license in the file Mrs. Wilson gave me. He’s wearing some mighty big, old glasses in that picture.” She chuckled. “I won’t accuse anyone. I just want to ask the questions that should’ve been asked earlier.”
He nodded. “If you’d like me to go with you, I’ll see if I can arrange that. If you’d like me to, that is.”
Too bad it was morning so the dark couldn’t hide the blush she knew had to be flashing on her face. “I would. Thank you.”
A long silence ensued.
Hayden stretched his legs to prop his feet in the chair on the other side of the round iron table. “Anything else on your mind?”
How to voice what she felt? She took another sip of her coffee. “I guess you heard about Simon Lancaster getting parole?”
“Yeah, Remington told me. I’m really sorry, Riley.”
“It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
Riley closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair. “Sometimes, I forget what their voices sounded like. I have to think so hard to remember. Each year, the memory fades a bit more.” She let out a slow breath. “I can still see them, alive. Smiling. Laughing. But I can’t hear their laughter anymore.”
His hand took hold of hers and squeezed.
She kept her eyes closed. “I can remember the smell of Mom’s perfume on her skin, which smelled differently than the perfume in the bottle. As a young girl, I neve
r understood that. Mom explained that the scented oils of perfumes changed a slight bit when mixed with the natural oils of the body. Since each person’s oil is unique, the mixture of each person’s with the perfume would truly make each woman’s scent exquisitely her.” She smiled. “I always liked that thought. No matter if we all wore the same perfume, we’re all still unique.”
“That is nice.”
She sat up, pulling her hand into her lap. “I remember when I first started dating, Rafe was such a freak of a big brother, traumatizing and threatening any guy who came to pick me up. But Dad figured out why I stopped getting asked out and did something to help me. My prince. He would give Rafe a chore or something that had to be done around the time my date was due to pick me up. Rafe would never disappoint or disobey Dad, so guys eventually started asking me out again.”
Hayden chuckled. “Sounds like a good father.”
“He was.” Yearning for what could never be thickened her throat. “I miss them both so much. It’s not fair they were taken from us.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s wrong that they let him out, Hayden. Wrong.”
“I know.”
Tears burned her eyes. “It’s offensive that they let out someone who confessed to taking our parents from us yet keep Armand Wilson in prison away from his family when he’s innocent. Where’s the justice in that?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Riley.”
“It’s not justice.” She wiped the tears on her face on the sleeve of her uninjured shoulder. “We don’t have a justice system anymore . . . we have a legal system. The two are not the same thing.”
“Some might argue with you.”
Riley twisted to face him. “What about you? Which camp do you pitch your tent in on the issue?”
He stared out over the bayou for a long moment. “I think it depends.”
“On?”
“Each case. I think each situation has to be determined on the facts of that case and that case only.”
She snorted. “Spoken like a true cop.”
“It’s not that. Is our system perfect? No. Is it flawless? No.” He ran a hand over his hair. “But by and large, I believe our system is the best we have and we all must do our part to make it work.”
That wasn’t good enough. “Too diplomatic. How do you really feel about the system, overall?”
He was very quiet. Birds chirped. The wind blew, tickling Riley’s nose.
“I think, overall, the system works. I’m sorry, but I do.” He held up a hand. “That’s not to say I don’t believe mistakes are made, ones that should be corrected.”
While she understood he needed to believe in the system considering his career, as Rafe did overall, she just wanted someone to commiserate with her.
“I’m not saying the parole board should have let Lancaster out, Riley.” His voice came out soft, a breath of a whisper. “I work really hard to make cases against people I know are guilty. We follow the proper chain of evidence, we follow every policy and procedure, code and law—we get everything we can so the prosecutors can present all the evidence at the trial.”
She knew all this . . . had helped Corey Patterson pile up the evidence against Simon Lancaster. So did Rafe and Maddie. They all had ripped their hearts out to get whatever was needed for the trial.
“It kills me when we do everything by the book and then the prosecutor messes up and something gets thrown out or they have to dismiss charges. It’s not about all our hard work for nothing, but all about a criminal being out on the street.”
He stared her straight in the eye. “It makes me even madder when we do everything right and the prosecutors do and the judge and jury, only to have a parole board that doesn’t listen to the victims and lets people go free who haven’t proven rehabilitation. Yes, it pisses me off.”
“Sorry.” He glanced out over the bayou, his face red. “I know prisons are overcrowded and that’s a major problem. I agree criminals with crimes that had no victims should be punished in another manner. And that people who committed nonviolent crimes should possibly go the halfway-house route.”
“I can understand all that.” She wasn’t upset with him any longer. In fact, she needed to share something that had been on her heart for years. “Hayden, how do you balance your beliefs regarding the criminal system and your Christian faith?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?
Over the years, Hayden had asked himself that numerous times. Each time he had to mislead a suspect in order to get to the truth. Each time he had to withhold information to play a hunch. Every time he had to sit and swallow a known lie or bite his tongue to keep silent.
“I don’t mean to get into a deeply personal issue, it’s just . . .”
He knew. And understood. “You want to know about your feelings toward Lancaster in general, not just his parole?”
She nodded. “I know, as a Christian, I’m supposed to forgive my enemies. Forgive those who have sinned against me. So I know I’m supposed to forgive Simon Lancaster.” She rolled those penetrating blue eyes of hers. “And I’ve tried. I promise I have. But I can’t.”
Hayden searched for the words. Lord, guide my tongue to get the point You want made. “Are you asking me if that’s okay? Because I can’t give you permission to stay angry at someone.”
“I’m not asking for permission.” But her tone said otherwise. “I don’t . . . I guess . . .” She shook her head. “I just can’t make myself forgive him. No matter how much I know it’s the right thing to do. No matter that I know forgiveness is for me and not him. No matter how much I want this to stop eating at me. I still can’t. Not in my heart.”
“I understand.”
She shifted, adjusting her sling. “Do you?”
“Yeah, I do.” He stared over the water, wondering where to start. “I don’t know if Rafe or Remington said anything to you about me in regards to how they met.” He glanced at her.
She shook her head.
“Well, long story short, because of Rafe’s investigation, I had to confront my mother about my biological father. All my life, I’d assumed my father was my mother’s husband, her only husband. I mean, that’s a normal assumption most people would make, right?”
Riley nodded, her eyes a bit wider.
“So I asked her. Come to find out, I’d been wrong. My father was actually Remington’s godfather, Judge Daniel Tate, who had been murdered. Remington had witnessed the murder, knew the killers were FBI, so she went into hiding. She’d found my name and address in Daniel’s safe, so she came to Hopewell. After she changed her name to Bella Miller, of course.” He smiled at the shocked expression on Riley’s face. “But that’s a whole other story. Needless to say, Mom confessed that she’d had a . . . fling before she married the man I thought was my father.” It still raked against him to use the word fling. It sounded so cheap. Meaningless.
“And she got pregnant?”
“According to her, she loved Daniel, and my father. She came back home and married my father, then found out she was pregnant.” The back of his neck burned. “She knew Daniel was my father.”
“Did she tell Daniel?” Riley’s eyes were wider still.
“Yes. He agreed to let her husband raise me as his own, which is what happened. She never told my father, the man I thought was my father.” He swallowed hard. “Or me. Until I had to ask.”
“Wow.” She blinked, not focusing.
“I know. I felt like someone had punched me in the gut, multiple times.” Even now, several months later. “And I was angry. So angry. At Mom. At Daniel Tate. At Remington.”
“Remington?”
“Yeah. She knew when she came to Hopewell who I was. She talked with my mother about it.”
“Why?”
�
�I’m still not real sure how that all came to pass, but it’s irrelevant now. Either way, all I wanted to do was hit something. Hard. Really hard. Yell at how unfair it was. How they’d hurt me. They’d lied. They’d kept secrets. They’d schemed so I wouldn’t know who I really was.” Hayden forced his breathing to regulate. “Even now, I still get upset.”
“So you do understand. You haven’t forgiven them entirely.”
“No, I’ve forgiven them. But just because you forgive someone, doesn’t mean the pain automatically goes away. Betrayal still hurts, even if you know the reason and semi-understand. I still have trouble trusting. Women. Close to me. Grief still hurts, even if you know the person is with God. Does that make sense?” But sitting here . . . talking with Riley . . . he felt like he’d known her forever.
And he trusted her.
Riley sat a little straighter in the patio chair. A cool breeze lifted strands of her light brown hair. “Kind of.”
“One night I was reading Scripture and the Holy Spirit pressed upon me the need to pray for God to give me the grace to forgive.”
She wrinkled her nose, looking absolutely adorable. It tugged at his gut. Hard. He shook off the attraction, knowing he needed to help her. “I realized that God wanted my obedience more than He wanted me to forgive. By wanting to forgive, that’s Christ in me. By admitting I’m human and not able to get past my fleshy wants, that’s confession. By praying for God to remove my anger and open my heart to forgiveness, that’s obedience.”
She sat very still, staring at him with such openness and honesty it almost hurt.
“Does that make sense?”
“In a roundabout way, yeah, it does.” She smiled. “I’ve been trying to make myself forgive Simon Lancaster of my own strength, when I can’t.”
“And you were never supposed to be able to do anything alone. Everything we do is dependent on God.”
“So I’ve been wasting all my efforts on wanting to do what’s right, without being able to do so.”