Don't Say a Word

by Rita Herron

  Apparently the mayor wanted to honor both him and Jean-Paul for their part in capturing the copycat Mutilator.

  Decorations glittered with red, white and blue along the French Quarter. Flags waved from houses and street corners commemorating war heroes, and a wall of plaques with names of the fallen soldiers stretched across the market. Another held names of victims of Katrina.

  Local artists sold a mixture of craft items, souvenirs, dolls, Mardi Gras masks, beads, voodoo paraphernalia, toy crocodiles, and pictures of the town before and after the hurricane—all with a portion of the revenue going to a fund contributing to the restoration of the city.

  A parade boomed through the town with street musicians, colorful floats, balloons, costume-clad dancers, clowns on stilts, and a full band playing a mixture of local jazz and blues tunes blended with patriotic melodies, a true celebration of the culture of the Vieux Carré. A stage had been set up featuring local Dixieland jazz musicians, dancers, magicians, mimes and vocalists, while food booths offered everything from beignets to full-course Cajun jambalaya, and oyster and shrimp po’ boys.

  Damon arrived just in time to watch the parade, then made his way to the center stage where the mayor waited with a half-dozen soldiers in uniform. Families of the men and women gathered around, and the speech began, commemorating various soldiers who’d died serving the country as well as the ones present. Cheers, clapping and salutes erupted, and Damon congratulated the others. Jean-Paul waved through the crowd and approached, and Damon looked out and spotted his parents. He searched for Antwaun’s face, but didn’t see him anywhere.

  “Where is he?” he asked Jean-Paul.

  “He had to clean up first,” Jean-Paul said. “But he said he’d be here.”

  “He knows about the café?”

  Jean-Paul nodded grimly. “Yes. And, Damon, Jacqueline called when I was at the station. She was looking for you.”

  His heart hammered with worry. “Was she all right?”

  Jean-Paul offered him a sympathetic look. “Yes. But she claims her cousin confided in her the name of the dirty cop.”

  Please, God, not Antwaun. “Antwaun’s partner?”

  “No. Lieutenant Phelps. Internal Affairs has him in interrogation now and has already gotten a warrant for his office and home.”

  Dammit. “He was so righteous when he arrested him.”

  “I know. Turns out he was heavily involved in gambling and owed Swafford big bucks. Hopefully he’ll lead us to Swafford himself and we can tie up that loose end.”

  Damon sighed. Maybe the danger was finally over. Jacqueline was safe. And Antwaun…could return to his job.

  Damon and Jean-Paul fell silent as the mayor offered a quick speech, then handed out awards to several soldiers, honoring their bravery. The mayor clapped Jean-Paul on the back, listed his heroic acts during Katrina, his own service experience, then announced that the copycat Mutilator had been caught, giving credit to Jean-Paul, Damon, the local police and Kendra herself.

  Jean-Paul accepted the award and shook his hand, then smiled at Britta, who stood to the side of the stage, beaming with pride.

  The mayor turned to Damon, listed his accomplishments and reiterated how he’d nearly died getting justice for Kendra Yates and her mother. Damon stepped forward, prepared to dispute his hero status when Jacqueline’s face appeared in the crowd. For a minute, he couldn’t breathe. He was so damn glad she was alive.

  But she hated him, could never forgive him for what he’d done….

  All the more reason he had to come clean. He cleared his throat and stepped up to the microphone. “I’m honored to stand here with the true heroes of our war and our city.” He gestured toward the soldiers seated onstage. “I personally want to thank them for the sacrifices they’ve made for us. My prayers remain with them and their families.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “But I am not a hero, just a man who has tried to fight evil both overseas and here in the city. But I have made mistakes…”

  Jacqueline pushed through the crowd to him and rushed near the front of the stage, an urgent look on her face. “Please, Damon, don’t. I have to talk to you.”

  He met her gaze, shocked at the need he saw in her eyes. Then fear slammed into him. Did she need to tell him something important? Swafford might have resurfaced. What if he’d come after her?

  He thanked the mayor, then descended the stairs and pulled her aside.

  The band burst into “America the Beautiful” while he zeroed in on Jacqueline’s bruised face, the knife wound on her neck, the bandages on her hands. His stomach churned at the sight, while another part of him soaked up her image. He was desperate to hold her in his arms and love her again. “What is it? Are you all right?”

  “I remembered what happened that day, Damon. Everything that happened.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “It wasn’t your fault that I almost died in that fire. It was Diego’s.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “Jacqueline, I set the explosion. I’m responsible.”

  She shook her head, then gripped his arm. Dammit, he wanted to believe that she’d forgiven him, that they could have a long-lasting love like his parents, like Catherine and her husband Sean, and Jean-Paul and Britta, but he didn’t deserve her forgiveness or love.

  “It’s true,” she whispered. “Kendra came to me at my father’s funeral, explained about her investigation. She was in love with Antwaun, but thought he was dirty, so she investigated him. Then she found out about his birth father being the Mutilator. She traced him somehow to Cal, then found out about the E-team and Diego. She told me Diego was bad.”

  Damon gripped her arms.

  “I didn’t want to believe her, that I could have been so stupid. So I went to see Diego to find out.”

  He nodded, his chest tight and aching. “That’s when I saw you come in the house?”

  “Yes. I heard him on the phone discussing a hit. Then I knew Kendra was right. When I tried to turn and escape, Diego hit me and knocked me out. That was before the explosion, Damon.” She wet her dry lips, her eyes full of conviction. “He would have killed me, if you hadn’t killed him first.”

  Damon was still haunted by the image of her lying in that fire, of hearing Cal saying she was dead. He felt the cool, fragile plastic of the baby rattle in his hands…“But if I hadn’t blown up the damn building, you wouldn’t have been burned, been in the hospital for months.”

  “Diego was a cold-blooded killer who murdered my father, and used me to get to him. If you hadn’t blown him up, Diego would have killed me and disposed of my body. You know it’s true, Damon.” She jerked at his hands, forced him to look at her. “It’s not your fault. You got rid of a killer. Diego deserved to die.”

  She was right, but still, guilt weighed on him. She’d suffered so much, he wanted to make it up to her…. “But how could you forgive me?” he asked. “I found that bébé rattle…My God, you were pregnant.” He dropped his head forward, sweating, guilt assaulting him again. “I’ve heard that bébé’s cry in my sleep.”

  She cupped his face between her hands. “That rattle belonged to Kendra, Damon. I wasn’t pregnant. She was.”

  Damon jerked his gaze back to hers. “Kendra was pregnant?”

  “Yes, she was going to have Antwaun’s baby. She said she might have to disappear for a while to keep the baby safe.”

  “But Cal killed her first,” Damon growled. “Jesus. On top of learning about his birth, knowing Kendra was pregnant with his baby when she died, that will kill Antwaun.”

  “I’m sorry, Damon.”

  He slid his hands up to her face. “You have nothing to apologize for, Jacqueline, ma douce amie. You were innocent in all this.”

  “No, I was taken in by Diego. For that I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “He would have killed your father anyway,” Damon said gently. “You know that.”

  She nodded, conceding his point.

  He brushed her cheek with his fing
ertips. “Sa me fait de le pain.”

  She turned her hand into his palm. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m sorry.” Damon’s voice cracked. “I wish I could take back all the pain I caused you…”

  Tears glittered in her eyes, and she traced a finger down his jaw. The gesture was so tender and sweet that moisture pooled in his eyes.

  “I know,” she said softly. “But I also know that you tried to save me, Damon. I heard your voice, telling me not to die.”

  He stroked her arms with his fingertips, aching to kiss her. “I wanted you to live more than anything.”

  “I’m alive now, and so are you.” She twined her arms around his neck. “We can both make up for the past.”

  He gazed into her eyes, and the pain of the past faded as her love enveloped him. Antwaun might see Kendra’s face when he looked at her, but Damon didn’t.

  “I want that so much,” Damon said softly. “I love you, ma belle.”

  “I love you, too, Damon.”

  He no longer thought of her as Crystal, the faceless woman with no past, or Kendra, a brave woman who’d died trying to expose evil in the town. Jacqueline was a brave, strong woman in her own right, one who offered him trust, love and forgiveness.

  Unable to resist, he lowered his head and kissed her with all the passion and emotion that he’d had bottled up for the last year.

  He had a second chance with her, and he was going to take it. And just like his parents, their love would last the rest of their lives.

  * * *

  ANTWAUN’S HEART POUNDED as he watched his parents congregate on the square with Jean-Paul and Britta, Catherine and her family, Stephanie, and Damon and the woman Jacqueline.

  He was supposed to meet the family here to celebrate his release.

  But they were not his family at all.

  He gripped the manila envelope holding the file Kendra had on him between clammy hands. His partner had discovered it in Lieutenant Phelps’s desk and had handed it to him when he’d been released.

  He’d read the contents and had been shocked.

  He was not a Dubois at all, but the son of the Mutilator, Frederick Fenton, a cold-blooded serial killer serving life in the state pen.

  Damon glanced up through the crowd and spotted him, and their gazes locked. Antwaun shifted and held the folder up, and Damon’s face blanched.

  So Damon knew his family’s secret. Jean-Paul probably did, too. What about Catherine and Stephanie?

  Had everyone in the family known that he was the bastard son of a killer except him?

  Rage heated his blood. He couldn’t go back to the force, not after this past week. And he couldn’t join the happy little family who’d lied to him all his life.

  Damon started toward him, but he sent the man he’d once called his brother a scowl, then he turned and disappeared into the crowd. He was all alone now. The family he’d once loved not a family at all. The woman he’d wanted to marry…dead, too.

  And Jacqueline’s face could always be a reminder of the woman he’d loved and lost.

  He had no idea where to go, but he couldn’t stay here in New Orleans.

  EPILOGUE

  November, three months later

  INSIDE THE HOUSE, he knew the Duboises had gathered for their Thanksgiving feast. There would be heaping bowls of vegetables, desserts, a huge turkey, gravy and all the trimmings. His sisters and his niece, his two brothers and their wives would all be talking at once.

  His throat clogged and he swallowed back emotions. Would they welcome him if he knocked on the door, or look at him as a madman’s son?

  Antwaun parked his car in front of the Dubois homestead, his gut knotted with tension. The last few months he’d struggled with the fact that they had lied to him. That they weren’t his birth family. That Frederick Fenton was his real father.

  With the fact that Damon’s new wife looked like Kendra.

  He’d left New Orleans angry, feeling betrayed, wanting revenge for her brutal murder. And for his child’s….

  And he’d found Swafford.

  Then the unexpected.

  The woman sitting next to him slid her hand over his and squeezed his fingers in silent understanding. “I’ll wait in the car if you need a moment alone with them.”

  He nodded and tried to smile, but his lips felt glued together. Then he opened the car door, climbed out and went to the front door. Several cats appeared at the edge of the property as if guarding it. For a moment, he wondered if they would sense the evil in him and attack. But one loped up onto the stoop, rubbed against his leg and purred.

  He relaxed slightly, but his hands felt sweaty. He wiped them on his jeans and knocked. Boisterous laughter and noise echoed from the other side; then the door swung open and his mother appeared.

  God, he’d missed her.

  “Antwaun!” She threw her hands to her cheeks and burst into a smile, then grabbed him and wrapped him in her arms. “Oh, my baby, you’ve come back to us. And you do not knock at your own home. You just come in.”

  She turned and shouted to the others, and he felt himself on the verge of crying, blinking fiercely. Within seconds, his entire family had encircled him, welcoming him back with hugs and kisses. He hugged them in return, nearly choking as his papa dragged him close and clapped him on the back.

  “It hasn’t been right without you, son.”

  His sisters were next, followed by Jean-Paul and his very pregnant wife. Then Damon. Damon was the most hesitant, studying him warily as his wife, Jacqueline, moved up beside him.

  Antwaun extended his hand. “Sorry I missed the wedding.”

  Damon’s guarded look morphed into a smile, and for a moment Antwaun’s gaze rested on Jacqueline and he saw Kendra. But then she spoke, and the image faded, and he saw her as she actually was. Kendra’s cousin, not Kendra.

  Finally, when everyone pulled away, his mother tried to usher him to the table.

  “Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “First, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Puzzled looks met his, and he nearly grinned, knowing they would be as shocked as he had been.

  But it was a great surprise.

  He hurried back to the car, and a minute later, returned with his surprise. The family had been eagerly waiting.

  “Mom, Dad, everyone…this is my wife.” He grinned at the baby in her arms. “And my daughter, Whitney.”

  Gasps greeted his announcement. “What?” “When?”

  “Tell us more,” his mother said.

  His beautiful wife stepped forward. “I’m Kendra.” She turned to Jacqueline, her voice warbling with emotions. “I’m so glad you survived.”

  Jacqueline’s shock mirrored the others’. “Kendra, is it really you?”

  “I know I look different,” she said, touching her face self-consciously. “But, yes, it’s me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jacqueline said. “How? They said you were dead… the fingerprints…”

  “I knew Swafford was on to me,” Kendra began, “and that he was working with a dirty cop. I’d already traced him to Dr. Pace, the plastic surgeon, and to some financing schemes with Diego Bolton. By then I feared for my life, and when I found out I was pregnant, I decided I had to disappear until the baby was born. I pleaded with Dr. Pace, and he contacted a friend in the WITSEC program who altered my fingerprints and DNA in all the databases. After I had the baby, I intended to enter the witness protection program, maybe even have plastic surgery. So I hid out until Whitney was born.”

  “She’s beautiful,” his maman said, with tears in her eyes.

  Kendra hugged the baby to her. “I know and I wanted to contact Antwaun and tell him everything, but couldn’t take the chance. Then when I heard Diego was killed, and that Jacqueline was missing, and I knew she’d intended to confront Diego that day…well…I thought she was dead.” She paused and looked at Jacqueline, her heart in her eyes. “I was devastated. But later I found out about a woman be
ing brought into the hospital mysteriously and that Dr. Pace was treating her, and I starting poking around and discovered it was you.” She clasped Jacqueline’s hand. “I was so glad you were alive, but I had to stay hidden.”

  Jacqueline wiped at her tears and hugged her cousin. “And I’m happy you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Damon frowned. “But Dr. Pace never said a word.”

  Kendra smiled sadly. “I convinced him that secrecy was the only way to keep me, my baby and Jacqueline alive. In the end, he wasn’t such an entirely bad man.”

  Damon cleared his throat. “But Pace said that Jacqueline received your skin, the skin of a cadaver.”

  Kendra touched her face again. Antwaun knew she was still getting used to the way she looked, as was he. But he loved her and didn’t care whose face she wore. Just knowing all she’d sacrificed to save their child had melted his anger and intensified his love for her.

  “I planned to have plastic surgery anyway, in case Swafford’s people came after me. Jacqueline had rejected another donor’s skin and was near death, so we figured her only chance was a relative. So I let Dr. Pace remove my skin and transplant it on to Jacqueline, then I received the cadaver’s face.”

  “So what about the woman Cal killed?” Jean-Paul asked. “He thought she was you?”

  Kendra swallowed hard. “Yes, she was my informant, had worked for Swafford’s minions. She was scared and was staying at my place at the time.” She shivered, and Antwaun knew she still blamed herself for the other woman’s death, as she did for her mother’s. “Cal thought he’d killed me, and told Dr. Pace so. Dr. Pace convinced Cal to let him use the cadaver for her skin.” She paused again. “He made sure Cal believed I was dead, and that the prints and DNA matched.”

  The family was gaping now in obvious amazement. Damon turned to Antwaun. “How did you find her?”

  Antwaun scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “When I first left here, I was angry. Felt betrayed. All I wanted to do was find Swafford and get revenge.” His voice grew low. “And I did.”