Ren and Della: Boxed Set (Ribbon Duet Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  “I agree, it’s not. But Liam, bless his heart, overheard what you told Mom and Dad that night. He was hiding on the stairs.”

  “What?”

  She winced. “He knew you’d been bought, and the people who kept you were called Mclary. He heard Della was theirs and how you ran away with her.”

  I tripped backward. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Oh, no.” Della turned white.

  “Goddammit!” Raking a hand through my hair, I glowered. “I only told John and Patricia, so I could prove she wasn’t my sister—not for that information to become public knowledge!”

  “I know. And he feels sick about it, but he was a kid, Ren.” Cassie’s face etched with apology. “All he heard was a story about cattle brands and fingers being cut off and you saying the police were probably after you for kidnapping Della. It was too juicy not to tell his friends.”

  “Shit.” I hung my head. “I should never have said anything.”

  “But Ren never kidnapped me,” Della said, strained and stressed. “He didn’t know. And anyway, my parents weren’t exactly the best people in the world. He did me a favour taking me from them.”

  “I know that.” Cassie nodded. “And Liam knows he screwed up. I’ve yelled at him—many times. Only, the gossip he shared when he was in school has circulated enough for it to reach the ears of parents and teachers, and now…well; now you’re back in town, and I guess it got them talking again.”

  Squeezing the back of my neck, I paced the small room. At the time, when I’d stood before Patricia and John and given them enough information to ruin my life, I’d been fully prepared to be waltzed out of there in handcuffs.

  Back then, I didn’t care as I would’ve sacrificed my freedom to ensure Della could stay with them.

  But now…now, I had too much to lose.

  My eyes met Della’s. “We need to leave. Right now.”

  Della didn’t speak, just nodded and immediately turned to the backpacks we’d unpacked by the dresser.

  Cassie stood by the door, watching as we prepared to pack up any hope of staying here for winter.

  John was right when he sent us away.

  We shouldn’t have come.

  “You-you can’t leave. Not again,” Cassie murmured. “Dad needs you, Ren. We all want you to stay.”

  “We can’t.” I grabbed a bag from Della and wrenched open a drawer where we’d stuffed our clothes, fighting a cough. “I won’t lose her. Not now. I didn’t do anything wrong—”

  “Stop.”

  Everything inside me slammed into a brick wall.

  My head shot up, eyes locking onto the two shadows behind Cassie. They morphed from the stable gloom, two uniformed officers who I recognised from selling a couple of hay bales to on and off over the years.

  Della froze, dropping her bag. “Wait. No.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” The older of the two with a greying moustache stepped closer, scanned all three of us, then said, “Ren Wild, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Della Mclary and you’re coming with us.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2020

  I’D BEEN TRAPPED before.

  It was so long ago now that time had healed me from a lot of it, but sitting in a brightly lit room with a locked door, two-way mirror, and handcuffs that had been removed from my wrists glinting silver on the table, shot me straight back to a different type of captivity.

  Here, I wasn’t expected to work until I passed out or eat scraps before the pigs could get them, but I was expected to give them something.

  Something I didn’t know how.

  The door opened, depositing a visitor into my tiny prison. The officer with his greying moustache and skinny frame sighed wearily as if working through the night was about as fun for him as it was for me.

  He scuttled into the spare chair on the opposite side of the table.

  The manila folder in his hands slapped against the table, and he gave me an exasperated smile.

  I didn’t buy it, but I did buy his exhaustion and the fact that he was old, tired, and wasn’t out for a witch hunt…just doing his job as an upholder of the law and protecting his town’s citizens.

  “So…” He cleared his throat and splayed his hands flat on the table on either side of the folder. “I know we asked you before, but you have to give us something.”

  I leaned back in the chair, stiff and slightly chilled from sitting there for so long. My lungs ached and the slight rattle in my chest pissed me off. “I’m not evading your questions. If I knew the answers, I would give them.”

  He frowned. “So, you still don’t know where the Mclary’s farm is? You don’t know your mother’s name? You can’t prove anything of what you told me? That you were bought for labour and ran away when you were ten?”

  “I have no evidence. I don’t even know my real last name. All I know is I didn’t cut my finger off—Willem Mclary did. I didn’t brand my hip—Willem Mclary did. The only crime I’m agreeing to is I did take their daughter, but not by choice. I was a kid running for his life. The last thing I wanted was a baby.”

  I chuckled, remembering the juvenile hate I’d had for her when I’d first found her in my bag. “She’d squashed all my rations and drained me of all my strength. If I wasn’t so sure they’d have killed me, I would’ve gone back and dropped her off.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t.”

  He tapped the table with a fingernail. “But that was nineteen years ago. You could’ve dropped her off at any other point. To any police station in any town.”

  “I tried.”

  He sat up taller. “Ah, yes. In the town you didn’t know with a family you can’t name.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You left her for a couple of days?”

  “Yes. Like I told you, I only went back because I saw her on TV. Some news reporter said she’d be put in foster care if no one claimed her. I might’ve hated her back then, but she didn’t deserve to be lost.”

  My heart pinched a little with memories. Of her blistering joy when I’d gone back. Of my profound connection knowing I would never leave her again. That I would do anything it took to give her the life she deserved. That I was in love with her as deeply and as truly as anyone could love another—regardless of age.

  Silence fell as the cop stared at me. His name was Martin Murray and he was a good man. Honest and hardworking and I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t afraid of being coerced into confessing something I didn’t do. I was only afraid of the repercussions that I legitimately deserved for taking something that wasn’t mine.

  I wasn’t trying to deny that fact.

  I was merely trying to make them see that I’d never hurt Della. I’d done everything I could to raise her right. And just had to hope that that offered some leniency for my crime. And I also had to hope that Della forgave me if I ended up in jail and left her on her own.

  At least she had the Wilsons again.

  At least she was safe.

  Is she thinking about me?

  What sort of panic was she going through since I’d been marched from our bedroom and stuffed into the police cruiser?

  I coughed, missing her so damn much.

  Finally, Martin Murray laughed with a thread of frustration. “You know, I’ve seen you grow up. Not that often, but I walked the beat when you were busy picking up Cassie Wilson so she didn’t drive home drunk. Wherever you were, Della was by your side. It was stranger seeing you two apart rather than together. I know you treated her well. And I know in your mind, it wasn’t kidnapping. I’m not trying to throw you in jail, Mr. Wild. I’m only trying to solve this case.”

  “You know my name is Ren. Use it.”

  He nodded once. “You have to understand how difficult you’re making this investigation.”

  “Not my intention.” Sitting still, I waited for the next question—yet another thing I couldn’t answer. But he sig
hed again and opened the file. “I have something to show you.”

  “Okay…” I shifted forward, leaning closer. My eyes locked on the typed front page of whatever document he had. A bunch of numbers decorated the top, along with the words unsolved and a date and then a name.

  Della’s name.

  Missing Case of Della Donna Mclary.

  She had a middle name.

  I never knew.

  My mouth went dry as he flicked over the page and slipped out a glossy photo of the place that haunted my nightmares. “Is this their farm?”

  Words vanished down my throat, leaving me mute.

  I nodded around a harsh cough.

  The same dilapidated farmhouse with its rotten veranda and haphazard shutters. The same barn in the distance where I’d slept with other stinky, starving kids. The machinery and tractors and animal feed all scattered uncared for in the muddy yards.

  I hadn’t forgotten anything about it.

  Not a single thing.

  Not the sweat on my back or the pain in my muscles or the fever in my blood.

  Not the soul-crushing feeling of abandonment and abuse.

  Martin held up another image. “This them? Willem and Marion Mclary?”

  Again, I hadn’t forgotten a single thing.

  From the dirty dungarees Willem wore to the faded sundress his wife preferred. Everything was grimy and unloved and held an aura of perpetual greed.

  I nodded again.

  “And this?” His third photo showed Della.

  A rosy cheeked baby who didn’t belong. A baby with inquisitive blue eyes and a ribbon twisted around her chubby fist. All she wore was a diaper and a food splattered purple bib.

  She sat in her highchair in the same kitchen where I’d scurried like a cockroach and stolen crumbs from the floor when they weren’t looking.

  My voice returned, its volume restored thanks to the baby who taught me how to read and write. “That’s her. Della Mclary.”

  “Why do you call each other Wild now?”

  “Because she chose that for us to share.”

  “But it’s not a legitimate name?”

  “No.”

  His forehead furrowed. “How have you gone this long in life using a fake name with no documentation?”

  I shrugged. “Luck?”

  He chuckled. “I think you make your own luck, Ren.”

  “I make my own way, if that’s what you mean.”

  We made eye contact and smiled.

  I’d found an unlikely friend in this cop. This cop trying to persecute me for a nineteen-year-old unsolved crime.

  Pulling a wad of papers out, Martin skimmed the text before giving me some information, for a change. “Della was reported missing by her father. When the local police went to their farm to write up the report, they made a note of lack of sanitation and signs of other inhabitants in the barn. You said that’s where you slept with the others?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t the police see them when they went over?”

  “There was a bunker.” I flicked through the rolodex of things from that time. “Mclary was a doomsdayer. Had a bunker full of food and supplies. He’d stuff us all down there if he got whiff of a visitor coming.” I laughed, not that it was a laughing matter. “It was a monthly occurrence, thanks to the pastor having a drink or two with Willem. He donated to the church, you see…keeping up his image.”

  “And how many children were there with you?” Martin picked up a pen, holding it above a blank piece of paper.

  “Not sure.” I frowned, doing my best to count when, back then, I didn’t know how numbers worked. “Ten. Fifteen, perhaps?”

  “And all boys?”

  “No. Not all boys.” My black look gave him all he needed to know. “The girls were Mclary’s favourite.”

  Martin whitened, scribbling something down. “And you don’t know where they went after they were burned out on the farm?”

  “A few were killed, I know that much. And a man in a black suit came and took others away. Another sale. Another transaction. Don’t know what happened after that.”

  The cop, whose entire career was probably based on writing up DUIs and sorting out domestic disputes, put down his pen and rubbed his eyes. Those sort of images weren’t the kind you could rub away.

  Slowly, he sifted through the file again and pulled out another document. “What I’m about to tell you may or may not have power over what your future holds, but after your arrest, we did our best to track down the Mclary’s. To tell them the good news that we’ve found their missing daughter.”

  I kept my emotions hidden about that.

  I would kill them all before they took Della away from me.

  “They’re dead. Both of them.”

  I jerked in my chair. “How long?”

  Turned out…I didn’t need to kill anyone.

  “Six years.”

  “How?”

  “Marion Mclary shot Willem point-blank with a shotgun, then turned it on herself.”

  My mouth fell open. “What?”

  “Murder and suicide.” Martin shrugged. “The case was open and shut. Their estate was placed into the hands of the bank that’d been threatening foreclosure for years, but it never sold.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means the farm is untouched, and we might find evidence of what you’re saying.”

  “And if you do?”

  “Then there is no crime as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Are you authorised to make that call?”

  Martin stood. “This is my town, and you’re my citizen. I’ve known you since you were a teen, and John has been ringing my phone every ten minutes, demanding you be released. He vouches for you. We can’t hold you for longer than twenty-four hours without evidence, and hopefully whatever evidence we do find absolves any wrongdoing, and this will just be a minor inconvenience.”

  I looked up at him, towering like a praying mantis. “So…now what?”

  “Now, you and me are taking a little road trip. And hopefully, when we come back, all this mess will be sorted out, once and for all.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  DELLA

  * * * * * *

  2031

  INCIDENT NUMBER ONE.

  The first of the five I warned you about.

  Ren’s arrest for my supposed kidnapping.

  I don’t need to explain the level of panic I faced as the police took him away. How I sprinted after the cruiser, hammering on the window until I couldn’t run fast enough. How I collapsed on the road with my knees bitten by gravel, and my tears tearing air from my lungs. How Cassie picked me up and dragged me into the house and how John got on the phone and made an absolute nuisance of himself demanding information on Ren.

  It was the longest night of my life.

  Three times, I tried to steal John’s Land Rover keys and drive to where they’d taken Ren. And three times, John had taken them from me with a stern look and sterner wisdom that attacking a police officer and making threats wasn’t the way to end this smoothly.

  By the time dawn arrived, everyone was exhausted and still in yesterday’s clothes waiting for news—any news.

  And then, the phone call came that Ren was being taken out of town for a while, and I well and truly lost it.

  I grabbed the phone from John and threw curse words down the line to whomever was unlucky enough to listen. I threatened and pleaded and cried, only for the stoic voice of authority to say it was a matter that needed to be concluded, and this was the fastest way.

  I was hung up on.

  I should’ve breathed deep and centred myself.

  I should’ve allowed John to talk sense into me and calm down enough to understand that they couldn’t really separate us.

  Could they?

  I didn’t know if they could. I didn’t know how the law worked, or what they could charge him with, or how long they’d keep him from me.

  All I knew wa
s I’d lived the worst time of my life when Ren left me, and I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t sit by and let them do this to us. I couldn’t let them take his freedom.

  So, I bolted across the driveway to the disarray of our room and dumped out Ren’s backpack onto his bed.

  The last thing to fall out was my manuscript, wrapped in plastic and bound with string, protected at all costs.

  It was my only piece of evidence that Ren hadn’t taken me maliciously or held me against my will. My only way of proving this was all a massive misunderstanding.

  I despised my parents for what they did to him. As far as I was concerned, they were dead and always would be. They were despicable human beings, and Ren was a freaking saint in comparison.

  I expected a fight when I slung on some clean clothes, tied my hair with my ribbon, and flew back across the drive. I anticipated having to run to the police station with no car to make my journey swifter.

  But I shouldn’t have doubted.

  Cassie and John stood by the ancient Land Rover, keys jingling in anxious hands, a look of going to battle on their faces.

  I didn’t burst into tears again, but I did hug them fiercely and climbed into the back seat where Cassie kept flicking glances at my manuscript but didn’t dare ask what it was.

  And when we arrived at the police station, we were almost too late.

  Ren had been given a clean black t-shirt and black coat that came to his thighs. With his scruffy jeans and weathered boots, he looked like a surly detective about to go study a corpse. He strode from the station with an officer beside him, face unreadable and hands balled.

  “Della.”

  His look of shock unravelled me, and tears spilled down my face. All I wanted to do was leap into his arms and offer up anything to trade his life for mine. But I did the only thing I could.

  Ignoring him, I locked my attention on the grey-haired officer beside him and ran at full speed with my manuscript in outstretched hands as if it held all the answers.

  “He didn’t kidnap me. He was a minor. He didn’t know any better. Please—” Shoving the heavy paper into the policeman’s arms, I demanded. “Read it. It has everything you need to know. The only way I can prove I was happy with Ren. Happier than I’d ever be with parents who bought and sold children for their own gain. Please, you have to believe me. Release him.”