Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  Matt nodded.

  As the two of them exited, Joe closed the door to the den.

  Mel resorted to doing what she always did when she was under stress, working with plants. She headed for the basement. Her Spanish lavender was root-bound and in desperate need of transplant. As she carried it toward the stairs, the lock in the kitchen door turned.

  Everything stopped as Luke walked in. Observing his dirty clothes, his battered face, she held back a startled cry, but refrained from voicing concern.

  He glanced down at the floor. “Hi, Mom.”

  She swallowed hard. “Hi, Luke.”

  She placed the plant on the counter and wiped her clammy palms on her jeans. This was the boy she’d raised from infancy, and yet she felt like she was looking into the eyes of a stranger. “Are you hungry?”

  His face turned red and he shrugged. “Starving.”

  “Would you like to take a shower while I make you something to eat?”

  “Aren’t you going to yell or something?”

  She took a step forward, then hesitated. “Maybe later, okay?” Then all of her fear and heartbreak swirled into one tumultuous emotion and she walked toward him. Taking the big kid in her arms, she hugged him. He hugged her back, and she whispered, “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I―”

  Tears clogged her throat. “Go take that shower. We’ll talk afterward.”

  So much for leftovers. Before Luke devoured the remaining portion, Mel took a plate over to Matt. As much as she wanted to stay and thank him for coming to Luke’s rescue, she didn’t have time. She had a mixed-up teen to contend with, and she intended to make things right between them.

  A short time later, Luke scrounged around in the refrigerator, “Are there any more sandwiches?”

  She smiled and shook her head. Reaching around him, she said, “Sorry. We have chocolate pudding,” then risked mentioning his injury. “It might feel good on that lip.” She handed him the dessert in one of her favorite glass dishes, then removed an ice pack from the freezer. “This might help, too.”

  Then like a turned-on faucet, Luke’s words gushed out, and he started to talk. He explained that finding the summons had added to his anger from the night before. “After our fight, and the fact you didn’t say anything, I just kind of lost it.”

  Mel placed a hand over his. “I was only served last night, Luke. I wanted to talk to your grandparents before I involved you, and as it turned out, we have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  Dark circles shadowed his eyes. She was about to suggest he go to bed, but he’d opened the lines of communication and wasn’t through talking. “Why would Gramps and Gram do this now? ‘Cause Dad died? After all this time, they don’t trust you?”

  Mel caught her breath.

  This time. How odd that Luke had chosen Joe’s words. You’re a damned coward, Melanie Norris. She rose from the table and walked to the sink. Beyond the window, the cop’s lights were blazing. “You’re not the only one who made a mistake, Luke. We all have from time to time. Me more than most people.”

  “You?” Disbelief seeped into her son’s voice. She turned from the window, met his gaze and her long-avoided moment of truth. “Your grandparents were upset because I moved you to Colorado Springs without telling them. Your grandmother hired a private detective to find you, hence the summons you read this morning.”

  Luke frowned. “You didn’t tell them? Why not?”

  “Because I’ve been hiding, Luke.”

  Luke’s eyes went wide, followed by a brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

  Grief nearly paralyzed her as she realized she couldn’t take back the words. She’d gone this far, and Joe was right. If her son heard this from anyone, it needed to come from her. Using the counter for support, she gripped the edge and leaned against it. “I’ve been in prison, Luke.”

  His face went chalk white. When he didn’t scream or bolt from the table she continued. “That’s where I met your father and how I came to love you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Drink up, amigos. To the holidays.” Ramirez raised his beer bottle. Sitting in the crowded, smoky bar with his team, Drake nursed his own bottle, growing more restless by the second.

  So far, Brown had come up with nothing on Melanie, and during his check in with Rander in California, the screw-up had said he had it all under control―whatever the hell that meant coming from a heroin addict. Drake couldn’t leave Colorado to off his brother right now. With the heist this close, Ramirez would shit. But with Rander most likely doing nothing but shooting up, it appeared Drake would have to take care of Adam himself―and then kill Rander, of course.

  Outside Maria’s house, the gang wasn’t allowed to mention the upcoming robbery. But Drake was having a hard time getting Ramirez alone. The way Ramirez saw things, hitting Liberty National Bank was a foregone conclusion, and plans were in motion. Drake had serious concerns. The location and timing felt wrong.

  He’d gone back three times to the bank on South Academy, and each time a different scene with a new set of problems presented itself. One, the old geezer of a security guard had been replaced with a younger, more attentive employee. Drake had no problem taking either man out. But he’d chosen the bank because the older man spent most of the time yakking, yawning or scratching his balls.

  Then there was the traffic. Apparently their first visits, when they hadn’t hit pile ups, were anomalies. He’d recently learned Academy Boulevard was notorious for snarls and gridlock. He’d also found out the airport was nearby, and military personnel took this route to Fort Carson. On top of that, they’d chosen the Friday afternoon before Christmas for the hit, because the bank would be brimming with cash. It would also be rush hour.

  Also, twice while they’d been casing the bank, he’d felt someone’s eyes on him other than the guard. Did the cops have an idea when and where the Chaos Bandits planned to strike next? Had somebody snitched?

  No. Pure and simple, the setup felt wrong.

  “Max, you been on the same beer forever,” Ramirez said. “You got a problem?”

  Drake raised his head to find Ramirez and the other cons studying him. He never voiced his opinions in front of the entire team. “No problem. But I want to talk to you later.”

  Ramirez nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon. You can come with me to pick up Maria.”

  Maria. That was another thing stuck in Drake’s craw. He’d been with two other women since he’d taken Ramirez’s younger sister, and neither had come close to getting Drake off. He may have gotten into her pants, but she’d gotten under his skin.

  “She’s coming home?” he asked offhandedly.

  “For a couple of days, then she’s leaving again. South America this time.” Ramirez signaled the waitress for another round. “Good thing, too. She’ll be gone when we take care of business. I don’t want her around.”

  Drake swallowed the last of his beer. Holidays. Business. Ramirez’s code words. He was damned smart about controlling his team, a major reason they hadn’t been busted. If only Drake could persuade their leader that robbing Liberty National Bank this close to Christmas could work against them and very well land their asses back in prison.

  Tomorrow he’d take off on his own, buy another piece from a backstreet gun dealer and search for a better target. He had to convince Ramirez of the need to strike elsewhere, and after December twenty-fourth. Changing the plan wouldn’t sit well. Ramirez had mentioned repeatedly he wanted to leave Colorado Springs before New Year’s, and with Rope’s murder, Drake wanted to split as well. Still, he had unfinished business: Melanie Norris.

  Which brought him back to Brown. Drake was losing patience, and it was time to apply pressure. The computer nerd didn’t come to the bars with the other cons. So Drake would have to find out the name of th
e electronics store where Brown worked.

  Drake would give him until Christmas day. And if the dick who’d smugly asked if he could keep Drake’s money hadn’t come through by then, he could forget about unwrapping presents. Drake would be digging a hole for his body.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  After midnight, Mel and Luke were still talking. They’d moved from the kitchen into the living room and sat on opposite ends of the couch facing each other, Mel’s legs tucked beneath her, Luke’s long limbs stretched in front of him on the coffee table.

  Arms folded, his look pensive, he’d been quiet for some time.

  “Disappointed?” she asked.

  Lowering the ice pack, he gingerly touched his lip. “Nah, just replaying scenes of my life over in my head.”

  “And what do you see?”

  “I always wondered when you and Dad talked about his job, why you understood it so well.” Luke shrugged. “Now I know why. You’d been there.

  “It also makes sense why you went ballistic whenever you heard about someone doing drugs.” Luke rolled his eyes. “And why I’d get a three-day lecture.”

  She lifted her chin, granting him a wry smile. “If I hadn’t been smoking dope the night Maxwell robbed the convenience store, I might have made better choices. If I hadn’t been doing drugs, I might never have hitchhiked or let him pick me up in the first place.”

  “I don’t do drugs, Mom,” Luke said reassuringly.

  Mom. Nothing had changed. Joe had been right, she’d confessed her deepest, darkest secret and her son still loved her.

  “There might come a time when you’re tempted,” she said. “I can’t tell you all the scary stuff that’s out there. There’s coke, heroin, meth―”

  “Mom, chill!”

  They broke into laughter and he hugged her.

  Settling back, Luke sobered. “How weird is it that Lt. Crandall’s the guy who arrested you? No wonder the two of you act like you’ve known each other forever. What’s really bizarre is that you can be friends.”

  “Yes, it is,” Mel admitted. “We didn’t start out as friends, Luke. He wanted to end yours and Matt’s friendship.”

  Luke scoffed. “He could’ve tried.” Then glancing at his watch, Luke said, “Anyway, we’ll be pretty much inseparable over winter break.”

  “More so than normal?”

  “For sure. We’ve been sentenced to detailing off-duty patrol cars.”

  Mel blinked. “The entire holiday?”

  Shrugging, Luke said, “Maybe not the whole time. The only thing saving us is Matt’s mom’s coming into town. Since he’s spending a few days with her, I’ll get those days off, too.”

  Mel grew dizzy at the thought. She’d almost forgotten Joe’s ex-wife and daughter’s winter excursion. “How many cars are we talking about?”

  “No clue. But something tells me we’re talking a fleet.”

  Pride in her son overtook Mel. He could’ve argued it wasn’t his idea for Matt to take Joe’s car, but he didn’t. Luke was prepared to work beside the kid next door and accept his share of the blame. They’d developed quite an amazing bond.

  “That won’t leave you with much of a break,” she said, eying him sympathetically.

  He shook his head. “Nope. And when I’m not cleaning cop cars, I’ll be in the gym. Gotta redeem myself somehow. Coach could’ve kicked me off the team.”

  “How long are you suspended?”

  “First six games in January.”

  “And Coach Hood will still let you practice?”

  Luke stood and stretched. “What do you mean let me? He’s ordered me to be in the gym till my legs fall off. Long day tomorrow, Mom. I’m going to bed.”

  “I’m right behind you.” She lifted her arms overhead and twined her fingers. “Luke?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are we okay?”

  Luke leaned down and kissed her cheek. “We’re cool, Mom. I love you.”

  Her eyes filled. “I love you, too, baby.”

  He walked up the stairs; she sat motionless until his door closed. Then, lowering her head, she felt as though a stone had been removed from her chest. She could only hope Luke would take her warnings to heart and use her as an example before acting on impulse.

  Perhaps she should send the Walfords a bouquet as a thank you. Not that she enjoyed Luke’s reaction when he discovered the summons. But Janice had forced Mel to admit her past, and she did need to put Luke back in touch with his grandparents. If he hadn’t gone looking for money in her dresser drawer, this issue might have stayed unresolved.

  Joe had seemed surprised that she would give Luke access to her belongings, but then she’d never had anything to hide. Luke was her family after all, and nothing she owned was off limits to him.

  An army of chills ran down her spine. Until now.

  Mel rose from the couch, strode to the stairs, tempted to run. Tonight, she’d thought she’d rid herself of all secrets. But if Luke was near sleep, she didn’t want to disturb him.

  Entering her room, she approached her closet, and yanked it open. Her heart pounded at the foolish mistake she’d made. She’d never worried that Luke might look in her drawers, but what if he went searching for something in here? And with Luke’s insecurities, what would he think if she changed the ground rules now?

  Mel swallowed hard. When she’d told Luke about Maxwell, she’d seen an expression she’d seen often in Carl. Luke thought he was a man. He now considered it his responsibility to protect her.

  She lifted her gaze to the box holding the weapon Carl had bequeathed to Luke. What better way to protect her than with a gun? You’re overreacting, an inner voice whispered. He’ll never find it. But a voice bearing the judgmental tone of an executioner taunted, But what if he does? He’s not yet sixteen years old, and it’s your job to protect him.

  Mel shuddered as her louder conscience won. As long as Luke lived with her, the gun didn’t belong in this house. Still, she couldn’t just leave it with anybody. She turned her gaze toward her snow-frosted window, and beyond it the logical choice for Luke. The question was, was it a safe choice for her? She rubbed her wrists, even now remembering the cold pinching steel of Joe’s handcuffs.

  He wouldn’t, came the indignant reassurance of the first inner voice. But this time the harsh and exacting voice remained stubbornly silent.

  Moving closer to the window seat, she saw that Joe’s bedroom light was on.

  She risked a late night call.

  He answered on the first ring. “Crandall.”

  Still wrestling with her decision to tell him, she cleared her throat before saying, “Can’t sleep?”

  “Just about to turn in. Everything, okay?”

  “I told him, Joe. I told Luke about my past.”

  “How’d he take it?”

  “Better than I expected or hoped. It cleared up a lot of things between us. I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Fantastic, Mel. What a relief to have this off your chest at last.”

  At least one thing. “Just wanted you to know you were right.”

  “Once in a while it happens.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet you sleep like a baby tonight.”

  Not likely. “Joe?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you terribly exhausted?”

  “Not if you need me. Something wrong?”

  “Do you mind if I come over? It’s kind of important.”

  ‘It’s bad outside, Melanie. I’ll come over there.”

  “No. I’d prefer to do it at your place. I need to show you something. Please?”

  He hesitated. “All right. But it’s slippery outside, so be careful. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

  She disconnected. Releasing her pent-up breath, she retri
eved the box from the closet, grabbed the key from the nightstand and scribbled a note for Luke. Once he was asleep he was out, but in the event he woke up, she left her whereabouts plainly displayed on the dining room table. After putting on her warmest coat, gloves and boots, she stepped out into frigid conditions. As snow landed on her cheeks and eyelashes, she trudged through the accumulated snow.

  Joe had been more than fair with the boys tonight. She, on the other hand, by keeping this gun had willfully and premeditatedly broken the law. It might be foolhardy to confide in him. There was no forgetting his unmoving stance in the past. Still, she’d come to care for him, to trust him. Believing firmly she was making the right decision, she quashed down trepidation and concentrated on doing what was right for her son.

  As promised, Joe was waiting downstairs. Standing in the open doorway, his impressive physique formed a silhouette against the interior light and the outside world. Armed with the evidence of her deceit, there was no turning back now. Mel could only pray that her trust hadn’t been misplaced.

  Joe stared at the woman bundled from head to toe making her way up his walk. She carried a box in her arms, and from where he stood, he could make out the word microwave. For a second, he dared to hope that hers was broken, and she was under the misguided impression that he could fix it. But a handyman he wasn’t. Nor, by the look on her face, or at this late hour, had she come to ask his advice on a faulty appliance.

  He opened the storm door, she stepped inside. Taking the load from her arms, he discovered it lacked the standard bulk of a microwave. Even so, it held some weight.

  “Do you want me to take off my boots?” she asked, stomping all over his entry mat and tossing back the coat’s hood to reveal an agitated expression.

  “Not necessary. What’s in the box?”

  She held his gaze. “A Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum.”

  Joe blinked. Every time Melanie had come remotely close to his weapon, she threatened to go comatose. What the hell was she doing with a gun? Especially a gun as powerful as this one?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.