Losing Ladd

by Dianne Venetta

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cal sat rigid in his seat while he and Malcolm waited for Officer Griffin to give them a rundown on the police department’s progress in their investigation. Gathered in the manager’s office, the two were dressed identical in pale blue shirts and khakis, their eyes pasted on the detective. Malcolm said Nick was convinced it was Jillian’s doing, but Cal wasn’t so sure. Jeremiah and his cohorts could have easily rigged the explosive. All they needed was a few minutes perusing the Internet and they’d have all the information needed to produce the crude construct. The callous disregard for life and property came naturally.

  Officer Griffin flipped through pages in a yellow note pad, locating his notes for their case. “Fingerprints from the safe proved to be mostly partials,” he began, “looks like the guy might actually have removed some of his fingerprint. My guess it was done to thwart any database match.”

  “What?” Malcolm glanced at Cal and asked, “How does someone remove their fingerprint?”

  Aging gray eyes etched by cynicism met him directly. “Easy. Sandpaper, super glue. I heard of some crazies using acid to do the trick. The idea is to remove enough of the ridges to prevent a hundred percent match.”

  Malcolm sat back in his chair. “So we have nothing?”

  “I wouldn’t say nothing. We picked up a strand of hair and sent it to the crime lab for a DNA analysis.”

  “But that takes a while,” Cal said.

  “We can get it back in a week or so,” he replied. “But I have good news for you on the arson. Both alibis checked out, but we managed to track down the number of the cell phone used to detonate. Forensics managed to get an ID on the cell phone used in the blast and as we suspected, it was a phony account. The number that called it was legit.”

  “And?”

  “Belongs to Jeremiah Ladd.”

  “I knew it!” Cal exclaimed, relieved, angry and exhilarated all at the same time. “I knew he had to be involved somehow.”

  Malcolm asked the officer, “How sure are you?”

  “Hundred percent. We matched the time of call with the time of explosion set by witnesses. It’s a match.”

  “So you’re going to pick him up?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet? What are you waiting for?”

  “The call came from his phone. We have to prove he made it.”

  Stunned, Cal asked, “Who else would have made it?”

  Malcolm’s blue gaze flattened. “I can think of a couple of people.”

  “No way,” Cal objected. “Doesn’t make sense.”

  “He says he lost it Saturday night,” the officer said.

  “And you believe him?”

  “My job is to work the evidence I have. He went out and purchased another phone over the weekend.”

  “So he could use the old one as a bomb detonator.” Cal supplied the obvious.

  “Phone call doesn’t render a phone inoperable,” Malcolm posed.

  “But it would render it hot. Jeremiah would want to dispose of it and quick.”

  “Have you located the cell phone in question?” Malcolm asked. “Maybe it would provide fingerprints of a third party.”

  Cal gaped at Malcolm. What was wrong with him? Had he forgotten what Jeremiah did to their wives? He took Lacy and Annie against their will, threatened their lives with a deadly weapon. Why was Malcolm fighting the fact that Jeremiah was a bad man and likely responsible for the fire in the stables?

  Rising from his seat, Officer Griffin seemed to wonder the same thing. “Maybe. We’re still checking. If anything new develops, I’ll let you know.”

  Malcolm stood and extended a hand. “Thanks.”

  Cal did likewise. “Appreciate your help, Officer Griffin.” In the meantime, Cal decided he’d do a bit of checking on his own.

  Jeremiah drove downtown and stormed up to the front door of the dump of a house the guys had rented. Heedless to the snap of a hinge as he wrenched it open, Jeremiah called out as he entered, “Robby!” He stopped short, finding the brothers sprawled out on the couch watching television, empty beer cans scattered about them on the table. A few others lay on the floor half-smashed. Inhaling a whiff of cheap beer, he said, “We got trouble.”

  Rob slung his gaze toward Jeremiah. “What’s new?”

  “I’m serious. There’s been a fire at Hotel Ladd and they’re trying to pin it on us.”

  “Did we do it?” the younger asked, looking between Jeremiah and his brother.

  Rob rolled his head sideways. “Does it matter? The police looking for us ain’t never a good thing.”

  “Well, I didn’t burn no hotel!” the younger cried, bolting upright.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jeremiah said, “They’re coming for me. And if they get to me, you two won’t be far behind.”

  “What are you saying?” Dark eyes grew cold and black beneath Rob’s shaggy brow. “You talkin’ about givin’ us up?”

  “I’m talking about there’s a short line between you two and me,” Jeremiah said, cautious of coming across too unsympathetic to their position. He couldn’t give a rat’s hide about what happened to these two but letting on to that fact could cause him serious injury. They didn’t want a return to jail any more than he did. But staring into the familiar eyes of a hardened criminal with nothing to lose, he knew Rob was dangerous in his sheer lack of concern for Jeremiah’s welfare. There was a time to press and a time to draw down. “All I’m saying is we need a distraction.”

  A heavy silence permeated the stale, dank confines of the living room. “What kind of distraction?”

  “The kind that gets people’s attention.”

  “I’m listening.”

  If Clem could kidnap Delaney, Jeremiah could do one better. The fool had snagged her with the intention of dumping her in the woods so he could steal the gold on Ladd Springs, but her boyfriend stepped in, hunting them down, putting an end to their plan. Jeremiah would grab Delaney’s daughter without a worry. She didn’t have anyone watching out for her and with Nick Harris at the hospital with his wife, the girl would be easy to snatch. It was the first glimmer of hope he’d felt since the local blue paid him a visit. Delaney might think she could pin this fire on him and threaten his freedom, but he was going to threaten her kid.

  Hurrying through the empty house, Felicity jogged down the steps to her car. Nick had yet to come home except for one brief grab of clothing and a quick shower, preferring to wait it out bedside with her mother. He believed she would come to any minute, and he wanted to be the first thing she saw when she awoke from her coma.

  Felicity appreciated his devotion, but she couldn’t share in his inactivity. She needed to do something. She needed to get to the bottom of who did this to her mother. For the first time in her life, she understood how her mother felt when it came to protecting those she loved. It was fierce, demanding. It was all-consuming. Felicity would stop at nothing until the person responsible for this crime was brought to justice.

  And that person was her father, Jack. His nonchalant reaction yesterday sealed it for her. He couldn’t have cared less that her mother lay helpless in a hospital bed. She was fighting for her life against an invisible swelling in her brain, yet all he could do was laugh and blame it on the help. He was disgusting. The sooner he was put in jail for his crimes the better. Right now, she had bigger things to worry about. Nick had called this morning and said to come quick—the doctors were taking her mom into surgery for a craniotomy, a fancy term for poking a hole in her skull to relieve the building pressure.

  Because the medication they tried wasn’t working.

  Felicity shuddered as she jumped into her car and gunned the engine to life. With surgery came risk. If it didn’t go well, her mom could have permanent brain damage. If they didn’t perform the procedure, her mother could have permanent brain damage. It was an awful choice, and all because she’d been trying to save her horses from burning alive. Memories from the evening flooded in. Horse shr
ieks mixed with the scent of burning wood. Gray-brown smoke billowing through stalls, licks of bright orange flames crawling up and over everything in sight. Felicity shut her mind to the images, jamming her foot to the accelerator, yet she couldn’t escape the sounds and sights from the stables. The horrific trauma caused to the animals, the complete and total devastation of the stables.

  Those stables had been her mother’s passion. She lived and breathed her horses, spent sun-up to sundown with them... Felicity hated that someone had taken that from her. She hated that someone had been so cold-hearted with regard to the horses, the property.

  Her mother’s life was in danger. Yet her father hadn’t broken stride yesterday when she told him about the fire, about her mom’s condition. He didn’t give a crap about either one of them. It was all about him, and what he wanted. Always had been.

  As she peeled out of the drive of her home, the sight of a black truck similar to the one Travis owned reminded her of another man who cared only about himself. Travis didn’t trust her. He didn’t believe in her. He thought he knew best and she didn’t.

  Well, he was wrong. She was taking the reins of her life, and like her mother before her, Felicity would take care of herself. A squiggle of nerves zipped through her as she thought about the gun stowed away in her bedroom. In the wake of Jeremiah Ladd’s last visit, her mom had taught her to shoot. She wasn’t old enough to get a concealed weapons permit yet, but she knew how to handle a gun now, knew how to hit a moving target. The knowledge gave her a sense of power, like she could defend herself if trouble came calling. Felicity had surprised herself with her accuracy. Her mom, too. Recalling the pride in her mom’s face the day she nailed the center bull’s eye tugged a small smile from her lips.

  Travis drove the country mile to Hotel Ladd, more dazed than focused on the road. Felicity hadn’t returned any of his calls. After leaving him standing outside her father’s hotel like a fool with his heart in a handbag, she’d refused to speak with him. She was angry. Angry because he cared about her, was concerned for her welfare. Angry because he tried to help.

  What had gotten into her lately? She was like a different person. Ever since Troy and Casey got back together, it was like Felicity had turned on him. She’d taken up with them, defending Troy at every turn, hanging out with Casey and the baby instead of going riding with him. Travis didn’t get it. What had he done wrong?

  Nothing. For the millionth time he reassured himself he’d done nothing wrong. She was stressed out because of the thing with her father. She wasn’t acting in her right mind. She’d nearly lost her horse—twice. Her mom was in the hospital, the hotel was in a shambles over the fire. Travis understood that stress could throw people out of whack, and despite her claims to the contrary, Felicity needed him. This was her time of need and Felicity needed him—whether she knew it or not. He was going surprise her with an early visit. One way or another, he had to get her to see more clearly.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Running on auto-pilot, Felicity drove the tree-lined road, consumed with thoughts of her mother and what the day held. Would she get a chance to talk to her before they took her back? Would Nick make them wait? What if she didn’t make it? What if Felicity missed seeing her mom before they wheeled her into the operating room? Would they wait?

  They had to. Felicity grabbed her cell phone. Nick had to make them wait. Keeping one eye on the road and the other on her touchpad, she scrolled through her contact directory. She’d tell Nick she was en route and to please make them wait. Don’t let them take her back without me getting a chance to say goodbye.

  Good luck, she corrected in a rush. Not goodbye but good luck! Locating the number, Felicity barely registered the red truck passing her on the left until it swerved in front of her. At the flash of red tail lights, she cried out, “Oh!”

  Instinctively she slammed a foot to her brake. Her phone went flying as she jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. Her small car skidded roughly over the side of the road, narrowly missing a rear end collision. Adrenaline sprayed across her chest and arms. Her heart pounded, a cloud of dust billowed around her vehicle. Two men jumped out of the truck, one in grubby jeans and T-shirt, one in a lime green button-down and jeans. Alarm fired in her brain. Jeremiah Ladd!

  She hurried to lock her door as the dark-haired bearded charged toward her. But she was too late. He yanked it open, scary black eyes boring into her.

  “Stop!” she screeched, heartbeats pounding in her throat. What were they doing?

  Ignoring her, the stranger hauled her from the vehicle. Felicity fought his iron grip, shouting. “Leave me alone! Let me go!”

  Leering at her, Jeremiah held the door open as the man shoved her inside. Another bearded man inside reached for her arm.

  Travis’ heart kicked at the sight of the stopped truck, the strawberry blonde head of hair ducking inside. Felicity! Instinct took over, propelling Travis’ vehicle hard and fast straight for them. Jeremiah Ladd spun around and froze. In a split second, he jumped into his truck, but Travis rammed into him, throwing his body forward and back upon impact. The man by Felicity’s side was jettisoned from the truck.

  Travis leapt out and ran toward them. “Felicity!”

  Their eyes locked. “Travis!”

  Jeremiah shoved from his truck in a rage. “Back off, Parker!”

  “Let her go!” Travis returned.

  “Get lost.” Jeremiah pulled a gun and leveled it at Travis.

  The pistol drew Travis’ full attention.

  Felicity clambered free from the back seat, her thoughts splintering. “Stop!”

  Travis lunged. “Felicity—no!”

  The weapon discharged.

  Felicity screamed. Travis felt a punch to his chest. An engine sounded. Felicity raced toward him, her pulse battering wildly. “Oh no—Travis!” Blood oozed from the wound, forming a pool of red beneath the blue-gray plaid of his shirt.

  Behind her, Jeremiah bellowed, “Let’s get out of here!”

  Felicity heard the skid of wheels as the truck lurched backward, then forward, speeding past her. A beat-up farm truck traveling in the opposite direction slowed. Inside, an elderly man looked down at her in shock. “Call 9-1-1!” she shrieked. Panic clawed at her chest. “Call 9-1-1!”

  Felicity didn’t remember anything about the ambulance ride. She didn’t remember anything about the man who called for help. She could only remember the grotesque blend of red and blue and gray as Travis’ shirt became soaked in blood. Too much blood. It was on her hands, her blouse. She’d pressed her palms against the bullet wound to stem the bleeding, but it seemed futile. The blood kept coming. Watching them load him into the ambulance, she’d placed a hand to her mouth. The metallic taste of it stayed with her.

  Following the paramedics into the Emergency Room like a robot, she remembered only the blood. “Is he going to be all right?” she mumbled, transfixed by the sight of his open shirt, the white square of gauze, the tubes running from his arms.

  “We’re taking him to surgery,” a medic replied briskly. “You can wait upstairs in the waiting room.”

  Surgery. Waiting room. Her mother. Felicity felt faint.

  “Miss.” Someone grabbed her by the arm. “Are you okay?”

  Okay? She looked around, the room felt like a swirl of images. Was she okay?

  No. Her head felt like it was spinning. Her stomach was empty and raw. Pressure built in her lungs. She wasn’t okay. Travis wasn’t okay. Her mother wasn’t okay.

  “Get her a wheelchair,” a voice shouted.

  Felicity panicked as they rolled Travis from her sight. “Wait!”

  “Honey, calm down.” A slender hand pulled her down into a seat. “Everything’s under control.”

  “No—you don’t understand. I need to see him. That’s my boyfriend,” she cried, watching Travis and the medical team disappear into an elevator. “I need to be with him.”

  “I’ve got you. I’ll take you up.”

&nb
sp; Felicity glanced up. The woman hovering over her had kind eyes. Friendly. Safe. “Okay. Okay.”

  The nurse wheeled Felicity to an elevator, took her up to another floor. The ride felt like she was floating. Ding. Metal doors slid open and the woman pushed Felicity out and down a wide corridor. It was a hall of doors with a shiny floor. Felicity’s gaze drifted to the end, landing on a set of double doors. The nurse turned just shy of them. “Here you go, honey. You can wait in here for word about your boyfriend.”

  “Felicity.”

  Nick’s voice cut through her haze like a steel knife. Grasping onto Nick’s imposing figure, she mouthed his name.

  Crossing the small room in seconds, he demanded, “What happened? Why is she in a wheelchair?”

  The woman replied evenly, “Her boyfriend’s been taken to surgery. She’s—overwhelmed,” the woman said, settling on a kind description of Felicity’s state of utter shock and collapse.

  Nick fired his gaze into Felicity. “Travis?”

  She nodded, the acknowledgement drawing tears. Travis was in surgery. He’d been shot—by Jeremiah. Focusing on Nick, she murmured, “How’s mom?”

  “They just took her back. I told the doctors to wait, but...” He dropped to a knee and finished, “They decided against it.”

  The guilt in his eyes was misplaced. It wasn’t his fault. It was her fault for not being here by her mother’s side like him. Twenty-four seven, Nick had been here for his wife. Felicity reached out for him. Her mother was lucky to have him. Hot tears fell. She hadn’t been here and might not ever be able to tell her mother she loved her.

  Or Travis. A hard knot formed in her throat. If anything happened to him after the way she’d been treating him…Felicity didn’t know if she could ever forgive herself. The two most important people in her life were on the verge of losing theirs and she hadn’t been able to tell either of them she loved them. I love you. Tears blurred her vision. If only I could have told you.