The Next Widow: A gripping crime thriller with unputdownable suspense (Jericho and Wright Thrillers Book 1)

by CJ Lyons

  Leah raised her hands and stood still.

  “Good girl. Now, Detective, here’s what you’re going to do—”

  Before Jessica could finish her sentence, Leah felt movement behind her. Brody barreled through the door, pushing Leah out of the way, a blur of bloody motion, charging Jessica.

  Jessica turned her gun on him, firing over and over, Brody’s body falling, falling as if in slow motion.

  Everything was blurry around the edges as Leah realized that Jericho was also shooting—not at Brody, but at Jessica. The shots reverberated like thunder, quaking through Leah, making her cover her ears and cower below the island, gagging against the smell of gunpowder and blood.

  Her own breath echoed through her skull loud enough to drown out all sound. But then the echoes fell away, leaving behind an awful, empty silence. She raised her head to peer over the island. Brody had fallen to the floor on the other side. Leah rushed to him.

  Jericho still held his weapon, trained on Jessica’s body slumped beside Acevedo. Jessica’s breath came in loud, raspy gasps. Jericho bent over to grab Jessica’s gun from her limp hand. Only then did he kneel to check on his friend.

  Leah felt for Brody’s pulse. Weak and way too fast, but there. She couldn’t believe he’d managed to make his way up the steps, much less rush at Jessica. Jessica’s manipulations, the drugs and stimulation—they must have blocked his pain, given him the surge of adrenaline Brody needed. Jessica’s own warped experiments had been her final undoing.

  “I need you here,” Jericho shouted to Leah. “Help Ray.”

  Leah was torn. “Brody? Can you hear me?”

  His eyes fluttered open, his lips parted as if he was trying to say something, but then he sighed, his breath escaping him one final time as he sagged in her arms. He was gone.

  “Help Ray,” Jericho commanded.

  Leah scrambled around the island and turned her attention to Acevedo.

  “Ray.” Jericho joined her on the floor after calling for help on his radio. “Stay with me, you stubborn bastard.”

  “Hold pressure,” she told him, pressing both his hands over the entrance wound on Acevedo’s thigh. She checked for other wounds: nothing. The man was lucky—luckier than Jessica, who had taken two shots in her chest and one low in her belly.

  Jessica stared at Leah, her gaze both imploring and filled with hatred. “Help. Me.”

  Leah hesitated. She could still save her—save them both. If she worked fast enough.

  “Forget her,” Jericho shouted. “Save Ray.”

  Saving Jessica—Toussaint would tell her to look at the big picture, Jessica standing trial, suffering the rest of her life in jail… but never suffering as much as Ian had. And what if Radcliffe’s bosses somehow cut a deal for her?

  But it wasn’t all those thoughts that made up her mind. Instead, it was Brody’s voice. Pleading with her, despite the pain tormenting him, begging her to stop Jessica. Forever.

  “Give me your belt.” Leah examined Acevedo’s wound. She grabbed a dish towel and shoved it into the exit wound. She was rewarded by a sudden gurgling gasp. Acevedo’s eyes fluttered, then closed again.

  “More pressure,” she ordered Jericho, who leaned his body weight against Acevedo’s wound as Leah slid his belt around the leg and pulled it as tight as possible. The blood slowed to a trickle.

  She rocked back on her heels. “He needs fluids and an OR.”

  She’d kept her back turned to Jessica during the few seconds it took her to tend to Acevedo, but now there was no choice but to face her other patient. Leah pivoted, turning to Jessica’s still form. Blood puddled on the floor, spreading out beneath Jessica, two drooping, shredded, scarlet wings.

  “Leah.” Jessica’s voice rattled with blood and the effort to breathe. She batted a hand at Leah’s ankle. She was suffocating, drowning in her own blood. An agonizing and painful death.

  “You. Just like. Me.” Her chest heaved with effort. “Killer.”

  A sound that was a cross between ghastly laughter and a death rattle emerged, accompanied by blood gurgling from Jessica’s mouth. The bright red color matched her lipstick, Leah noticed, fighting a wave of hysteria, trying to pretend she hadn’t heard Jessica’s accusations. Her chest was still, eyes open, staring at Leah. Leah checked the other woman’s pulse, leaving her own bloody handprint on Jessica’s neck and chest. Nothing. She was gone.

  Leah sucked her breath in, ambushed by a host of emotions too tangled to name. Tears blurred her vision, her throat tightened, strangling her scream as Ian’s face filled her vision. Not the Ian from last night, battered and broken. No. Her Ian. The man who had died to save their daughter.

  A sudden pounding shook the house. Men in SWAT uniforms thundered in, a herd of bison ready to mow down anything that stood in their way—except only Leah, Acevedo, and Jericho were left alive.

  Once the SWAT team realized that, they stood aside, as their medic took over for Leah. She heard her name called and turned, and then began laughing and crying, not caring at all about the men with guns who surrounded her.

  Because there, safely ensconced in one of the large, black SUVs outside the door, were Ruby and Emily.

  Fifty

  After the initial rush of the ERT entrance, followed by the medics, Luka finally found himself alone, sitting at a banquet table that could seat twenty, his bloody clothes and hands staining the silk upholstery and walnut wood.

  He sat in silence, counting the crystals in the nine-tiered chandelier, losing track every time images of the night intruded, replaying themselves as he tried to understand where he’d gone wrong, how two of his team were in the hospital, one of them barely clinging to life. If not for Leah Wright, Ray would have died on that kitchen floor.

  He had no idea how long he’d sat there, waiting for the state police’s Officer-Involved Shooting team to arrive, when Maggie Chen entered through the archway on the far end of the room. Why was she here? The team from the coroner’s office had already collected the bodies. And she wasn’t even on duty tonight.

  “You’re here for Ray?” He stood, pushing the chair out of his way, his vision swimming, stomach lurching.

  “Ray’s still in surgery, but stable. Commander Ahearn is notifying his family in person.”

  “He should have waited for me. I’m his commanding officer, I’m—” His voice caught. What if Ray died—he’d looked gray as death when they’d carried him out. How the hell was he going to run his squad without Ray? If Ahearn didn’t fire him or demote him to traffic control. “I’m his best friend.”

  Then a sudden jolt of terror raced through him. “If you’re not here for Ray—is it Harper? Don’t tell me—”

  “Naomi’s fine.”

  He sagged with relief. “Sorry, I’m juggling too many—” Then it dawned on him. She waited as he took a breath, swallowed, took another, filling his lungs but the oxygen tasted of blood, was lifeless. Finally, he found the strength to speak, somehow forcing his voice to sound professional, maybe even calm, despite the fact that he felt anything but in control. “You found Tanya. Let me guess, county lockup? Give me a little while, I just need to wrap up things here and then I can go—”

  She laid her hand on his arm; his wall of denial crumbled beneath her touch. “There’s no rush.”

  And with those words he knew. He stumbled back, searching for a chair, he needed to sit, but his body lurched into the wall. He slid to the parquet floor. “She’s—”

  Maggie joined him on the floor. “She checked into the Kingston Hotel over near the park.”

  Tanya was still here, hadn’t left Cambria City? After he’d wasted all that time looking for her in Baltimore… Well, not his time wasted; all he’d done was make a few calls to the Baltimore police. He should have gone looking for her himself, maybe… “The Kingston Hotel? Where all the rich people go? My—our—gran took us there once for tea. Said she wanted us to see what it felt like having people wait on us, wanted us to remember being treated special
but also how to treat the hardworking men and women serving us like they were something special as well.” He and Tanya in their best Sunday clothing, Gran wearing her gloves and special Easter hat. “Tanya never got the lesson—instead she just learned how to yearn for something she could never have, a life she never stopped chasing after, even if it was only a drug-induced fantasy.” He sighed, let Maggie take his hand even though he barely felt hers. “How?”

  “OD. Fentanyl. It was quick.”

  He nodded, not sure what to say. Beyond the room, patrolmen and CSU buzzed around but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what they were doing or why. It all seemed so pointless and very far away. Was this how Leah Wright had felt last night?

  He remembered the video the patrolmen had taken of her, rescuing her daughter from under the bed her dead husband sat in front of. The determined look in her eyes—and the pain that shadowed the rest of her face.

  Luka pushed up to his feet, still leaning against the wall. Maggie mirrored his movements. “Would you like me to come with you to tell your family?”

  He shook his head. What was the rush, bringing this hell into his home? He thought of Nate’s face, the kid already expecting the worst from life. His responsibility now. “No. I’ll do it myself.” He spotted the state police signing in at the foyer. “Later. Right now I have work to do. If I want to save my job.”

  And suddenly, more than anything, Luka did care, he did want to save his job—if not for himself, then to honor Ian and his wife, both willing to sacrifice their lives to save their daughter.

  To honor Cherise, killed so many years ago, yet still a guiding force in his life, haunting Luka at every crime scene.

  Even, in some strange way, to honor his lost sister, Tanya.

  Fifty-One

  Two weeks later

  March hadn’t come in like a lion at all. If anything, after February’s storms, it had limped in with barely a whimper. This morning the temperatures hovered around sixty while the sun teased plants eager for winter to be over.

  For the first time, Emily had slept through the night without waking up in terror, which meant it was the first night since Ian’s death that Leah had gotten more than a few hours’ sleep as well. To celebrate, she’d made them all French toast for brunch; and now, as Emily explored the garden’s treasures guided by an old notebook of Nellie’s, Leah sat out on the porch swing with a cup of cinnamon tea, listening to the birds and Emily’s singsong monologue. She could almost imagine Nellie stepping through the screen door, its hinge sighing as it closed behind her.

  But the woman who took the rocker beside Leah wasn’t Nellie. It was Ruby. They’d spent the last few weeks tiptoeing around the farmhouse, making too-polite conversation, talking to Emily, but not to each other. Leah shifted in the swing, the creaking of the chains drowning her sigh. All she wanted was a single moment of peace, but of course Ruby had intruded, no doubt wanting something from Leah.

  Yes, Ruby had protected Emily and helped to save her. But that did not mean Leah should trust the woman. They were living under the same roof and Emily was becoming more and more attached to Ruby with each day. Leah knew it would break Emily’s heart when Ruby finally showed her true colors and betrayed Emily. Leah could not—would not—allow that to happen.

  “You still don’t trust me, do you?” Ruby said as Leah kept her eyes closed, rocking harder, the chains squeaking in protest, hoping Ruby would get the hint and leave. “Is that because you’re not sure if Ian had an affair or not? Because you lost trust in him?”

  Leah sat up, planted her feet on the ground to halt the swing’s motion, and glared at Ruby. “What business—”

  “Like it or not we’re family,” Ruby cut her off. “And I know how you are. The tiniest little thing goes wrong and you just need to grab hold and fix it, make it right.”

  “Just say it. I’m a control freak.”

  “It’s the truth. Been like that since you were younger than Emily.” Ruby tucked her ankles under her on the seat and sipped her tea.

  “Right. And you had nothing to do with it.”

  “I never abandoned you. You always had food, shelter, clothes on your back. Maybe not a lot, but enough. It’s not my fault that you grew into the kind of woman who—” Ruby clamped her mouth shut.

  “You think I’m not thinking the same thing? If I wasn’t who I am, always trying to control everything, fix everyone, Ian would still be alive. Think I don’t know that I got Ian killed? And now I have to live with that fact for the rest of my life. Not to mention never knowing if he betrayed me or if he ever even loved me at all.” Leah’s voice lowered to a hoarse whisper, barely able to choke the words out. Still, they screamed through her head, a chorus that had been repeating in an endless loop of guilt and recrimination. All her fault. Everything was all her fault. And the worst thing? Someday Emily would know that truth.

  “Ian wasn’t having an affair,” Ruby said, her tone certain.

  “How the hell would you know? I saw the drawings—the girl, she’s beautiful. And there was ten thousand missing that Ian withdrew in cash.”

  “Ten thousand?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe he was planning to run away with her or something.”

  To Leah’s surprise, Ruby rocked back in her chair, her body convulsing with laughter, almost spilling her tea. “Ian wasn’t going to run away. He took that money out for me. My truck broke down and he helped me buy a new one. He didn’t tell you because—”

  “I’m a control freak.” Even as relief swirled over Leah, her guilt quickly stomped it out.

  They both sat quietly for a moment, the cinnamon scent of the tea floating between them.

  Ruby broke the silence. “You were better off here, with Nellie.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “All those times I tucked my tail between my legs, came crawling over here, it wasn’t only about money. It was to see you. But every time, every single time, you’d come running down those stairs with a smile brighter than the sun filling your face, and I knew, I just knew I’d done the right thing, leaving you here.”

  Leah’s mouth fell open as she stared at her mother. “Only you could twist that—I was smiling because every time you came, I hoped you’d come to take me back, that I’d finally done something good enough to make you want me back.”

  “Want you back? You think I didn’t want you?”

  “You said—”

  “I was upset. You have any idea how hard it is for a mother to leave her daughter, admit that she’s no good for her little girl?”

  Leah stood, the swing twisting violently against its chains with the sudden motion. She stalked toward the door, then stopped. Where did she and Emily have left to go? Move across the country with Ian’s parents, leave everything they knew behind? Try to live in the house that would forever be haunted by Ian’s death? Like it or not, Ruby was the only family Leah had left.

  She took a deep breath and turned. Ruby watched her, a strange emotion playing across her features, one that Leah had never seen in her mother before. Fear.

  “Do you have any idea how hard it was, thinking you didn’t love me, that I was the kind of kid, so awful, so terrible, not even her own mother could love her?” Leah shocked herself with her words—she’d never dared to think them before now. “And now, to hear, decades later, that it wasn’t me, wasn’t my fault?”

  Ruby stretched out both hands, palms up, empty, waiting for Leah to fill them—just like it’d always been up to Leah to fill her mother’s empty heart. Yes, now she understood that it was more than a personality disorder, but knowing the facts did little to assuage decades of emotion.

  “I don’t know how many times you can expect me to say I’m sorry,” Ruby said, her tone wounded.

  “That’s just it. You haven’t. You’ve explained why you did what you did. You’ve told me how it wasn’t your fault. But you’ve never actually apologized,” Leah snapped, instantly feeling ashamed for allowing her fury to rule her.
Ian never cared about the words, apologies. He needed to understand why things happened and why people did what they did, but then, once he understood, he could move on. Leah wished she was more like him. “It’s not even that I need to hear you say it. It’s more that I need to see you live it.”

  Ruby sighed, then gripped Leah’s hands, pulling her down until their foreheads touched, their gazes locked. “Maybe I’ve never said the words because I have no right to ask for forgiveness,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “All I can hope is you’ll let me in your life, let me help.” Then she dropped Leah’s hands. “But if you want me to leave, I will.”

  Leah sank down into the chair beside Ruby. They were both silent, both watching Emily as she played with dried lavender stalks, weaving them into a crown. Leah didn’t want to be anywhere else. And she wanted what she’d had with Ian, a home, a family. She glanced at Ruby, who leaned forward, elbows on her knees, waiting, eager for an answer Leah didn’t have. Could that family ever include Ruby?

  “If we stay—”

  Ruby bounced halfway out of her seat, caught Leah’s eye, then sat back down again, clasping her wrists as if restraining herself.

  “If we stay, I need to see you think about someone else for a change. Namely that little girl. Because so help me, if you ever betray or abandon her, or make her feel like she’s somehow responsible for your passive-aggressive nonsense, then you will never see us again. We’ll leave without looking back.”

  “But you want to stay? Here? With me?” Ruby’s tone was hushed as if they were in church.

  Before Leah could answer, Emily raced up the porch, clutching Nellie’s old notebook in one hand and her flower crown in the other. “Did you know you can make candy from flowers?” She bounced onto Ruby’s lap. “Can we do that, Ruby? Please? I want to learn how.” She turned to Leah. “Mommy, don’t you want to learn how?”

  Words tangled in Leah’s throat, as twisted as her emotions. Joy at seeing Emily’s smile again. Sorrow that Ian wasn’t here. Bitterness at the way Emily embraced Ruby, inviting her into their world so easily. “I already know how,” she finally said. “I know all the secrets of this farm. More than Miss Ruby even.”