by Rachel Woods
“Let me go,” Noelle said, trying to pull away as Grady glared at her. “You’re hurting me!”
“You think you can get away with trying to set me up?” Grady asked, his nicotine breath slanting across her nose, nauseating her. “Don’t you know that snitches get stitches, bitch!”
“What do you mean?” Noelle continued to struggle though she knew if she managed to get away, the PC-5 crew looming behind him, waiting to carry out whatever command he issued, would chase her down and drag her kicking and screaming back to Grady.
“When I told my boy Paco that you had come to your senses and was going to help us,” said Grady, arm outstretched and hand locked on her neck, “he was suspicious. He told me I couldn’t trust you and he was right. You’re recording this conversation.”
Noelle opened her mouth, but no words came out as she tried to push Grady’s hand away.
“It’s the watch,” said the guy holding the iPad. “That’s where the signal is coming from.”
Grady released her neck only to grab her wrist. Frowning at the watch, he said, “This watch is some kind of …? What?”
“It’s got a tiny camera in it,” said another thug. “She’s been recording this entire time. Might have even been live streaming it.”
Scowling, Grady yanked the watch off her wrist, dropped it onto the ground, and stomped on it.
“Bad mistake, bitch,” he said, slamming his foot down on the watch over and over until it was unrecognizable. “You should have known that you couldn’t play me and get away with it! And now, because of your stupid decisions, today is the day that Nobody dies …”
Chapter Thirty
On her hands and knees, staring up into Grady’s cold, menacing gaze, Noelle crawled backward.
Scowling and shaking his head, Grady held out his hand palm up. One of his minions removed a gun from the inside of his jacket and placed it on Grady’s palm.
Noelle tried not to cry. She had to convince Grady not to kill her. She couldn’t die. Beanie would be devastated. Thinking of her precious little boys growing up without their mother brought a torrent of gasping tears she couldn’t contain.
Wrapping his hand around the butt of the gun, Grady slammed the firearm against her head. Crying out, Noelle fell on her side, panting from the pain reverberating beneath her skull. Pushing herself up, Noelle stared at dark drops on the floor. She touched her forehead and winced when she saw the bright red blood on her fingers. Her pulse racing, Noelle stared at Grady.
“Please don’t kill me,” she whispered, barely able to breathe. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
“Yeah, I know,” Grady said, pointing the gun at her. “You will do anything to save your own sorry ass which is why you tried to set me up.”
“No, Grady, I promise I didn’t—”
“Shut up!” Grady crouched in front of her and pressed the gun against her forehead. “Stuck-up bitch. You think you’re so much better than everybody because you got out of Handweg and went to America and got a college degree but you haven’t changed.”
Noelle trembled, feeling as though her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.
“You’re still a Handweg Ho,” Grady said, giving her a grim smile. “You proved that when you killed that college boy. Beat him to death with a shovel. Now, that’s some Handweg shit. And after you’re dead, your husband is gonna find out the truth about you. Maybe he’ll write the story for Palmchat Gazette. Maybe the headline will be—”
“What’s going on, Grady?”
Noelle jumped at the voice coming from the left. Deep and resonant with confidence and authority, the baritone was familiar, but with her mind in shambles, Noelle couldn’t discern who the man was.
“What’s happening here?”
The gun barrel moved from its spot between her eyes as Grady jumped up.
“Nico …” Grady said, shock and fear in his tone.
Nico? Nicolas Lecrae? Noelle felt faint. Nicholas “Nico” Lecrae was the leader of the PC-5 in St. Killian, a direct descent of one of the original founding members of the gang. What was Nico doing here? Hesitant, Noelle glanced left as she scooted back, trying to put distance between Grady and herself.
Followed by more than a dozen PC-5 members, Nico Lecrae strode toward Grady. Tall and muscular, he was still as handsome as he was ruthless. Noelle had only had two or three encounters with Nico, fifteen years ago, but he’d been charming and nice to her.
Standing still, with the gun hanging limply at his side, Grady took a few steps back while his four goons looked worried and afraid, as though they weren’t quite sure what to do.
“You need to start explaining, right now, what the hell is going on here,” Nico demanded.
Noelle stared at him. Dressed in tailored slacks and a shirt made of some luxurious fabric that clung to his muscles, he was good-looking with that hint of danger that many women craved. When he caught her gaze, she saw the recognition in his green eyes.
“This bitch is a snitch,” said Grady, a slight tremor beneath the bravado and disgust in his voice. “See this here?” He pointed the toe of his Italian leather loafers toward the video watch he’d destroyed. “It looked like a watch, but it was really a camera, and she was wearing it because she was trying to get evidence against me.”
Arms folded across his muscular chest, Nico looked amused. “And what evidence was Dr. Bean trying to get on you?”
Noelle was surprised Nico had called her Dr. Bean. Maybe, unlike Grady, Nico accepted that she was no longer a Handweg Ho and was willing to respect her accomplishments.
“Well, you know …” Grady glanced left and right, seemingly everywhere except at Nico. “I think she’s working with her husband. He works for the newspaper. I think he’s trying to do an expose on me, maybe.”
Watching the exchange between the two gang leaders, Noelle was torn. Did she stay still and hope Nico would allow her to leave? Or, should she get up and make a mad dash for the door Nico and his dirty dozen had entered? Every instinct told her to run. She sensed conflict between the men. Nico’s distrusting scowl deepened the more Grady stammered and stuttered lame explanations. Nico was not pleased with Grady, but that didn’t mean the St. Killian PC-5 leader would cut her any slack. Still, the door was far from where she sat. Glancing around the cavernous space, she realized what it was—an airplane hangar. The PC-5 had several small planes and jets at their disposal. The hangar was probably one of the gang’s many legitimately purchased properties.
Nico said, “You know what, Grady? I think Dr. Bean was trying to get evidence that you were trying to force her to help you start your own pharmaceutical company.”
“What?” Grady tried to sound surprised, but the fear in his voice was tangible, palpable, spreading to his four crew members who looked ready to abandon his rapidly sinking ship. “No, Nico, I don’t know why you would think that man. I’m not trying to start nothing without running it by you. Nico, you know I wouldn’t try no crazy shit like that.”
“I think you did try some crazy shit like that,” said Nico, stepping closer to Grady, invading his space. “You went behind my back, and you tried to convince Dr. Bean to supply you with prescription pain medication.”
“What?” Again, Grady sounded more afraid than affronted. “Nico, you know I wouldn’t—”
“You absolutely would,” Nico said, glaring at Grady. “You shouldn’t have, but since you did, we’re going to have to have a little talk.”
Grady said, “Nico, man, you can’t believe that—”
“Don’t say another word,” Nico warned. “The sound of your voice is pissing me off.”
Grady opened his mouth to protest, but two of Nico’s dirty dozen shook their heads. Instantly, Grady closed his mouth and dropped his head.
Nico turned and looked down at Noelle. “Sorry about all this, Dr. Bean,” he said, holding out a hand.
Noelle placed her trembling hand in his and allowed him to help her up.
After te
lling his dirty dozen he would return in a moment, Nico escorted Noelle to the side door of the hangar. On shaky legs, finding it hard to believe she hadn’t been shot in the head, Noelle stepped outside into the bright, blazing late afternoon sunshine.
Blinking her eyes, Noelle stared up at the expansive blue sky and the white cottony clouds. The breeze slanting across her face, with its faint scent of ocean and tuberose, brought tears to her eyes. Noelle hadn’t thought she would ever experience another beautiful St. Killian afternoon.
“How long has it been? Fifteen years?” Nico asked, smiling as he tilted his head. “Long damn time. A lot of changes.”
Noelle nodded. “Yeah.”
“The changes have been good for you,” Nico said. “I’m glad you overcame and got your life on track. My grandfather and his brother fought so that a girl from Handweg could grow up and be what you’ve become. Really proud of you, Noelle.”
“Thank you,” Noelle said, somewhat touched by his sincerity and yet disturbed by the idea of a ruthless gang member admiring her.
“You should get that cut on your head taken care of,” Nico said and then pointed to something behind her. “Saul will drive you back to the Purple Gecko to get your car.”
Noelle glanced over her shoulder. Several luxury cars were parked in a semi-circle a few feet from the hangar. A short, thin man wearing sunglasses stood in front of a dark Bentley—Nico’s car, Noelle assumed.
When she turned to thank Nico again, he’d turned from her and was walking back to the door leading into the hangar.
As Noelle walked to the Bentley, she heard a sound that sent a chill of apprehension through her.
An agonizing scream.
Chapter Thirty-One
Beanie walked into the foyer of the modest two-bedroom bungalow in the Oyster Farms neighborhood.
Closing the door behind him, Beanie tossed his keys on the side table, anxious to tell Noelle about his trip to confront Kevin Cook which hadn’t turned out how he’d expected.
Things had turned out better than expected. Maybe. Hopefully.
Seeing those rusty smears on a pair of jeans that belonged to Kevin Cook had been beyond shocking. Beanie had been floored, his emotions swinging from euphoria to doubt. Everything within him wanted to shout in triumph, but he had to temper his anxiousness to celebrate.
First of all, he didn’t know if the blood on the jeans was Eamon Taylor’s blood. He didn’t know if the jeans really belonged to Kevin Cook. For all anyone knew, the jeans could have been hidden in the bottom of the laundry basket by any one of Cook’s friends or acquaintances.
Officer Damon Fields had pointed out all the things to consider after he, Sophie, and Sarah had called the St. Killian police following Sarah’s bombshell reveal. Initially, the babysitter had balked at calling the police. She didn’t want Kevin to get in trouble. She was afraid that Kevin had killed Eamon but she loved him and didn’t want him to be arrested. Sophie had convinced her that the cops needed to find out the truth and if Sarah had evidence to help their investigation, then she owed it to Eamon Taylor to tell the police her suspicions of Kevin and show them the bloodstained jeans.
Officer Fields hadn’t been as enthusiastic as Beanie had hoped. He’d taken Sarah’s statement and bagged the jeans for processing. Fields promised to follow up on the leads, and then he left after telling Beanie and Sophie to leave the investigating to the police.
Heading into the living room, Beanie paused. It was dark in the house and quiet—unnaturally so. He looked at his watch. A little after four in the afternoon. Was Noelle home? This morning, she’d told him she had to run errands, but she should be back by now.
Beanie went to the kitchen and then into the home office. Both areas were empty, and the lights were off.
“Noelle?” He called out, but not too loud just in case she and the boys were napping. “Noelle?” From the study, Beanie meandered past the powder room and then turned onto the hall leading to the bedrooms at the back of the house. He poked his head into the room the boys shared. It was dark and empty. Beanie’s heart lurched. Apprehensive, he walked toward the door at the end of the hall—the master bedroom. The door was closed. He knocked softly.
“Noelle?” Beanie opened the door.
The bedroom was dark. The shades were drawn, but Beanie could make out a shape lying on the Queen-sized bed.
“Noelle?” Beanie asked, lingering by the door. “You awake?”
After a few seconds of silence, he heard, “Yeah …”
Beanie’s pulse went wild. Noelle’s voice was hoarse and thick. He could tell she’d been crying. His heart broke anytime Noelle was sad or upset. All he wanted to do was make everything better.
“Why are you laying in here in the dark?” Beanie asked, trying not to jump to any dire conclusions. “You have a headache?”
“Don’t turn on the light,” she mumbled. “I don’t want you to get upset.”
“Why would I get upset if I turned on the light?”
When Noelle didn’t answer, Beanie walked to the bed, crawled across the mattress and lay down behind his wife. “Babe, what’s the matter?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Noelle said as she turned toward him. Clinging to him, she burst into tears and buried her face against his chest.
Worried, Beanie let her cry. When the tears subsided, Beanie rose up to reach across Noelle and turn on the bedtable lamp. “Sweetheart, what is the—”
Beanie stopped, staring at Noelle, who had moved onto her back. Fear and anger slashed through him like a machete as his eyes roamed over her face. Plum-colored bruises stained her cheeks and a nasty gash, crusted with coagulated blood, split the skin on her forehead.
“Noelle, who did this?” Beanie asked, trying to stay calm even though he felt rabid and wanted to rip something apart. “What happened to you? Who did this?”
“I messed up, Beanie,” Noelle sobbed. “I was so stupid.”
“What are you talking about?” Beanie asked. “What happened?”
“I’m not the woman that you think I am,” she said, closing her eyes as the tears ran down her cheeks. “I don’t deserve you, Beanie. I don’t deserve to be your wife or the mother of—”
“Noelle, why would you say something like that?” Beanie pulled her to a sitting position. “Tell me what the hell is going on!”
Sniffing, Noelle looked down. “I was stupid to think I could be something I’m not.”
“Babe, what does that mean?”
“I thought I could have a successful career and be a loving wife and mother.”
“You are those things and so much more,” Beanie said, confused and concerned. Noelle was usually tenacious and determined. She never gave up and always believed she could overcome any obstacles in her path, but these damn ridiculous murder charges were threatening to break her spirit.
“No, Beanie, I’m not,” Noelle said, twisting from him to move off the bed. “I’m just a Handweg Ho.”
Beanie shook his head, though Noelle had her back to him and couldn’t see him. “You’re not a Handweg Ho. You got out of Handweg. That place is behind you. You’re not about that Handweg life. You never were.”
Noelle faced him, her eyes blazing with some strange emotion he couldn’t identify. “I was about that Handweg life, Beanie. That’s what I mean when I say I’m not the woman you think I am. I did make it out of Handweg, and I made a better life for myself but before I left …”
“Before you left, what?”
Noelle sighed, rubbing her arms. “There are things you don’t know about me, Beanie. Things you should know. Things I never wanted to tell you because I didn’t want you to know the truth about me.”
Beanie tensed, worried about the direction of the conversation, which he wasn’t sure he wanted to have. “What is the truth about you?”
Gingerly wiping her bruised cheeks, Noelle said, “Before I left Handweg, I … “
Waiting for Noelle to speak, Beanie fought the urge t
o stop her from saying anything. He feared what she was about to say, but something told him he needed to hear it.
Squaring her shoulders, Noelle said, “I used to be in the PC-5 …”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Near the foot of the bed, perched on the edge, Noelle stared at her bare toes as she waited for Beanie’s reaction.
He knew the awful truth about her now.
She could only hope he didn’t hate her, but she was bracing herself for the worst—not that she would be able to withstand Beanie’s wrath.
For the past few hours, Noelle had been pacing around the bedroom, staring at the bed, the dresser, the wardrobe, the nightstands, looking anywhere except at Beanie. Telling Beanie the story of her life as a fifteen-year-old PC-5 member, the life she’d escaped, Noelle hadn’t wanted to see his face as she recounted her tale.
Noelle had started from the beginning when she was Noelle Chartres. Born on the wrong side of the island in Handweg Gardens, she’d lived with her mother, Natalie Chartres.
She’d moved on to her life as a tough-as-nails, take-no-prisoners juvenile delinquent with a list of misdemeanors on her long rap sheet. During that time, she’d been a defiant member of the PC-5, a legacy member through her father, Josue Chartres. Currently incarcerated in prison in St. Cera, serving a life sentence, Josue Chartres had been a violent enforcer for the PC-5.
When she was fifteen years old, Noelle had tried to explain she’d had no direction and little guidance and supervision from her mother, who had to work three jobs to afford the roach-infested four-room clapboard house they barely survived in.
The PC-5 became Noelle’s family, providing her with the attention and sense of belonging she longed for, even though the love they gave her was conditional. The PC-5 required her to be a look-out and a “sticky finger,” a petty thief who stole from tourists and shoplifted items the PC-5 leaders needed or wanted. She was given the street name “Nobody” because she was a sneaky thief and after she left a place where she’d hit, it would appear that “nobody” had been there.
