by Hinze, Vicki
“Just shut up.” He waved the gun at her, agitated, his face sunburn red. “She’s in jail and I want her out.”
Della guffawed. “The two of you tried to kill me and you think I’m going to help you?”
The back door opened without a sound and Jake and Paul entered, their movements stealth, silent.
“Your choice,” Jeff said, his tone threatening. “You can help me or die.”
Jake lunged and latched on to Jeff’s arm.
Paul knocked the gun from his hand, kicked it across the floor to Della.
Jeff swung at Paul. Jake dangled off the floor, his teeth sunk into Jeff’s forearm.
Della grabbed the gun. Cocked it and shouted. “Stop!” She spread her legs, took a two-handed aim at Jeff’s chest. “Don’t make me kill you. I don’t want to do it, but I will.”
Jeff looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You’re not going to kill me.”
“Yes, Jeff.” She gave him a flat, steady look. “I will.”
Something flashed in his eyes and then crossed his face. He believed her and stilled.
“Jake, heel.”
He let go, backed off and sat down within lunging distance. Alert, ready.
Paul took the envelope. Praised Jake. Then called Detective Cray. “I’ve got Jeff Jackson in my kitchen. He pulled a gun on Della. Now she’s got it trained on him and if he moves, she’s going to shoot him, so don’t linger getting here.” A brief pause, then, “No, she’s not hysterical. She’s a marksman, combat veteran.” Another quick pause. “No, I am not going to take the gun away from her. He’s tried to kill her several times. If she has to shoot him, she will shoot him. Home invasion, self-defense.”
Paul was playing to Jeff’s fears. Della kept the gun trained on him. They both knew she wouldn’t shoot him unless provoked.
Paul hung up, stowed his phone and stepped too close to Jeff.
Seizing the opportunity, Jeff whipped his good arm back and hit Paul upside the head.
“Jake, stay!” Della shouted. “Jeff, move again, and you’re a dead man—I mean it.”
“You’d never bloody a clean floor.”
“You have no idea what I will or won’t do. The woman you knew is gone. I’m not her anymore. I warn you, don’t try me, Jefferson Jackson. You won’t survive to regret it.” She motioned with her chin. “Paul, get some rope.”
“What about first aid for his arm? He’s bleeding pretty bad.”
“Let him bleed.” It wasn’t that bad. Jake could have taken his arm off, but he hadn’t. Nothing Jeff couldn’t stand. Glaring at him, she added, “Blowing up my garage. Burning down my cottage. I should shoot you just for general principles.”
Jeff frowned. “Woman, have you lost your mind?”
“Now’s not a good time to push her.” Paul returned with the rope, shoved Jeff onto a chair, then began tying him up.
“She was my wife.” His eyes sparked hostility. “Don’t you tell me—”
“Fine.” Paul lifted his hand. “But she’s not that woman anymore.”
Ignoring him, Jeff spat at Della. “I had nothing to do with your garage or your cottage. You’re crazy if you think you’re pinning that on me.”
Paul took the envelope and passed it to Della.
She exchanged it for the gun. Paul looked at Jeff. “Don’t even think about moving.”
Jeff’s face bleached white.
Della opened the envelope. Fourteen photographs spilled into her hands. Each of them shattered her heart. Her eyes blurred. She swiped at them and made herself keep looking. God, give her strength. Carry her.
On the eleventh photo she saw what Jeff feared she’d see. “Paul.”
He stepped to her side. “Look at the splatter.”
Her heart, though seized and crushed, somehow held the pain.
“Don’t show it to him. Don’t!” Jeff screamed, and tears streaked down his face.
“I’m so sorry.” Paul clasped her shoulder. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
She walked over to Jeff and slapped his face. Then slapped him again.
Jake didn’t move. Didn’t growl or utter a sound, just watched her carefully as if sensing her sadness and shock. She raised her hand to slap Jeff a third time.
“Della, enough,” Paul said from behind her.
She stopped midswing. What was she thinking? Doing? No. No, I won’t be like him. I won’t. The anger churning inside her threatened to erupt yet again and smother out everything good. So strong and fierce and unrelenting it frightened her. She stiffened, shunned it, prayed for calm and a clear mind.
Paul stepped closer, lowered her arm and closed his arms around her. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She buried her face in his shoulder and cried deep, heavy sobs wrenched from her soul. Her entire body shook, racked by spasms. Jake moved closer, nuzzled her leg with his nose. “He knew,” she told Paul, then glared at Jeff. “You saw the wires. You couldn’t have missed seeing the wires. And you opened the box anyway.” She curled the fabric of Paul’s shirt into her fist to keep from lashing out again. “You knew and you used our baby as a shield to protect yourself. How could you do that? How could you...do that?”
Jeff stared down at his lap and said nothing.
“You knew I would know it because you did it to me—our neighbor who parked on the grass and you went postal. But that’s one thing, Jeff. Danny? A baby? Our baby?” A scream tortured her throat. She tried to break away from Paul, to go after Jeff again.
Paul held her tight. “No. No.”
Giving up, she let out a deep, keening scream that held three years of self-recrimination and guilt and grief and agony. Three years of regret and blame and self-loathing for not being there to protect her child when he needed protection. And shame and disgust that what he’d needed protection from most was his own father.
Warny hobbled into the kitchen with his shotgun. “What in tarnation is going on—?” He stopped, looked at Della, saw her pain and asked Paul, “That him?”
Paul nodded.
“Get her where she don’t have to look at him.”
“No.” She sniffed. “No.” She walked over and jerked back Jeff’s head, forced him to look into her eyes. “You look at me, Jefferson Jackson.” She waited until he opened his eyes and his gaze met hers. “You were ashamed of yourself. Terrified I’d know the truth—that anyone would discover it. You hid like a coward behind our baby and that’s why you blamed me. That’s why you divorced me. Not because it was my fault. Because it was yours, and you were scared to death I’d know it. So scared you were willing to kill me to keep the truth hidden. So no one else would see what you’ve done. Well, I’m alive, and I see. I’m not blind and I know. I’ll always know.”
“I thought it was a joke.”
“A joke?” She grunted. “With some of your friends, maybe. But you still put Danny between you and the box, so somewhere in your head, you thought it might not be a joke. All you had to do was back off and call the cops. That’s all.”
“I didn’t want to look stupid if it was a joke.”
“Well, congratulations. You don’t look stupid. You look just like the coward you were, hiding behind an innocent child.”
He withered on the chair and closed his eyes.
She let go of his head. “Detective Cray’s here. I hear the car.” She told Paul and then looked back at Jeff. “You know what, Jeff? You’re going to have to live with yourself for the things you’ve done to Danny and to me. A long time of it, you’ll live in jail. But I want you to know something. Once you leave here today, I’ll mourn my son. And then I’m going to live my life. It’ll be rich and full and I’ll be content and happy.” The fire left her voice. “And on the rare occasion when you cross my mind, I’ll pray for you. One day, I might even be able to forgive you. But it won’t be today.”
She turned and walked out of the kitchen.
* * *
He sat alone at the farthermost white
-resin table in the sea of white-resin tables and chairs. Metal framing stretched up and overhead, forming a green tent-type tarpaulin ceiling. That and a tiled concrete slab formed the outdoor dining room of Miss Addie’s North Bay Café.
A fan stirred the air. Near the blue front wall that led into the indoor dining room and kitchen sat all of the Lost, Inc., staff. Laughing and talking over dessert, they were having a fine time. Della Jackson sat between Grant Deaver and Paul Mason.
He hadn’t killed her, though he’d tried often enough—too often to try again and reveal that everything hadn’t been sewn up nice and tidy in a perfect little package. At least he’d gotten to see her fear.
Some sacrifices were worth making for the benefit gained in having Jeff Jackson blamed for everything.
Pulling out his wallet, he dropped a tip on the table and then exited off the slab and cut across the lawn to the sidewalk. Under the shade of an encroaching oak, he lit a cigar. Jackson didn’t know one end of a triggering device from another, but no one believed him. He’d be convicted for it all and do a nice long stint in jail.
If he hadn’t done what he’d done to his kid, his whole future would have been different. But he did. And because he did, no one would be looking for the man who really had done everything except ship a package and steal an ambulance. Jeff Jackson would be blamed for it all.
Two women came toward him on the sidewalk. Nodding, he stepped aside so they could pass. “Ladies.”
They smiled.
He walked on. Unfortunately, he still needed someone to blame for the security breach at the Nest. The human blood on the knives came back with no matches, just as he intended, so they were stymied on that aspect of the investigation. Jackson was convenient, but without access through Della, no one would consider him a viable suspect for the Nest security breach. He glanced over at the Lost, Inc., staff, seated now just off his left shoulder. No, for that crime he needed someone with access, motive, means and opportunity. He needed one of them.
He’d like to set up that rich snob Madison McKay, but Deaver was too close to her at the moment, so he didn’t dare. That left Jimmy, Mrs. Renault and Ian Crane, aka Doc. Which one would it be?
He paused at the bench and studied them. He’d decide soon.
Della wasn’t dead and had been absolved for the security breach of the Nest. That was a disappointment, but as he’d aptly proven, there are times when it’s harder to live with the truth than it is to die.
She’d discovered that, and it was clear now that the cowardly Jeff Jackson had, too.
He pulled three coins from his pocket: a quarter, a dime and a nickel—Doc, Mrs. Renault and Jimmy. Heads or tails. Odd one out becomes the Nest’s next victim.
He flipped the coins.
EPILOGUE
Della and Paul joined the Lost, Inc., group in the conference room.
Madison hugged her hard. “He’s in jail. I’m so glad this is behind you.”
A flurry of comments came from the others.
“You sleeping okay, Della?” Doc asked.
“I am now.” She nodded at Mrs. Renault, sitting with her pen poised over her pad.
“We’ve been calling Warny. He says you’re okay.”
Paul pulled out her chair. She sat down. “I am. I just needed a few days to come to grips with everything.”
“Of course you did.” Mrs. Renault reached over and patted her arm. “Miss Addie is back home. She’s overseeing the workers at the cottage.”
“They’ve started repairs?”
Mrs. Renault nodded. “Sampson Construction. They’ve promised Miss Addie they’ll have everything done in a month.”
“That’s good news.” She glanced at Paul.
His reaction seemed mixed. “Stay at the ranch as long as you like. It’s good for you there.”
“It is. Thank you. But what about Warny’s snoring?”
“Warny snores?” Paul didn’t smile, but his eyes twinkled. “I hadn’t noticed.”
She laughed, then swiped her hair back from her face. “I can’t begin to thank you all for everything you’ve done to help me through this. There just...aren’t words.”
Madison smiled. “Della, we’re family, and wouldn’t have it any other way. I wish we could have spared you from some of the...bad parts of this, but now you know the truth, and he won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”
“No, he won’t.” She still had a hard time wrapping her mind around Jeff’s actions.
Jimmy slumped sideward, chewing a wad of gum. “Is he still denying everything?”
“Aside from the ambulance snatch,” Paul said. “Tommy and his dad went down for a lineup, but Tommy says Jeff isn’t the man who approached him on the sidewalk. Cray figures he hired someone, maybe a tourist.”
“Does he have enough to convict him?” Grant Deaver asked.
“He says he does,” Della said, thoroughly weary of being the topic of the conversation. “So, what about the security breach at the Nest?”
Madison shot a worried look at Grant.
“Not that it’ll come as a surprise to anyone, but I was hauled in and disclosed the attempt to sting at Seaside—not to randomly report or disclose but to substantiate my assertion that there was nothing at Lost, Inc., or with any of you to support any claim that the Nest breach started here with one or more of you.”
Madison stilled. “You defended us to them?”
He nodded. “I couldn’t ignore their summons. Everyone here knows you’re subject to recall after you depart the fix and separate from active duty. I couldn’t lie, so I told the truth in a way that was honest and, I believe, accurate.”
Madison covered his hand with hers. “Thank you for telling us, Grant.”
Della watched Madison’s expression change, mercurial. Definitely attracted, definitely troubled by the attraction and clearly seeking reassurance. She swerved her gaze to Grant and saw the same uncertainty in him.
“Love and distrust is a real pain in a relationship,” Paul whispered.
“It is,” she whispered back, wondering which would win between them.
“So, where does that leave us?” Jimmy cracked his gum, earning himself a strong visual reprimand from Mrs. Renault. “Mmm, sorry.”
Grant took in a sharp breath. “Right now they’re looking elsewhere.”
“Which means we’re neither on nor off the hook.” Madison accepted it.
“In these situations that’s the best it gets, Madison.” Mrs. Renault smiled. “This is good news. If they had anything at all, we’d be arrested. So we’re in good shape.”
Doc’s stomach growled. “Did you say Miss Addie’s back?” he asked Mrs. Renault.
“I did.”
“Is she cooking today?”
Mrs. Renault nodded. “Yes, she is.”
“Well, if we’re done here, I’m going to see if she’s made any banana pudding.”
“That sounds good. I love her banana pudding.” Jimmy stood up. “Let’s go.”
Mrs. Renault closed her pad. “I could use some strawberry shortcake.”
“Ooh, me, too.” Madison stood up.
Grant followed her. “Pecan pie.”
“Ooh, I want a bite. Miss Addie makes the best pecan pie.” Madison grabbed her handbag, looked at Paul and Della. “You guys coming?”
“No,” Paul said. “Della made a peach cobbler.”
“You cooked?” Madison looked flabbergasted.
Della laughed. “I’m a great cook.”
Madison patted her chest. “Keep beating, heart. Keep beating.” She moved to the door. “Take a week off, Della. Just be for a little while. Ian’s up to speed on all your cases and you need some downtime. You haven’t taken a day off in three years.”
Della nodded. “Thanks. I’m going to take you up on that. Warny’s planting a garden. I could help him with it. His eyes aren’t so good right now.”
“They’d be fine if he’d wear his glasses,” Paul said. “But he’d love your help.”<
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“Mmm.” Madison smiled. “Good. This is good.”
“Yes.” Della smiled back, and Madison left, calling down the stairs, “Wait for me.”
Grant’s voice carried back. “I’m waiting. Seems I spend half my life waiting for you.”
Della looked at Paul. “Think they’ll make it?”
He debated. “Wrong question.”
“What’s the right question?”
“Will they be sane when they make it, or drive each other crazy in the process?”
Della laughed, snagged his arm and squeezed.
“You okay? Really?”
“I will be.” She looked up, let him see all there was to see in her eyes. “I’m so much better.”
Relief washed down Paul’s face. “It’s been hard on you, I know.”
“On you, too, but that wasn’t what I meant. It’s not what I got rid of. It’s what I found.”
“The truth is hard sometimes.”
“Some truths are. But the one I’m talking about wasn’t. It’s beautiful, and I’m so happy I found it.”
He looked confused.
She circled his neck with her arms. “I love you, Paul.”
He stood stock-still a long moment. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” She dipped her chin. “You’re not going to run on me, are you? Because if you are, I’ll tell you right now, I’ll just hunt you down. I didn’t get to be Lost, Inc.’s top investigator by quitting. I always find the lost.”
“I’m not running.” He smiled. “Della, you’re the answer to my prayers.”
He hadn’t given her the words. Was that significant?
It wasn’t. He’d shown her he loved her in thousands of ways—and with luck would thousands more. In his own time...in God’s perfect time.
Dead by dawn.
She smiled. The only thing dead between them was doubt and fear.
Love endured and thrived.
“Della?”
She looked at Paul.
“I love you.” His voice brimmed with emotion.
She cupped his beloved face in her hands. Her heart filled and overflowed with a joy so rich and pure it left her breathless. Blessed. So blessed. “Yes. Yes, you do.”
“Remember that deal we made about the right woman?”
