by Karen Rose
Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 2:45 p.m.
“How is the girl?”
Susannah didn’t need to look to know Luke Papadopoulos was standing behind her. “She woke up for a little while, but slipped back under. I suppose it’s her way of dodging the pain for a while.”
Luke came into the little ICU room and pulled up the other chair. “Did she say anything when she woke up?”
“No. She just looked at me like I was God or something.”
“You brought her out of the woods.”
“I didn’t do anything.” She swallowed. Truer words had never been spoken.
“Susannah. You did not cause this.”
“I don’t happen to agree.”
“Talk to me.”
She turned to look at him. He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, blacker than night. And right now they seethed with turbulent emotion. But the rest of his face was composed. He could have been a statue for all the emotion she saw on his face. “Why?”
“Because . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “Because I want to know.”
One side of her mouth lifted in what she knew had been labeled a sneer by many. “You want to know what, Agent Papadopoulos?”
“Why you think this is your fault.”
“Because I knew,” she said flatly. “I knew and I said nothing.”
“What did you know?” he asked rationally.
She looked away, fixing her gaze on the girl with no name. Who’d looked at her like she was God. “I knew Simon was a rapist.”
“I thought Simon didn’t do any of the rapes, that he only took the pictures.”
She remembered the picture Simon showed her. “He did at least one.”
She heard Luke’s indrawn breath. “Did you tell Daniel?”
She whipped around to glare at him. “No. And neither will you.”
There was a fury within her. It boiled and bubbled and threatened to escape every day of her life. She knew what she had done, and what she had not. Daniel had seen only a glimpse of pictures in which no rapists were identifiable. She could not say the same. “I only know that if I’d said something, this might have been avoided.” She ran her hand lightly over the rail on the hospital bed. “She might not be here right now in this hospital.”
Luke was quiet for a very long time, and together they sat watching the girl breathe, thinking their own thoughts. Susannah could respect a man who knew when to respect the quiet. Finally he spoke. “I recognized one of the bodies back there.”
She turned to look at him again, stunned. “How?”
“From a case I was working eight months ago.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I failed to protect that girl. I failed to bring a sexual sadist that preyed on children to justice. I want another bite at the apple.”
She studied his face, the set of his mouth. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a more serious man. “Granville’s dead.”
“But there’s another. Someone who was pulling the strings. Someone who taught Granville how to be very good at his job. I want him.” He turned to meet her eyes and she nearly backed away from the power that emanated from him. “I want to throw him into hell and throw away the key.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think you want the same thing.”
She turned back to Jane Doe, the rage inside her bubbling higher. Rage at Simon, at Granville, at this mysterious whoever . . . and at herself. Then, she’d done nothing. As of today, that changed. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you when I do.” He got up. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not telling Daniel about Simon.”
She looked up at him. “Thank you for respecting my decision.”
They held each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then Luke Papadopoulos gave her a nod and walked away. Susannah turned back to the girl with no name.
And saw herself.
Atlanta, Monday, February 5, 10:45 a.m.
It had been three days since Mansfield had shot Daniel, sending the dominoes toppling. It had been three days since Alex had killed a man and watched two more die before her eyes, and it still hadn’t sunk in. Or maybe she just wasn’t sorry.
Alex was leaning toward the second one.
She pushed Daniel’s wheelchair through the doorway at the justice center into the small room where their meeting was to take place. “This is a waste of time, Daniel.”
Daniel pushed himself from the chair and walked to the table on his own two feet. He was thinner and still pale, but recovering well. He pulled her chair out, then sat next to her. “Humor me. You might not think you need closure, but I do.”
She stared at the wall. “I don’t want to see him.”
“Why?”
She moved her shoulders, uneasy. “I’ve got things to do, productive things. Like getting Bailey into rehab and getting Hope to preschool every day and finding a job.”
“All very important things,” he agreed affably. “So what’s the real reason?”
She turned to glare at him, but the tenderness in his eyes made her swallow hard. “I killed a man,” she murmured.
“You’re not feeling guilty about Mansfield.” It was more statement than question.
“No. The opposite, actually. I’m glad I killed him. I felt . . .”
“Powerful?” he supplied, and she nodded.
“Yeah, I guess that’s it. Like for that moment I was in charge and fixing something that had gone horribly wrong with the universe.”
“You did. But that scares you.”
“Yes, it scares me. I can’t go around shooting people, Daniel. Craig won’t talk to me and I’m going to feel helpless. I’ll wish I could shoot him, too, and I can’t.”
“Welcome to my world,” Daniel said with a wry smile. “But avoiding him isn’t the answer, honey. All avoiding the truth got you was screams and bad dreams.”
She wanted to argue, but knew he was right. Then forgot about arguing when the door opened and a guard led Craig Crighton into the room, his arms and legs shackled. The guard pushed Craig into a chair, chains jangling.
It was a full minute before Alex realized several things. She had her head down, staring at her hands, just as she’d done that day in the hospital, so many years before. No one had spoken. And there was no screaming in her mind, only bone-chilling silence. Daniel covered her hands with his and squeezed lightly, giving her the strength to lift her eyes and then her chin until she looked Craig Crighton full in the face.
He was old. Haggard. Years of drug use and living on the streets had dulled his eyes. But he stared at her just as Gary Fulmore had, and Alex realized he was seeing Alicia. Or maybe even her mother. “Craig,” she said evenly, and he jumped, startled.
“You’re not her,” he mumbled.
“No, I’m not. I know what you did,” she said, still evenly, and Craig’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Agent Vartanian.” Alex looked over to where a young man in a blue suit sat next to a stylish blonde in a black suit. The young man had spoken. Alex recognized the blonde as state attorney Chloe Hathaway from the times Hathaway had visited Daniel in the hospital. Alex’s assumption that the young man was Craig’s defense attorney was quickly confirmed. “What are you hoping to get from this meeting? My client has been charged with the murder of Sister Anne Chambers. Surely you aren’t expecting him to implicate himself in another murder.”
“Just to talk,” Daniel said easily. “Perhaps to clear up a few points from the past.”
“I know your client killed my mother,” Alex said, proud her voice didn’t tremble. “And while I’d like to see him punished, I know he won’t admit it. I would like to know, however, what happened next.”
“You took a bottle of pills,” Craig said coldly.
“I don’t think so,” Alex replied. “If you gave them to me, I’d like to know.”
“If he gave th
em to you,” Craig’s attorney said smoothly, “that would have been attempted murder. You can’t expect him to admit to that either.”
“I won’t press charges,” Alex said.
“You wouldn’t have a choice,” Chloe Hathaway said. “If Mr. Crighton tried to kill you by giving you an overdose of pills, I’d have to prosecute.”
“But you could work something out, couldn’t you, Chloe?” Daniel asked.
“Reduced charges on the nun?” Craig’s lawyer asked cagily and Alex’s temper blew.
She stood up, trembling now, but from rage. “No. Absolutely no. I will not sacrifice justice for Sister Anne just to soothe my pride.” She leaned across the table until she was eye to eye with Crighton. “You killed my mother and your son raped my sister. He tried to rape me and you never did a thing to stop him. If I did take those pills, I’m not ashamed. You took away everything I loved then. You won’t take my self-respect now.” She looked at Chloe Hathaway. “I’m sorry you were bothered to come, but we’re done.”
“Alex,” Daniel murmured. “Sit down. Please.” His large hand covered her back, tugging her until she sat back down. “Chloe?”
“Immunity on the attempted murder charge, but nothing on the nun’s murder.”
Craig’s lawyer laughed. “So this is basically a good deed? No thank you.”
Daniel was giving Craig his coldest stare. “Consider it penance for killing a nun.”
They sat in silence until Alex could bear it no longer. She stood up. “My mother didn’t kill you when she had the chance. Call it fear or panic or mercy, the result is the same. You’re here and she’s not, because you were afraid your secret would be found out. But guess what? It would have come out sooner or later anyway. Secrets have a tendency to do that. I lost my mother, but you lost, too. You lost Bailey and Wade and your life as you knew it. I have my life. Even if your attorney manages to get you out of here someday, you’ll never get your life back. Knowing that will be enough.”
She’d walked to the door when Craig stopped her.
“You didn’t take the pills. I gave them to you.”
She turned around slowly. “How?” she asked as neutrally as she was able.
“We ground them up, put them in water. When you came to, we made you drink it.”
“We?”
“Wade and I. He didn’t want to, for what it’s worth.”
Alex walked back to the table to face him. “And the pills you put in my hand the day Kim came to take me home?” she asked, and he dropped his gaze.
“I hoped either you’d take them or Kim would find them and turn me in. That’s all.”
It was enough. “If you ever get out, you stay away from Hope and Bailey.”
He nodded once. “Take me back.”
The guard took Craig away, his lawyer following. Chloe Hathaway gave Alex an appraising look. “I wouldn’t have given him an inch on the nun. Just so you know.”
Alex smiled thinly. “Thank you for the immunity. It’s good to know the truth.” When the SA was gone, Alex turned to Daniel. “And thank you for making me come. I really did need to know.”
He stood and put his arm around her. “I know you did. I wouldn’t have cared either way, but you needed to know. Now all the secrets that were, aren’t. Let’s go home.”
Home. To Daniel’s house with its comfortable living room, the pool table and the bar with Dogs Playing Poker, and the bedroom with his big bed. It would be the first time Daniel had been home since he’d been shot, and heat spread within her at the thought of no longer sleeping in his big bed alone.
Then she remembered the state in which she’d left his house and winced. “Um, as long as we’re baring truths, I have a small confession. Hope fed Riley.”
Daniel groaned. “Where?”
“In the living room. I called Luke’s mama and she’s sending Luke’s cousin. He has his own carpet-cleaning business. It should be clean before we get back.”
He sat in the wheelchair with a sigh. “Any more secrets or confessions?”
She laughed, the sound surprising her. “Nope, I think we’re good. Let’s go home.”
About the Author
KAREN ROSE is an award-winning author who fell in love with books from the time she learned to read. She started writing stories of her own when the characters in her head started talking and just wouldn’t be silenced. A former chemical engineer and high school chemistry and physics teacher, Karen lives in Florida with her husband of twenty years, their two children, and the family cat, Bella. When she’s not writing, Karen is practicing for her next karate belt test! Karen would be thrilled to receive your e-mail at [email protected].
