It’s not the smartest plan. Then again, Zack reminds himself, despite her luck over the years, Lauren isn’t a criminal mastermind. She’s simply a mother whose child is being threatened.
This is what Jasper wants everyone to believe. Since Bode’s call, Jasper has been spewing messages in Lauren’s defense every ten seconds like an automaton, but no one’s really listening.
“She’s not capable of this...
“She’s the kind of woman who says thank you when a stranger sneezes, for Christ’s sake. She’s not a murderer...
“You don’t understand, she would never...
“How can you possibly believe Lauren could be responsible...
“You’ve scared her off, that’s why she’s run...”
Zack finally tells him to go for a walk and get out of the way. He isn’t unkind, but Jasper’s sudden jazzy energy is making it difficult to think. He can’t help but feel like Jasper is a part of this, that he’s responsible in some way. His rational mind tells him he’s being unfair, but the small shrieking child in his soul who’s been torn asunder since Vivian’s death wants answers.
How could Jasper not have known?
How could he have been lied to all these years?
How can he defend a woman who’s clearly dangerous as hell?
Zack knows he’s not getting anywhere with these questions. Truthfully, he wants to get Jasper up against the wall and interrogate him personally, leading with his fists, but the case is in the CBI’s hands now. Parks and Starr and Woody are in charge, not Zack.
So he gets coffee for the crew, tries to listen in on their status briefings. Stares through the glass at Mindy’s sleeping form. Thinks about Vivian in ways he hasn’t allowed himself to in more than a decade. About what she would think of all this. About her eyes. About the sweet kiss of her breath on his neck, and the gentle roundness of her belly with Mindy inside. For so long, he’s only been able to see the crime scene, her neck and stomach gashed open, her eyes milky and slitted, the black stain beneath her bloated, maggot-covered body.
Now, he lets himself see some of the good things. That picture being flashed on the screen, for one. Her smile when they first met. But without any word, he is getting more and more frustrated.
He spends fifteen minutes downstairs with Juliet. If she wakes up, if her mind isn’t permanently damaged and she’s able to understand, he intends to ask her to dinner. He is tired of not living his life. It makes him sad, the idea of everything he’s lost. But what else was he supposed to do? He’s been grieving for so long he doesn’t know how to exist any other way. It took Juliet, and Mindy, to crack through the hard shell he encased himself in. And now he might lose them both.
If she survives becomes the mantra that takes his feet from the second floor up the stairs to the third. He alternates between Juliet’s room and Mindy’s, the prayers different, but no less emphatic.
The idea that he’s come so far, that he’s found himself again in this mess—it is too much to bear losing anything more.
It is his turn to have a family. It is his turn to have someone to love.
Hours are spent in this loop. Hours wondering what the police are saying to Lauren Wright inside Juliet’s home. Hours wondering how he could have let all of this happen. Hours berating himself for not trusting his instincts. He knew something was wrong with Lauren the moment he met her.
As dawn breaks, he bangs through the doors onto the oncology floor. A fine ripple of tension is moving from person to person as some sort of news spreads.
Parks sees him and starts down the hall. It is clear he has something to say. Zack glances at the television screen, immediately assuming something has changed. He is right.
The blinding flashes of light from a hovering helicopter turn the scene into a strobe. It’s like a movie set, and he knows by the stiffness in Parks’s stride that they are hitting Juliet’s town house hard, with Lauren inside. Negotiations have failed. They have decided to breach, and things rarely down go well when the SWAT team starts throwing smoke grenades into homes.
There is a television with the volume raised in the alcove outside the nurses’ station. He stops to watch, Kat glued to his side, trembling as if she, too, is under attack.
Men in SWAT gear run toward the town house. A small fire starts in the corner of the screen, almost like a flame inside a trashcan. The flames grow, he can see them rising behind the glass, the curtains catching.
Juliet’s home is on fire.
When Parks is five feet away, a long, low alarm starts going off. For a second Zack thinks it’s coming from the television until the fire alarms on the floor start to flash, a sharp white strobe, eerily similar to what he’s just been watching. Parks stops and looks over his shoulder, mouth agape. Zack tries to process what he’s seeing with what he’s hearing.
Fire on the screen.
Fire here?
Doctors and nurses appear, pushing people out of the way, and suddenly people are running, making phone calls. Some seem panicked. Some are calm.
And over the loudspeakers, a robotic voice tells everyone to evacuate the building immediately.
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The wig is black, a sharp bob, one Lauren used for Halloween the year they went to the costume party, she and Jasper, dressed as Mia Wallace and Vince Vega from Pulp Fiction. Juliet borrowed it, bless her. It was in the town house’s garage, in the big box that held things from their mother’s house that Lauren hadn’t wanted and Juliet couldn’t—or wouldn’t—part with. Their mother’s box. Their mother’s car. Juliet always keeps things in top-notch running order. She jokes she takes the car out on Sundays like a little old lady.
Convenient, finding these things in the clean darkness.
Dressed as she is, in the wig and a bit of bright makeup, Lauren walks directly into the hospital. No one gives her a second glance. She is just another person with a cross to bear—a woman on her way to visit a sick friend, or perhaps a nurse starting a shift after a date, her scrubs in her locker.
Once she’s past the first-floor gift shop, she ducks into the stairwell and runs up the two flights to the oncology floor. She stops for a moment, catches her breath. She has one chance at this. One chance to say goodbye.
Her life as she knows it is over. There is no going back.
She is furious with Juliet. Why couldn’t she have died at the house? This would be so much easier. Lauren would be the only voice people would hear. And her story was one she was certain would elicit sympathy.
More importantly now, what state is Juliet in? Lauren will find out soon enough. Juliet knows more than she realizes. Silencing her is the only choice. Yes, Lauren is guilty. Yes, she might even get arrested and go to jail, if this goes wrong.
But there are secrets no one knows, no one but Juliet. They can’t come out.
Mitigate the circumstances, as her ex-husband used to say.
Until Mindy got sick, she hadn’t thought of Kyle Noonan in a very long time. Better off without him, the fucking bastard.
Kyle’s leering face—oh, how many times has she pictured him dead? Bloated from the water, red-faced from the carbon monoxide that backed up and poisoned his lungs. His death was deserved, more so than all the rest combined.
These thoughts lead her to an image of Jasper’s kind, loving face, smiling down at her, Mindy in his arms, and she chokes back what might have become a sob in a lesser woman. He will be hurt in this, there’s no way he won’t. She must mitigate the circumstances for him as well. Protect him.
What’s most important is to protect Mindy. Mindy is the only thing that matters. The truth, and the lies, the slights and the secrets, the long shadows of Bennett Thompson and Kyle Noonan and Vivian Armstrong—everything that’s happened over the years is irrelevant now. The sacrifices she’s made for her daughter are worth it.
Lauren is prepared for the
worst, but is hoping for the best. This is how she’s lived her whole life. How she’s managed to get this far.
Another seventeen minutes won’t change anything. She really should make sure there are no loose ends.
Breath caught, she thinks it through. Her moment of weakness, confessing to her sister... Yes. This is the right way. The only way.
Her hand leaves the door, and she retreats silently back down the stairs.
* * *
There are police in front of Juliet’s door.
Which means Lauren needs yet another a distraction.
She has the gun, but shooting it will bring all the attention her way, and she isn’t quite ready for that. The gun is small, a Saturday night special, .38 caliber, normally stashed under the front seat of Juliet’s truck, just in case she’s carjacked, or attacked by an animal. Juliet is so stupid. Believing Lauren was looking for her glove. She certainly hadn’t looked to see if her gun was missing. Naïve, stupid little girl.
Lauren takes a deep breath and steps out of the stairwell. The fire alarm is right next to the door. She pulls the red bar. The screaming begins. Confusion sets in. A robotic voice can be heard telling everyone on the floor to evacuate immediately.
The two cops move toward the nurses’ station to get their orders, and she slips into her sister’s room right behind their backs. Lauren clings to the wall, assessing the situation.
Juliet has a tube going into her mouth, and it takes Lauren a moment to register the thought—the machine is breathing for her—before she steps to the wall and pulls the plug. Juliet jerks immediately, then her body relaxes. Lauren leaves the room without a backward glance.
That’s Juliet, handled.
She steps into the crowd heading toward the stairwell, blending in with the people being evacuated. There is no klaxon wail from the machine in Juliet’s room, but instead, it comes from the nurses’ station. Damn it, she forgot the nurses’ station. The beeping is nearly drowned out by the fire alarm, but she’s not that lucky. Behind her, a nurse and the cops rush back to Juliet’s room. One of the cops breaks off and heads toward the stairwell. Lauren glances over her shoulder to see the man’s face distorted, his finger pointing, his mouth open in a yell that’s being drowned out by the noise, and she slips into the stairwell as he starts toward her.
They are on alert now. She must move quickly.
She runs two steps at a time against the stream of people up to the third floor. She ignores the warning shouts, bursts out onto the third-floor hallway and heads directly to Mindy’s room.
The evacuation is going smoothly, but Jasper and Zack are standing by the door with the two Nashville cops. Damn it. She needs them to move away. She has to get inside. She has to talk to Mindy.
She edges along the wall, knowing this is her last chance. The door is shut; Mindy is still in isolation.
As suddenly as it began, the fire alarm shuts off. People stop in their tracks, looking confused. The small crowd by Mindy’s room take a few steps away. Zack is pointing out the window at something, she has no idea what, but their collective gaze is averted, and she bolts for her daughter’s room.
Five feet, three, two, they’re still looking away, and she reaches for the handle. She flings open the door and slips inside. But as she does, she trips, and something knocks her off her feet, and she goes down, hard, her shoulder smacking into the door, which swings closed as if caught in a draft. It slams behind her, loudly. She scrambles to her feet and turns the lock just as Zack and Jasper and the cops turn to see her, their mouths open, calling. Hands go to waists to pull weapons, the door handle starts to rattle, but Lauren is already looking toward her daughter. She rips off the wig.
Mindy is groggy and bleary-eyed in the bed. Lauren feels a rush of love; she recognizes this state. Her daughter has just woken up. Must have been the fire alarm.
“Mom? Is that you?”
“Sweetie, yes, it’s me. I am so sorry, darling. I know you’re scared, and there is so much to explain—”
A low growl starts near her leg. Lauren looks down in horror to realize that somehow, Zack’s dog has gotten into the room.
84
The Malinois moves like lightning, putting herself between Mindy and Lauren, hackles raised, teeth glistening. Angered as she is, she looks more like a wolf than a dog, and Lauren is afraid to look away. Maintain eye contact but don’t try to stare them down? No, with dogs, no eye contact, so it’s the same when you’re about to be attacked by a wolf. It will be seen as aggression. Make yourself bigger. Wave your arms and shout. Throw things at them. Or so the literature says. They live in the woods; Lauren knows what to do if faced with all sorts of wild animal attacks.
But there is nothing to protect herself with. This room is cleared of all extraneous blankets and pillows. The IV pole is on the other side of the bed.
“Mindy, darling, call off the dog. I know she’ll listen to you.”
“Mom, what have you done? Tell me the truth, what did you do to Aunt Juliet? Is it true? Did you kill Vivian Armstrong and steal me? I saw your letters. I know you were in the hospital with her. I know you tried to kill yourself. Those scars on your arm aren’t from a car crash. Why did you lie to me?”
The plaintive note breaks Lauren’s heart. This isn’t how things were supposed to go. Mindy is accusing her of something that she can’t answer fully without a long talk. It upsets her, she who has become so touchy, so feral, in these last few days.
Sensing the change in Lauren’s demeanor, the dog growls, low and mean, crouching down on her front legs. There is banging now—Zack is pounding on the door, Jasper on the window—but Lauren ignores everyone but the dog. And Mindy, of course. She read the letters; she knows everything.
Kat inches forward, lips trembling with her growls, and Lauren stamps her foot and raises her arms.
“Bad dog. Bad!”
Kat growls louder, showing her teeth.
“Mom. Stop! She’ll attack you if you don’t stop. Kat, stop. Stop!”
Kat’s growling ceases but her teeth are still bared. Lauren feels a moment of pride—even a stranger’s dog recognizes how important it is to protect Mindy—but she must get the dog to calm down. She takes two steps to the left, and the dog follows with her head but doesn’t move. Her teeth glisten in the fluorescent lights.
“Mindy, sweetie, don’t fret. Mommy’s here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Mom, what are you doing? Open the door. Let them in.”
“I need to talk to you, sweetheart.”
“Then talk! They’re calling you a murderer.”
“I am not a murderer, honey. There’s an explanation for all of this, I swear. I need to tell you the truth myself. I want you to hear it from me.”
The room phone begins to ring. Lauren glances up to see the row of furious faces at the window, and Dr. Oliver at the door. He has a key, he has it open, and then the guns step in.
Kat is not distracted by the shouting of all the cops. She has been trained for this. She doesn’t like the guns, though, backs up a few feet, growling heavily.
“Kat, Kat, come here,” Mindy calls, but the dog takes a step toward Lauren, who is caught between the weapons of three officers and the wall.
Lauren has no recourse. With an almost audible sigh, she pulls the weapon from her waistband. The gun is small, perfect for her hand, and she raises it. The calls are immediate, and the tension in the room rises.
“Don’t do it!”
“Put it down!”
“Put your hands up, set the weapon on the floor!”
But Lauren’s hand doesn’t waver. She speaks to Mindy, not losing eye contact with the cops. “I didn’t do what they’ve said, I swear to you. None of this is what it looks like. I’ve only ever wanted to protect you. You’re the only person who’s ever mattered to me. Mindy, darling, you have t
o know everything I’ve ever done is for you.”
“Mom, stop moving. Put the gun down.”
“I can’t do that, darling. But I want you to know you are everything to me. I love you. Everything I have ever done is because I love you so, so much.”
“Mom, please.” Mindy is crying now, and Lauren risks a glance at her only daughter.
“Honey, don’t cry. It’s all going to be okay. It’s what Vivian wanted. I swear it. You are everything, to both of us.”
“Stop moving, Mrs. Wright.”
Lauren edges closer to the bed.
“Last warning. Stop!”
“You leave, now,” Lauren says to the cops. “If you don’t shut the door, I will hurt her.”
A deeper voice now, calm and assured. “Let me talk to her.” Zack Armstrong strides to the door, looking every inch the grieving widower. “Put down the guns. Let me talk to her. Trust me,” he adds in a tone that makes the cops take notice. They lower their guns. Lauren takes a deep breath, shoulders dropping an inch, but doesn’t lower hers.
Zack steps through the door. Mindy cries out for him, but he ignores her, takes another step forward, a hand out as if he could stop a bullet if she tries to shoot.
“She loved you,” Lauren says. “Until the end. You and Mindy were her last thoughts.”
“I know she loved me. I know she loved Mindy. I know you do, too. Put the gun down, Lauren, before someone gets hurt.”
“I only wanted what was best for Mindy. Even Vivian knew this was the best way.”
He edges farther into the room, signaling with his hand for the cops to back away.
“Lauren, you don’t want things to end this way. We can all sit down together and talk, but you have to put the gun down. If you put it down, I will pull the door closed, and we’ll talk.”
Tear Me Apart Page 36
