by K. C. Lynn
“You guys aren’t going to believe what I found.”
The three of us share a look as he opens his truck door and leans inside to pull out a brown folder. Opening it, he slides out a piece of paper and hands it to us.
Stepping forward, I take it and feel my brothers crowd my back. It’s a photocopy of an old document. It looks like some sort of deed but most of it is handwritten.
“What are we looking at?” I finally ask.
“A mineral deed. To your father’s land.”
My brow cocks. “Mineral?”
He nods. “Your father is sitting on millions of dollars worth of oil. That’s why they want his land.”
I look back down at the document, shock rocking me where I stand.
“Ho-ly shit,” Braxten mutters.
Excitement spins through me, knowing we now have motive. “Where did you get this?” I ask.
“From Toder’s office. After we spoke last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Especially with what Hodges said about him smelling like gasoline. It was three in the morning when it hit me.” There’s a gleam in his eyes as he speaks. “Toder only drives his squad car, always has. In every police vehicle in this county there’s a dash camera. It became mandatory three years ago. Usually surveillance footage is kept in a separate office, for obvious reasons Toder keeps it in his, nice and close.”
A spark of adrenaline pumps through my body. “Are you telling me we have the crime on surveillance?”
“Not quite. He shut it off, but I have the blackout of the camera’s time and it lines up with the timeline of when the fire was started. Shutting off that camera is a violation on its own. Between that and this deed, surely your source can do something with it.”
“I’m sure he can. Thanks, Craig. I really appreciate this.”
He nods, his expression turning somber. “Act soon, Justice. It won’t be long before he realizes I was in there. I photocopied this because I didn’t want to tip him off but to get the original your guy is gonna have to get a warrant.”
“Don’t worry. We’re on it.”
Vengeance is just in reach and it will be ours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ryanne
I pull up to Gwen’s minutes later, parking in front of the extravagant home owned by her and Forrest, located in one of the most prominent areas of Winchester. It brings back memories of the life I’ve tried hard to forget.
A life that may very well should never have been mine.
My mind and heart still reel with the possibility. In the small amount of time that has passed, I feel like it’s something I should have questioned all along. There were so many signs. Now that I am, I will not stop until I get the truth.
Pulling myself together, I steel a breath and lift my hand to knock on the door.
It opens moments later, revealing a surprised Gwen. “Ryanne.”
“Hi, Gwen. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could come in and talk to you for a minute?”
Despite her warm smile she hesitates, looking up and down the quiet street.
“No one’s here but me,” I assure her.
Her eyes come back to mine, a nervous laugh escaping her as she shakes her head. “Of course. Forgive me. Come in.” She steps aside, allowing me to enter.
I look around from the large foyer and see that not much has changed since the last time I was here.
“Please, have a seat.” She gestures to the living room where I sit on the large floral sofa. “Can I get you some sweet tea?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
She sits across from me in one of the rocking chairs, folding her hands on her lap. “Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
I decide there’s no other way to go about this but to be blunt and lay it all out. “I need to ask you something. It’s about my parents.”
Her smile slips, her entire demeanor changing in an instant. Reaching for the dainty gold chain around her neck, she begins fidgeting with it. “I’m not sure what I can tell you. I—”
“Is my mother my real mother?”
The rocking chair suddenly comes to a stop, her body going rigid with tension as something akin to fear takes hold of her expression. “This is really something you should speak with your parents about,” she whispers.
“We both know I’d never get the truth from them. You’re the only one I can go to about this. You know them better than anyone.”
“Yes, I do. Which means I also know what they are capable of. Leave this alone, dear. It’s safer for you.”
“I can’t. I need to know. For years I’ve been the brunt of her cruelty, never knowing what I did to make her hate me so much.” Emotion bubbles up my throat, the painful memories of my past surfacing. “Please, Gwen,” I plead.
Her expression softens, the truth burning in her pale blue eyes, one I already knew in my heart.
“She’s not, is she?”
She shakes her head. “No. She’s not.”
Even though I expected it, the revelation still hits me like a ton of bricks, turning my world upside down and leaving me to question everything about my life, including who I am.
“Many years ago your father had a woman who worked for him,” she starts. “Her name was Abigail Devereaux. She was a beautiful, kind woman, very compassionate. Nothing at all like Vivian,” she says, not bothering to hide her dislike of the woman who raised me. “Rumors sparked that their relationship went beyond professional, which was further speculated when she ended up pregnant. Of course your father denied the affair and said the child wasn’t his, but most knew the truth. It wasn’t long after that she disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” I ask, fearing what that means.
“Your father moved her to another state. I know because I heard him and Forrest talking about it one night over drinks in his office. Shortly after she was out of the picture, Vivian announced she was pregnant.”
My eyes close briefly, betrayal coursing through me. God, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“I never believed it,” she says. “For months she never showed any signs of pregnancy. Into her second trimester she left town with little explanation and didn’t return until after she had the baby.”
“Me.”
She nods.
“What about Abigail? Where is she now?”
Regret flashes in her eyes, sending my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach.
“No,” I whisper.
“Wait here.” Standing, she leaves the room only to return moments later with a newspaper clipping that she passes to me.
My hand shakes violently as I take it from her, pulse pounding as I stare down at a face that looks so much like my own. The resemblance is so striking that it takes my breath away.
The headline of the article reads: Hiker discovers missing Idaho woman’s body in mountains.
The tears I’ve been holding in begin slipping down my cheeks, my heart aching for a woman I never knew but no doubt gave me life.
“When I saw this months later it confirmed what I already suspected,” Gwen says. “They took you from her and then they killed her.”
“How?” I choke out. “How did they get away with this?”
“They always do. This is just a long list of things they are all capable of. They will stop at nothing to get what they want.” The anger and bitterness in her voice has me looking back up at her.
“How did you end up here? You’re nothing like them.”
Shame resonates on her face before she looks away. “I had no choice. Believe me, if I had…” She trails off, unable to finish.
“Does it have to do with Thatcher?” I ask, my suspicion from last night rearing its head.
Her eyes come back to mine, pain prevalent.
“I saw the way you were both looking at each other,” I continue. “What happened between you two?”
Sitting back in her chair, a sense of calmness washes over her, a far away look entering her eyes. �
��Thatcher and I grew up here together but never in the same social circle, I’m sure you can guess why.”
I nod, knowing how different things were back then. Sadly, after the conversation with Hannah at the breakfast table this morning, it seems some things in this town never change.
“In the summer of 1967 that changed, and the farm boy who always caught my attention stormed into my life and swept me off my feet. Of course it was done in private, because even though times were changin’ colors still didn’t mix, but we didn’t let that stop us. We would sneak down by the river at night and he would always bring me flowers from his mama’s garden. We danced under the moonlit sky and boy was he a good dancer…and kisser, too,” she tells me, a wistful smile on her face that triggers one of my own. “He loved me like I was the only woman who walked this earth. Cherished me like no one ever had before.”
My heavy heart warms at the adoration in her voice, a love that obviously still burns so bright; a love that I know isn’t one sided.
“Then I ended up pregnant,” she reveals on a whisper.
My eyes widen, mouth popping open. A million questions emerge, but I can’t seem to form a single one.
“Despite the predicament I found myself in, I was happy. Scared as all holy but happy. Thatcher was too and promised he would take care of us. He said we would get married and have the life we always wanted, but we were robbed of our happily ever after.” Regret and sorrow swirl through her soft tone.
My stomach bottoms out, fearing for the tragic ending to this story.
“My parents had other plans for whom I should marry.”
“Forrest?”
She nods. “I didn’t love him. He was a bully, always hurting others, but my parents never cared. All that mattered back then was sticking with your own class. I told them I would not marry anyone other than Thatcher. When they found out I was pregnant they were so angry.”
A slight tremble enters her voice and it has my own hands beginning to shake.
“I stormed out of the house that night to meet Thatcher at our usual place. We were going to run away together, but everything went so terribly wrong,” she chokes out, tears beginning to slide down her weathered cheeks.
Slipping off the couch, I move to kneel in front of her, taking her cold hand in mine.
“There were so many of them,” she says, her breath hitching. “Forrest, Toder, Bishop, your father… Thatcher never stood a chance.” Her lips press together, sheer agony twisting her face.
“What did they do, Gwen?” I ask, doing everything I can to swallow back my own grief.
“They beat him so badly,” she sobs. “Held him down, burned him with torches before they cut into his body with a rusty saw, severing his fingers.”
Horror grips me, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces as I finally hear the truth behind his horrendous scars.
“I was so sure he was dead,” she cries, “but somehow, by the grace of God, he survived. I knew then I had no choice. I had to obey my parents’ wishes or next time he wouldn’t be so lucky. So I married a man I loathed to protect the one I love.”
It doesn’t escape me that her use of love is in the present tense. Confirming what I already suspected.
Hot tears track down my face, the vicious tale so vile it’s practically incomprehensible. I always knew something happened between Thatcher and the founding families, something big, but never in a million years did I fathom it could be this cruel and violent.
“Thatcher begged me not to marry Forrest, he swore he could protect us, but I couldn’t risk it,” she whispers painfully. “I couldn’t risk his life again.”
“What about the baby?” I ask, remembering the earlier revelation.
Devastation rocks her body on a vicious sob, her distress and sorrow striking me to my soul. “They killed our baby.”
A horrified cry escapes me before I cover my mouth.
“I was tied down to a table and forced to have an abortion I did not want,” she explains, almost numbly. “It was done so poorly that I could never have children again.”
“What kind of doctor would perform something so heinous without a patient’s permission?”
“Dr. Meyers,” she says, practically spitting his name. “He was a physician who worked for them. A monster.”
Anyone who could do that would be.
“He ended up dead weeks later.” Her chin lifts, a sense of triumph appearing on her grief-stricken face. “He was found murdered in his building. A single gunshot wound to the head. The shot so precise it hit him before he even knew someone was there.”
It doesn’t take long for realization to strike. “Thatcher,” I whisper.
She nods. “We’ve never spoken about it, but I have no doubt it was him. As horrible as it is for me to say, I was glad when I heard the news. I felt like, in some small way, justice had been served for our baby.”
“I’m sorry, Gwen. So sorry,” I tell her, knowing those words mean nothing. Not when she has lost so much.
“I know you are, dear. I’m just thankful Thatcher was there to help you leave all those years ago. Otherwise, I have no doubt they would have done to you what they did to me.”
I finally realize that while I feared the unknown of what my parents would do, Thatcher knew exactly what would have happened if I had stayed. Thank God for that man. He was my angel that night, my saving grace.
“Why are you still here?” I ask her. “Forrest is gone now. You’re free. You and Thatcher could still have your happy ending.”
He still loves her just as much as she does him. I know it.
She shakes her head. “Even if Thatcher were to forgive me for marrying Forrest, the others would never allow it. I know all their secrets. I will never be free of them.”
She’s still in so much danger; still imprisoned in this life she never wanted. If everything falls into place and the guys can get what they need, we can bring them down and she will be free to live the life she’s always wanted. Now, more than ever, I’m determined to help make that happen. They need to be stopped and my mother, my real mother, deserves justice.
“Thank you for trusting me with the truth,” I say, looking down at the picture. “Can I keep this?”
“Of course. I’m sorry that’s all I have of her.”
“I’m thankful you kept it all these years,” I whisper.
“Trust me, there’s a lot I’ve kept over the years.”
The cryptic response has my eyes lifting back up to hers. “What do you mean?”
“They may be ruthless but they aren’t as smart as they’d like to believe. I’ve acquired quite the collection over the years, locked them away for safekeeping because you never know when an opportunity could arise.”
The information has hope igniting. I sit up to my knees, moving in closer. “Gwen, are you telling me you have evidence of the things they’ve done? Physical evidence.”
“Some. Yes. Unfortunately, it does little good when they have every aspect of the law in their pockets.”
“Not everyone. Thatcher has a trusted person in the FBI. Someone who is trying to help us bring them down.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not solid enough. Anyone can be bribed. I’ve seen it.”
“Not him. He’s come highly recommended and Thatcher is no fool. He’d never trust just anyone. If…if we know for sure he could bring them down, would you help us?”
She hesitates for only a moment before nodding. “If we knew for sure then yes, of course, but I’m telling you, it’s not going to be that easy.”
“Nothing ever is but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done.” I stand, this newfound hope fueling me. “Come back to the farm with me.”
Panic flashes in her eyes. “No. I couldn’t. You go ahead. I’ll be here if y’all need me.”
I want to press her but decide she’s done enough. I’ll have Thatcher come see her.
“Thank you again,” I whisper, “for everything.”
“Be c
areful, dear,” she says with worry. “Remember, they will stop at nothing to cover their tracks.”
With one final nod, I release her hand then run out to the truck, needing to get back to the farm.
To Justice.
As I pull away, I grab my cellphone and call Thatcher.
He picks up on the second ring. “Ryanne, you all right?”
Guilt pricks my heart at the concern in his voice. “Yes. I’m fine. Are Justice the others back yet?”
“No. Not yet. What happened with Gwen?” Beneath the worry in his tone, I can still hear the affection he has just speaking her name.
“Everything,” I say, my mind still trying to process all I just learned. “Look, I’m on my way home. I have so much to tell you all. Thatcher, I think…I think we might have what we need to take them down. All of them.”
The line goes quiet, but I have no doubt he’s as anxious as me. Especially after knowing his past and all those bastards have done to him.
A few silent seconds tick by until he clears his throat. “Just drive safe, child. I’ll see you soon and we can talk then.”
“I will. Love you.”
After hitting end, I toss the phone on the seat beside me, right next to the picture of my mother. Her black and white face smiles back at me, taunting my aching heart. They will pay for what they did to her. I’ll make sure of it if it’s the last thing I do.
The moment I turn down the back road leading to the farm, sirens pierce the air, a police car speeding up behind me. When it doesn’t pass I look down at my speedometer and see I’m barely pushing past the speed limit.
Frustrated, I pull off to the side. When the officer steps out, I see it’s none other than Sheriff Toder.
“Shit!” I quickly shove the newspaper clipping of my mother in my purse then slide on my sunglasses, shielding my red-rimmed eyes.
As he comes up to my window I lower it, and it takes everything in me to keep myself composed, the sight of him making me sick after all I’ve learned.
“Sheriff, is there a problem?” I ask.
“I’m afraid there is. Step out of the truck, Ryanne.”
My back stiffens at the command. “Excuse me?”
