The White Lily

by Susanne Matthews

  “Whoa, cowboy,” Trevor said, rushing into the room. “It’s us.” He gaped at Pierce’s body. “Damn. We needed answers from him.”

  “He didn’t have a choice. That bastard shot him and was about to blow his brains out.” Rob lifted his hand to his right shoulder where a knife protruded, confusion on his face. “That’s the last time I try to help a burning woman. The bitch stabbed me.”

  “Don’t touch that knife,” Trevor said. “Pulling it out could do more harm than good.”

  “I feel like a damn bug in a collection,” Rob grumbled but dropped his hand.

  Jacob lowered his weapon, pleased to see that Rob was alert, but he needed to get to Lilith, and that bed seemed to be moving farther and farther away.

  Tom stepped over Pierce’s body, kicking the gun out of the man’s hand, and checked him for a pulse. He looked at what was left of Pierce’s bloody crotch. “Ouch! Crude but effective.”

  “I didn’t have much to aim at,” Jacob said, trying to stand but collapsing.

  “What the hell, Andrews?” Tom said, moving to his side. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”

  “It’s nothing. Just help me over to Lilith.”

  “You need a paramedic ...”

  “I need Lilith.”

  With Tom’s help, Jacob sat on the bed beside Lilith. He noted the handcuffs cutting into her wrists and ankles, although a wool blanket covered the rest of her body. He was lightheaded and blinked away the stars obscuring his vision. Gently, he lifted her head, grateful when he realized she was warm. She was still alive. Removing the hood, he gasped at the gag in her mouth, the angry bruise on her cheek, and her swollen lip. He removed the gag and tossed it on the bed. Stretching, his side on fire, he pushed the wet hair off her forehead. How long had she been like this?

  “Lilith, sweetheart, wake up,” he begged. “Get the paramedics in here. Tom, search Pierce. Find the keys to release her.” The room began to spin, and everything went black.

  • • •

  Lilith sat beside the bed, as she had for the last three days, praying Jacob would wake up soon. He’d been in and out of consciousness since yesterday, each time awake a little longer. They’d been air lifted to Mass General. The prognosis for his recovery was good, but he’d need time to heal. Pierce’s second shot had entered Jacob’s side, just below the ribcage, tearing the colon and shredding his spleen. He’d lost a lot of blood, and it was a miracle he’d survived. The other bullet had gone straight through the shoulder and would heal quickly.

  Trevor had been with her when she’d come to and gave her the rundown on what had happened. She thanked God for the courage it had taken to open up to Jacob that night, because if she hadn’t, who knows when they’d have found her and what horrors Pierce might have put her through. As soon as the doctor allowed her to get up, she’d come in here.

  “Hey, pretty lady,” Jacob said, his voice low and hoarse.

  She leaned toward the bed. “Nice to see those baby blues open again.” Tears brimmed her eyes. “I thought I’d lost you. How do you feel?” She placed her hand on his cheek, grateful it was no hotter than it should be.

  “Like I’ve gone ten rounds with a boxing kangaroo, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. How’s Rob?”

  “Lucky. Mother Jane’s knife didn’t puncture the lung.”

  “Why’d he pass out?”

  “Because when she ran into him, she knocked him down and he hit his head on the edge of the dresser on the way down. He had a pretty impressive goose egg. He’ll be going to Australia to stay with Faye while he convalesces.”

  “And the children?”

  “Doing well. Cassie Winchester is with her grandmother, and your nieces, nephew, and the settlers arrived at Evergreen yesterday, although Micah didn’t go with them. He worked on all of that breeding equipment with Seth and got to know the horses quite well. He’s asked to stay here and help us track down the horses. Trevor agreed.”

  Jacob raised his hand to touch her cheek, brushing away the tears there. “I hope these are tears of joy. I almost died when I realized he’d taken you again.”

  “I was terrified, but I knew you’d come for me. I feel badly about Mother Jane. She was good to me. She drugged me so I wouldn’t have to endure the horror of that gag and mask.”

  “I tried to put out the flames, but I couldn’t. I killed Pierce, but I wish I could’ve avoided it.”

  Lilith reached for his right hand and raised it to her cheek. “If you hadn’t shot him, you’d be dead. Rob came to about that time and saw everything. It was self-defense. You saved me and those children. You’re a hero.”

  “Some hero. How many have I condemned to suffer the plagues and the Great Burning?”

  “Maybe none. Homeland Security has nine in custody. One of the dead has been identified as the ‘woman’ who planted the bomb. This terrorist cell, as the newspaper is calling it, was to deliver the other nine plagues. We found their list of targets, so that’s one threat eliminated.”

  “But that won’t stop my uncle. He’ll have other groups of brainwashed individuals ready to deliver his virus.”

  “He will, but we’re making progress. Now that we’ve linked the FFOW with New Horizon, we’ll look into every cult and commune in the country. The FBI had a sizable file on Cliff Rivers, one that included a few known associates. Rivers was your cousin Simon. They all have aliases they use when they aren’t with the family. That’s why their names didn’t come up in a search.”

  “Simon was the oldest, the most like his father, but my uncle will still be as hard to find as ever.”

  “They haven’t finished going through all the evidence, and we still have the horse-breeding lead. Everyone’s optimistic we will succeed. Trevor’s rebuilding the task force. Homeland Security will be involved now as well as the FBI. Tom and Rob will stay on, as will I.”

  “That’s what you want?” he asked, and she heard the sadness in his voice.

  “Yes, now that Pierce is dead, I need to finish this. Kelly Kirk is out there, as is my niece. Finding them hasn’t changed.”

  “I could help,” Jacob said. “I have money and resources. We make a pretty good team. My temporary status with the FBI was for the duration of the case ...”

  Lilith leaned over the bed and kissed him. “I happen to think we make an awesome team, but you need to recover first.”

  “Lilith, I don’t want to leave you, not for a minute. I know I need to go back to Australia and settle some of my affairs. Come with me. We can rejoin the team when I’m back on my feet.”

  “And what makes you think I’d let you go without me? I need to deal with everything that’s happened. The nightmares won’t go away that easily, and I happen to think Australia might be a nice place to visit, spiders and all. They will let me carry my gun, right?

  “I’ll make sure they do. Come here.”

  She moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. He indicated she should lie beside him.

  “I love you,” he said, pulling her against his right side.

  Lilith smiled and settled into him, her face inches away from his bandaged shoulder. “I love you, too.”

  He bent his head and kissed her. Heat flooded her. This case was far from over, but they were partners. No one knew what dangers tomorrow would bring, but they’d face them together.

  More from This Author

  The White Carnation

  Susanne Matthews

  “Don’t do me any more favors! One of these days, Sloan, I’ll take one of these crappy assignments and turn it into a Pulitzer, just watch and see.”

  Faye stormed out of the editor’s office, slamming the door behind her. The glass pane rattled in its frame. Her chestnut ponytail swished from side to side as she swiftly crossed the large room to her cubicle, the despised assignment sheet crumpled in the fisted hand at her side.

  Not that this one will be the one. A frigging engagement party. What next? Advice to the lovelorn? Haven’t I paid fo
r my damn sins yet?

  She ignored the sly “I told you so” looks on the faces of her fellow reporters as she passed each desk. Journalism was a dog-eat-dog business, and even after a year, she was still the main item on the menu. She was an investigative reporter, not a frigging social columnist. Although she didn’t give a damn about Fifi or Fido and was sick to death of playing nice-nice with dog-show judges and patrons alike, she’d had a great idea for a story, one with teeth, and Sloan, that no-good, low-down snake, had given it to the competition.

  Shafted again. Damn it.

  Weren’t there any decent people left in the newspaper business? When she’d suggested looking into the extravagances she’d seen covering dog shows the last few months, Sloan had promised to consider it, and now, not two hours later, he’d just told her Tina Jackson would be looking into it.

  That bitch has been gunning for my job from the minute she got here. Faye huffed out a frustrated breath. Abel Rogers, the newspaper’s top criminal investigative reporter, was scheduled to retire in three months. Faye had hoped to make it back into the Boston Examiner’s crime beat section with the dog show exposé. But from now on, instead of covering dog shows for Around Town, the local page, she’d be having tea with the upper crust as a second-string society columnist. La-de-da! And he considers this a step up? Bullshit. Half the time I won’t even have a byline. Plopping down on her chair, she flung the offending wad of paper onto her desk.

  “Temper, temper,” Phil, one of the transplanted Brits who worked as an errand boy for the senior staff, said. “You could’ve broken the boss’s bloody window.”

  “Too bad I didn’t,” she answered and turned her back on him.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a knot, princess. I don’t agree with the way he’s treating you either. You’re better than this.” He stomped off after dropping two memos on her desk.

  Faye reached for them—the first was about reallocating parking spaces. Crap. Can’t they leave anything alone? The second was about improper use of the photocopier. Some idiot must have been taking butt shots again.

  Her cubicle, a poor replacement for the broom closet-sized office she’d had, was the one closest to the far wall. She stared at the chaos atop her credenza—the assorted bits and pieces of what had once been a thriving reporter’s career. In one corner stood a cut glass vase filled with year-old remnants of a dozen red roses, their black, wilted skeletons a constant reminder of her disgrace. Turning the partitions around to ensure a small measure of privacy hadn’t helped. Right now, she could feel Tina Jackson gloating right through the portable walls. It was her idea, her story, and now that fool who couldn’t write her way out of a paper bag and hadn’t had an original thought in a decade, was going to get the credit. What Faye wouldn’t give for the courage to tell Sloan to take his job and shove it.

  Working at one of Boston’s largest newspapers as its top investigative reporter had been her dream, and she’d sacrificed too much to give up on it just yet. This was just a temporary setback. She’d find a story, investigate it on her own, and present him with a fait accompli. There had to be hundreds of juicy stories out there just waiting for her. If she could find the right one, she might freelance and sell it to the highest bidder.

  Who am I kidding? I can barely make ends meet on my miserable paycheck and don’t have time for anything else—at least nothing worthy of a Pulitzer.

  Maybe she should take some time off and go visit her mother. She hadn’t been home since her stepdad’s funeral six months ago. She was already depressed; going to Kennebunkport couldn’t make her feel any worse. She picked up the phone and was surprised by the sound indicating she had a message waiting. No one had bothered to call and leave her a message in months.

  She punched in the necessary codes. The automated voice indicated the call had come in two days ago. Damn it. She’d gotten complacent dwelling in her misery, preferring the anonymity of self-isolation to listening to the commiserations of others. Was this one of them—someone devious enough to try to dig up more dirt for the rumor mill? After all, the story of her disgrace was old news now. They’d need fresh meat to revive it. Annoyed with herself, yet too curious to erase the message, she pressed the button to retrieve it.

  “Hello, Faye. This is Lucy Green, Mary’s mother. I need to talk to you. Can you come by the apartment this afternoon? I wouldn’t bother you, but I can’t think of anyone else who could help me. My number is 617-635-8765.”

  Surprised, Faye jotted the name and number on a sticky note before hanging up.

  Weird! What can I possibly do for Mary’s mom?

  Mary had been her best friend—her BFF long before the term had become popular. They’d been inseparable in high school and at Boston College, but once Faye had gotten her shot at major crime stories and Mary had moved to New York, they’d drifted apart. They kept in touch, mostly through online chats and emails, with a few phone calls thrown in. She made a point of seeing Mary if she happened to be in the Big Apple, but it had been a while. The last time she’d spoken to her had been about four months ago in January, when Mary had called to wish her a happy birthday. Mary hadn’t been feeling well and had cancelled her annual visit. Faye had celebrated alone with a pint of gourmet ice cream and a bottle of Irish whiskey. She’d never even called to see if her friend was feeling better—she’d started investigating the dog show, and when she was on a story, as Mary had often said, the world could blow up around her and Faye would never notice.

  She frowned and bit her lower lip. Lucy Green sounded upset, and that compounded Faye’s guilt about not calling Mary or checking her messages sooner. Maybe there was something seriously wrong with her old friend. Faye liked Mrs. Green, even if the woman’s ideas and attitudes didn’t keep pace with the times. Mary was exactly the opposite. Modern, embracing every aspect of the twenty-first century, her outlook on life was qué sera, sera—what will be, will be. Her happy-go-lucky acceptance of whatever life threw at her had often irritated Faye, who was as emotional and explosive as they came. Where Mary made lemonade out of life’s lemons, Faye just scowled and ate the sour fruit.

  She pulled open her desk drawer and dragged out the mini photo album she kept there, the book automatically falling open at the page she wished to avoid.

  Typical! What else is going to go wrong today?

  She stared down at the happy couple in the snapshot, letting regret wash through her a moment, and then turned the page. She flipped through the photos until she found the one she wanted … the picture of Mary and herself taken at the Empire State Building more than a year ago. On the heels of that trip to New York came the betrayal that had not only broken Faye’s heart but had also gotten her booted off the crime beat and relegated to the back pages of the local section, the middle of nowhere for an up-and-coming reporter.

  She stood, leaned against the credenza, and dialed the number given, hanging up when the answering machine kicked in. Faye flattened the assignment sheet and checked the time. She had a few things to tie up, but if she left by one, she could be in Wellesley in plenty of time for the engagement tea and back to meet with Mrs. Green after four. She redialed, left a message, and gave her cell number in case that wasn’t convenient.

  “Faye, are you going to need me today?”

  She jumped and turned quickly as the deep voice startled her.

  “Jimmy, you scared the daylights out of me.” She chuckled to take the sting out of her words. “How can a man walk softly in those bloody things?” She stared down at the combat boots he preferred.

  He laughed. “What can I say? I tread carefully.”

  Dressed in beige camo gear, he stood right in front of her, close enough to trap her between himself and the desk. His dark brown hair, disheveled as it always was, fell into his eyes. The scruff on his face was a little worse today than it had been, and while she knew some women considered his look sexy, she didn’t. He reminded her of a war correspondent who didn’t know when he’d get his next shower or meal.
Tinted glasses all but obscured his eyes. His slightly sour body odor and cigarette-tainted breath filled her nostrils. She put her hand up to his chest and shoved lightly.

  “A little room to breathe, please. What’s with the outfit? If I did need you, you’d have to go home and change. You look like Grizzly Adams in that getup.”

  “Going to do a nature shoot later today.” He stepped back as requested and smiled down at her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to crowd you.”

  “Well, you’d better stay upwind. If any of the animals get a whiff of you, they’ll run for cover. That gear’s in desperate need of washing.”

  Jimmy’s face reddened, and he stared down at the fancy Japanese camera hanging around his neck. At his waist, he wore his military-style utility belt filled with lenses, film, and everything else his craft required. The man was a genius with a camera, but as eccentric as they came.

  “It’s deer musk. It’s supposed to attract them,” he said defensively, and Faye wrinkled her nose.

  “I find it repulsive. I guess that proves I’m not a deer.”

  The young photographer had joined the staff of the Boston Examiner a little more than two years ago. He’d been her shadow for almost a year until the debacle that cost her a spot on the crime beat. Now, he joined her as often as he could, but there really wasn’t anything too exciting in the world of dog shows or debutantes. Faye pitied him because he reminded her of what it was like to be on the outside looking in. He was the odd man out, just as she was now.

  Jimmy made her somewhat uncomfortable in close quarters; he was zealous about his work but far too serious and opinionated for some of the other reporters. After he’d spurned Tina’s advances, she’d been quite vocal in her opposition to working with him, but Sloan, to his credit, knew a good thing and refused to listen to her complaints. Tina had backed down, and she and Jimmy appeared to be enjoying an uneasy truce.

  Faye smiled. “Well, good luck with Bambi. Maybe next time you can come with me, but you’ll have to reconsider your wardrobe.”