by Karen Cimms
He didn’t trust his mother, not for a second, but he knew there was one thing about her he could count on: greed. As long as he kept paying, she and his father would stay away. Being on the road away from Katie and the kids as much as he was, that monthly check bought him peace of mind. It was worth every cent, but it wasn’t cheap. He kept careful track of those payments. Over the past two decades, he had paid his mother close to a quarter of a million dollars. But his wife and children had remained safe, and as far as he knew, neither of his parents had been anywhere near his family in all that time.
Occasionally, his mother would remind him of her existence: the odd postcard, an email wishing him a happy anniversary, a short voicemail message “just to say hi.” But last night? Last night, she had taken a step unprecedented even for her. In the midst of all the other shit he was going through, she had chosen last night to text him.
“Nice going, genius. Seems u let ur fists do ur talking just like ur father. Not too smart. Just make sure u figure out a way to honor our understanding before they haul ur ass off to jail or you’ll be sorry. Love JJ”
If he hadn’t held out hope that Kate might eventually have a change of heart and reach out to him, he would’ve smashed the phone against the wall or crushed it under the heel of his boot.
JJ. Jessie Jones. What a joke. The alias was supposedly her stage name. What she did on a stage, he could only imagine. It was probably her way to keep from being traced to the checks he mailed her each month.
He was living in the Third Circle of Hell. Fuck Dante. Fuck everybody.
Just one drink. He could live without coke. And smack? That was just stupid. He could probably even pass on weed.
He just needed a little something to take the edge off.
Maybe he’d take a walk. It had to be cocktail time somewhere. He could drop in on a neighbor, introduce himself. Someone might offer him a beer, maybe something stronger. Saliva pooled at the back of his throat.
He fingered a guitar riff along the top of his thigh. He thought about heading to the basement, taking out one of his guitars, but his hands were shaking so badly he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to play. If that were true, it would send him over the edge for sure.
He had to get out of there and walk. If he came across some friendly neighbors, all the better.
He made it as far as the patio door.
“Daddy?”
Damn it.
Rhiannon came down the front hall flashing him a smile, his smile—the one she used to charm her way out of things, or into things, just like he did. “The boys want you to kiss them good night.”
Billy dragged his fingers through his hair and forced a smile. “Sure thing, honey.”
He was screwed. Once the boys were asleep, Rhiannon would focus all her attention on him, at least until Doug came home for his turn to watch Druggie Daddy.
Billy opened the door to the nursery. The twins were all but done in. They blinked at him sleepily from their matching cribs, smelling of baby shampoo and dreams. The smiles peeking out from behind their pacifiers tugged on his heart. He planted a kiss on each head and sat on the rocker to sing an old Scottish lullaby, one his grandmother had taught him. Before he’d finished the second verse, they were both sound asleep.
He pulled the door closed and quietly slipped down the hall. If he could get downstairs and to the front door without Rhiannon seeing him, he might still be able to sneak out.
She called out to him just as his foot hit the last step.
He swallowed a groan and rounded the corner toward the family room. Rhiannon stood facing the sixty-five-inch TV. At least the game was no longer on.
He painted on their trademark smile. “Amazing how they look so peaceful when they’re asleep, yet they’re such little hellions when they’re awake.”
She turned to him, her eyes wide and fearful.
“What is it?” he demanded. “What happened?”
The screen behind her showed an aerial view of amassing emergency vehicles and a kaleidoscope of red and blue lights.
“A shooting.” She motioned to the television. “In Washington Township.”
“Wow. That’s hitting a little close to home.”
“Daddy! It happened at a meeting.”
What was he missing?
“Mom covers those meetings.”
He felt the color drain from his face.
She held up her cell phone. “I called her phone, but it went right to voicemail.”
Frozen, Billy watched the footage from a news helicopter hovering over the scene. Uniformed officers and the state police SWAT team swarmed about. Police cars and ambulances filled the parking lot. More fire trucks and cars with flashing lights lined the long driveway leading from the road.
The crawl across the bottom of the screen said multiple people had been shot and several were believed dead. It wasn’t known how many people were in the building, and there was no information yet on the shooter or shooters.
He stepped closer, as if by sheer will he could spot Kate in the chaos.
“Give me your keys.”
“No. Doug will be home soon. He’ll take you, or I can. Just wait.”
“Give me the goddamn keys! Now!”
He spotted her purse on the counter and lunged, knocking it over. Lipsticks and pens rolled onto the floor. He fished the keys from the pile of makeup, pacifiers, and credit cards and bolted for the front door.
It usually took forty minutes to get to Belleville. With any luck, he could cut that time in half. He raced along the back roads, his mind moving even faster. Every lousy thing he’d ever said or done replayed in his head. This couldn’t be happening, yet the images from the screen were seared into his brain, the line of ambulances and fire trucks, the flashing red and blue lights of all those police cars.
Just like the ones gaining on him in the rearview mirror.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Billy pounded his fist against the steering wheel. He glanced at the speedometer. He was doing close to seventy. The Volvo could easily handle a hundred, and he was only minutes away from the municipal building. He stepped down harder on the accelerator.
He crested a hill to two cruisers straddling the road before him, lights blazing. Shit! He pumped the brakes and the car slowed, but not nearly enough. He pressed the pedal to the floor. The car fishtailed to the right and skidded partway off the road in front of the cruisers.
The officers from the blockade stood behind their squad cars, guns trained on him. An officer in the vehicle behind stepped out, his gun drawn.
Billy raised his hands to shoulder level. This wasn’t his first rodeo; he knew the drill.
The officers in front took a few cautious steps.
“Exit the vehicle,” demanded the officer who had been tailing him. “Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Billy opened the door, then raised his hand again. “Look, officer—”
“Out!”
He did as he was told and turned to face the car. Within seconds, he was thrown up against the Volvo while the first officer patted him down. He couldn’t see the others, but with at least two high-powered rifles trained on him, all he had to do was hiccup and it could all be over.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kate’s body went boneless, and she crumpled. The officer lowered his rifle and was able to catch her before she hit the floor.
“You’re safe,” he said, propping her up. When she was certain her knees wouldn’t buckle, he led her out of the stall, then lowered her to the floor, kicking shards of glass and tile out of the way with his foot.
“I’m Officer Hayden,” he said, squatting down beside her. “This is Officer Kotter.” He pointed to the officer standing in the doorway. “We’re with the Washington Township Police Department.”
Kate began to shake so violently her teeth chattered and pain shot up her spine.
“Are you okay?” the officer asked. “Are you hurt?”
Sh
e shook her head. “D-did you get them?”
He pinched his lips together. “Them? You saw more than one shooter?”
“N-no. I didn’t see anyone. B-but there had to be more. There were so m-many shots. And I heard them. In t-the hallway.”
“We’re certain there was just the one shooter, ma’am.” He held out his hand. “Do you think you can stand? We’d like to get you outside. Maybe have one of the EMTs look you over.”
Kate hesitated. She didn’t want to stay in there, but she also didn’t want to get shot. “Maybe we should stay here. Until you’re sure.”
Officer Hayden leaned closer, bringing his eyes level with hers, close enough for her to see he’d missed a spot on his chin while shaving. “We’re sure. I wouldn’t take you out of here unless I knew for certain you’d be safe. Will you trust me?”
Trust? No, she didn’t trust him, but she didn’t have much choice.
When she nodded, he draped his weapon over his shoulder and helped her to her feet. Her legs continued to shake, making it difficult to stand.
“Just lean on me. Think you can walk?”
“I-I think so.”
When they reached the door, Officer Hayden looked down at her. “Kate, I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed. I’m going to guide you.”
“Why do I—”
“Ma’am, please. Just let me guide you. You don’t want to see this.”
She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, even though her mind had already began to paint a picture of what was out there. They moved slowly, Officer Hayden leading her down the hall, his warm hands gripping her upper arm and waist. It was uncomfortable, and although she assumed she was surrounded by police officers, she felt exposed and vulnerable.
There were others nearby. A foot scraped across the carpet as someone moved out of their way. Static crackled through police radios. Emergency workers called orders to one another. Sirens heralded the arrival of more help, and a steady, staccato rhythm overhead announced a helicopter was about to land.
Kate held so tightly onto the officer’s arm, she must be hurting him. They inched forward and the sounds coming from outside grew louder. A warm breeze brushed her face as they neared the door.
“Stop,” Officer Hayden instructed. “We’re going to move a couple of steps to the right now.”
Rattled and disoriented, Kate moved to the left instead, stepping on something soft and pliable. As she lost her footing, her eyes flew open. She’d stepped on a hand. A hand that belonged to a man lying in the hallway, surrounded by a pool of blood. He should’ve yelled, pulled it away. But he didn’t. He just lay there, not moving.
“Don’t look,” the officer demanded.
But it was too late.
The walls opposite her were riddled with bullet holes and splattered with blood. Beyond that was the entrance to the meeting room. Bodies were strewn about, chairs were overturned. There was blood. Everywhere.
She could see the corner of the metal chair where she’d been sitting. The tan cloth Coach bag Rhiannon had given her for her birthday last year was darkly stained, its contents dumped onto the floor. A bloodied arm was draped across the chair; its familiar fingers gnarled with arthritis. Kate’s cell phone lay on the floor, crushed, as if dropped from that hand. Shards of broken glass winked at her, swimming in a pool of blood and pale green onions, mustard seeds, and cucumber pickle slices.
She sucked in her breath and turned. The entrance was just a few steps away, but it was still too far. She doubled over and vomited.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sharp pain separated Billy’s shoulder blades as the butt of a rifle jammed into his back. A second officer patted him down. As soon as he recovered his breath, Billy spoke.
“Please. I need to get to my wife. She was at that meeting in Washington Township.”
“Shut up!” The officer commanded. “Put your hands behind your back.”
“You don’t understand. My wife—” He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry or spin around and choke the sonofabitch who’d jammed the gun into his back.
The officer yanked his left arm down and started to cuff him.
“Wait!” The officer who had remained by the blockade called out. “Damn it—Billy? Is that you?”
Billy squinted into the headlights of the two squad cars. It was hard to see with the spotlight trained on him.
“Yeah?”
“What the hell are you doing?” Digger demanded, stepping toward him.
This could either go very badly or work in his favor. “Kate was covering that meeting. She’s not answering her phone.”
“Which meeting?” Digger’s response was measured.
They all knew exactly which meeting, but sarcasm wasn’t going to help Billy now. “Washington Township. You’ve got to let me go.”
“Uncuff him,” Digger yelled. “This is Billy McDonald.”
“No shit? From Stonestreet?” the third officer asked.
Digger grumbled under his breath.
Billy shook his wrist after the handcuffs had been removed. He reached to open the door to Rhiannon’s Volvo, but Digger held it closed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “First of all, you’re under suspension. Second, you’re driving like a fucking maniac, and you’re gonna kill yourself or someone else.” He held out his hand. “Gimme the keys. I’ll take you.”
Billy had no choice but to trust him. It was either that, or risk getting shot if he tried to continue on his own. He tossed the keys to Digger, who handed them off to another officer. He gave the officer Rhiannon’s contact information and climbed into the passenger seat of Digger’s squad car.
“Buckle up,” Digger said, slamming his foot down on the accelerator.
The cruiser raced along the two-lane highway, picking up speed on the straightaways. As they crested the next hill, Billy could see lights on the horizon. A helicopter circled overhead, and the road before them was clogged with thrill seekers.
They reached the first checkpoint, and a state trooper waved Digger through. Squad cars and emergency vehicles lined the road. A state police SWAT team truck sat at the entrance to the driveway, and officers decked in protective gear milled about. Fire trucks lined the perimeter of the parking lot, their bright lights trained on the building, which sat in the middle of a cornfield, giving the scene an eerie sense of day. A row of ambulances were parked closest to the building. Billy had been on several video shoots, and if he hadn’t been desperate to find Kate, he would almost have believed this was just another production. It was that surreal.
Digger eased the squad car along the roadway and parked not far from an area designated for the media and guarded by two state troopers.
Looking for an opening, Billy launched himself out of the cruiser and into the crowd. But before he could work his way in, Digger grabbed him by the arm and whirled him around. Billy might have had several inches on him, but the sonofabitch was strong.
“You trying to get yourself shot? You go running up on a crime scene like that, that SWAT team will shoot now and not bother asking questions.” Digger let go of his arm slowly, as if he didn’t trust Billy not to bolt. “Stick with me and let me handle this, or you’re going to find yourself in either an ambulance or the back of a squad car.”
Digger was probably right, but he’d better get answers—and soon.
Digger shouldered his way through the crowd, and Billy followed close behind. They reached the yellow tape cordoning off the entrance to the driveway, and Digger addressed a trooper holding a clipboard.
“This man thinks his wife was at the meeting. Kate Donaldson?”
The trooper glanced at Billy and shook his head. “Nobody gets through.”
“I understand, but could you just check on Mrs. Donaldson?”
The trooper leaned forward, shaking his head and speaking low enough that only Digger could hear.
Bullshit. He wasn’t waiting. Billy backed into the crowd of reporters
and photographers, then ducked behind a fire truck. When he was away from the bright glare of the spotlights and certain no one was looking, he ducked under the yellow police tape and headed toward the bank of ambulances, careful to stay away from the action.
The first ambulance was empty. So was the second.
No one paid him any attention. The police and paramedics went about their grisly tasks.
The third ambulance was also empty. His heartbeat drowned out all the other sounds around him. What if they were all empty?
He jerked a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the elastic that caught it into a sloppy bun. Angrily, he tore it out and jammed the band into his pocket. He kept moving. Past the powerful lights that had been set up to illuminate the scene. Police officers combed the grass and shrubs. A heavily armed SWAT team stood nearby.
Determined not to be caught, he ducked between two ambulance rigs.
Windows along the front of the building had been shot out and holes blown into the shiplap siding. The doors had been propped open. From where he stood, Billy could see a body in the vestibule. A man’s body. An arc of blood splattered the walls behind him.
Billy’s chest ached. His heart felt as if it might explode.
What if Kate was still inside? He pressed his open palms against his temples.
“Katie!”
Fear and desperation filled his voice. It was foolish to call out, and running would also bring attention to himself, but he had to find her. Struggling to slow his feet, he approached the next ambulance.
“Katie!”
When he opened his mouth to call out again, he heard her, over the static of walkie-talkies, the drone of helicopters, and the pounding of his own heart.
Wrapped in a white blanket, surrounded by a halo of artificial light, Kate stood outside the last ambulance, calling his name.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
If he held her any tighter, Billy was afraid he might snap her in half.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He leaned back far enough to see for himself, then crushed her against his chest before she could answer. Other than a swollen bottom lip, she looked distraught, but whole.
