Injustice For All

by Robin Caroll

  Didn’t put people in the position of having to lie just to live.

  She shook her head and continued her pacing. Chubbers lay in his chair, his eyes following her frantic movements. Every now and again he’d whine.

  Hayden would be furious with her for keeping everything from him, but would he be touched by Daniel’s long-distance devotion? Would he realize what a good man Daniel had been? Oh, she’d been hurt when she realized the truth and that Daniel had kept such a secret from her, but as soon as she’d talked with Ardy, she understood. He kept his word to her. Being honorable, as usual.

  Tires crunched the gravel of the driveway. Chubbers jumped from the chair and rushed to the door, placing his nose at the jamb. Bella’s throat clogged—swallowing wasn’t an option. Breathing would soon be an issue.

  She let out a rush of air and shook her hands. Her focus stuck to the window as she concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  The door opened and Hayden stuck his head inside. “Bella?”

  Forcing the smile that threatened to gag her, she nodded. “C’mon in.”

  He shut the door behind him and stepped into the living room, his hand on the dog’s head. “What’s up?” Hayden stood in the center of the room, a confused look hardening his expression.

  “I need to tell you something. And show you.” She motioned to the couch. “Have a seat.” Her words sounded foreign to her own ears.

  Chubbers jumped back into his chair, his gaze darting between Hayden and Bella. He let out a soft whine.

  Hayden slumped onto the couch. He ran a hand over his hair. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s about Daniel Tate.” Just saying his name aloud choked her. She sat beside Hayden and reached for the file with shaking hands. “He didn’t ignore you, Hayden.”

  Her best friend snorted. “Whatever.” He pushed to his feet. “I don’t have time to discuss this right now.”

  “Sit down, Hayden.” Bella used the tone she hadn’t called upon for three years.

  He slumped back to the couch, his eyes widening.

  “Here.” She shoved the file into his lap before he could protest. “This is what Daniel Tate kept locked in his home safe. This.” She motioned to the file he now held. “It’s all about you.” She pressed her lips together. Maybe that would keep her emotions from spilling into her words.

  He pushed the file back toward the table. “I don’t really want to—”

  She jerked it back on his lap and slapped the flap back. “Look, Hayden. Just take a look.”

  He sighed and gazed down. His chiseled chin lost its severe stiffness as his hands lifted his Little League team photo. Without a word, he flipped through picture after picture, copy after copy. What felt like an eternity later, he lifted eyes shimmering with moisture to Bella. “How?”

  “There’s something else.” Her voice cracked and hitched as she handed him the envelope with his name. “I don’t know what’s inside, but it had to be very important to Daniel. His insistence that this be found in the safe was made with his dying breath.”

  Her heart held still as he took the envelope with trembling hands. At long last she’d know.

  But Hayden didn’t open it. Instead, he set it on top of the file and lifted his gaze to her face. “How do you have all this, Bella?”

  Her mouth went as arid as the ground in July. Her mind scrambled but her conscience held its ground. “I knew Daniel Tate.” She swallowed against a spitless mouth. “I loved him.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “How’s that, exactly?”

  “I need to tell you the truth about me, Hayden. About my past. About who I am.”

  Everything in her screamed to shut up and run, but she could no longer run. Now was the time to take a stand. And taking a stand meant telling the truth. “Daniel Tate was my guardian and godfather. He raised me from the age of ten, from the time my father was murdered.”

  “But . . .” His eyes widened. “You’re Remington Wyatt.”

  He hung up the phone, trying to shake off the verbal bomb that had gone off in his ear. If he didn’t want to end up on Jonathan’s bad side again, he’d have to handle the situation at once. Already, the man was beyond furious.

  He could understand—he was upset himself, but he wasn’t ready to act without proof. And it was still inconclusive if this Bella Miller was, in fact, Remington Wyatt. He would not make another mistake. The one they’d made three years ago had haunted him.

  And it was possibly back to wreck his life.

  The situation would be resolved, once all the facts were known. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why, if this was Remington, she’d gone to Louisiana. Keeping a connection to Daniel could’ve exposed her a long time ago. So why would she do something that could’ve cost her her life?

  Could still.

  Bella’s face faded to the palest he’d ever seen. Good thing she was already sitting because Hayden wasn’t sure her legs would support her.

  “You know who I really am?” Her voice warbled.

  “Well, you kinda gave it away when you admitted he was your godfather and guardian.”

  She shook her head and trembled. “Agent Baxter didn’t tell you that when he showed you the birth announcement? He never gave any details about Daniel’s case?” Obvious fear circled her wide irises as she shot to her feet.

  Chubbers jumped from his chair and moved to her side. He leaned against her leg, watching her.

  Hayden grabbed her hand, keeping her in place. “No. But he showed me the full case file tonight.” He tugged her. “Sit down.”

  Her eyes were still wide and she kept glancing at the doorway to the bedroom, then back to his face, then to the doorway again. Fight or flight.

  “Bella . . .”

  “But the FBI thinks I’m a suspect. And, Hayden, they’ll kill me.”

  Kill her? What was she talking about? He pulled her back to the couch. “Bella, it’s okay.” Fear made her talk crazy. “I know you didn’t kill Daniel—you couldn’t, and Rafe doesn’t think so either.”

  She sank to the couch. “Really?”

  “Yes.” He offered a smile. “Really.”

  “Back up and tell me what’s in the file. What does Baxter say? Why didn’t they ever follow up on—?”

  Hayden held up his hands. “Whoa. Slow down.”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  “I have a few questions for you first, then I’ll answer yours. Deal?”

  She nodded.

  “Why don’t you tell me how you became Bella Miller? I mean, I didn’t even recognize your picture.” But now, from what he could remember from the photographs, he could see it as plain as day.

  “You see what you want to see. I had injections to make my face fuller. I wear contacts to change the color of my eyes. I cut and colored my hair.” She gave a slight smile. “And I put on thirty-five pounds, which is actually easy to do if you quit smoking.”

  Bella . . . smoking? He couldn’t picture that.

  She noticed his expression. “Yes, I used to smoke. I also used to drink coffee and would avoid any diet drink like the plague.” Her smile widened. “I adore Dr. Pepper and I detest, I mean, truly detest, country music.”

  That’s all she ever listened to. “But you—”

  It was her turn to hold up her hand. “You’re asking how I became Bella . . . I’m telling you.” The smile slipped from her face. “That’s how I didn’t get caught—I changed everything that were markers for me.” She rested her hand on Chubbers’ head. “I even got a dog. I’m such a cat person.”

  She sat back on the couch, visibly more relaxed. “I got fake papers four or five different times, each from a different person, until my layers were tight. I bought vehicles and sold them to lay a fake trail. I
opened bank accounts, closed them, then reopened them in different cities.”

  Accounts . . . “Money. How did you live?” It was one of the possibilities of motive.

  She rolled her eyes. “Daniel taught me years ago to have several thousand dollars on hand in the event of an emergency.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I never figured this would be the kind of emergency, but nevertheless the cash on hand saved me.”

  Made sense, but . . . “Why come here of all places?”

  Bella tapped the file he’d placed on the coffee table. “Because Daniel’s dying words to me were to get these papers out of his safe. Once I went through them, I realized he’d kept a secret from me. You.”

  “So you came here? For what? Why?”

  She nodded. “I had to meet you. See what kind of person you were. I’d planned to give you the stuff, get to know you, then disappear again.”

  “But you didn’t. Why?”

  “It’s hard to explain, but I felt an immediate connection to you. Almost as if Daniel tied us together, even if you had no clue who he was.”

  Hayden got that because he’d felt that instant connection to her too.

  “Then . . . well, then I got to know you. And you became the best friend I never had before. I never had a lot of friends growing up. I was too focused on my career goals, so it was nice to have you.”

  Her honesty warmed his heart.

  “But you never gave a hint that you weren’t George Simpson’s son. I even wondered if Ardy didn’t suspect Daniel was your father, even though the resemblance is uncanny.”

  So he’d realized himself mere hours ago.

  “One day I was at Ardy’s, taking those pictures of the tractor she sold. I made a random comment about Daniel, and by her expression, I realized she knew the truth. I probed just a little more, and the whole story came rushing out.” Bella licked her lips. “Your mom had kept that locked inside her for so long . . . it was eating her away.”

  It all made sense now. Not that it was right, but he understood. “And that’s why you agreed to keep the secret.”

  She nodded. “That’s why.”

  He glanced at the file. It was a lot to take in. Daniel Tate had kept very good, close tabs on him. By every indication had wanted to be a part of his life, but out of respect for Mom’s wishes, hadn’t. Hayden glanced back at Bella. “Daniel . . . did he ever marry? Have other kids? Do I have any half brothers or sisters?”

  The corners of Bella’s mouth drooped. “No. I think I cost him any chance of finding a woman and settling down.” She squared her shoulders. “My mom died soon after I was born. Daniel and my father were partners in their own law firm. When I was ten, my father was killed in a drive-by shooting.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  She sniffed. “I didn’t have any other family. Daniel was my godfather, so he used his position with the courts to rush the appointment of himself as my legal guardian. He raised me alone. Never married, so he never had any children. Except you.”

  “I’m sorry.” He hadn’t known. Hadn’t even had a clue.

  “It’s okay. I loved Daniel very much.”

  That brought to mind his next question. “If you loved him, and you didn’t kill him, why did you run?”

  She stiffened. “Because I was there. I know who murdered Daniel, and they won’t give up. Without proof, no one would’ve believed me, and they would’ve killed me.” Bella pushed to her feet.

  He stood as well. “You can’t be serious. You have an inside track with the FBI. They would’ve believed you.”

  “The FBI wouldn’t believe me, Hayden, because it was the FBI who murdered him.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “A true friend is one soul in two bodies.”

  ARISTOTLE

  Rafe stared at the scanned police report on his laptop. The digital pictures Darren had been kind enough to run by the house and take were awful.

  The vandals had messed up his hardwood floors as well as spray painted on the walls. Well, the walls they didn’t punch holes in.

  He enlarged the area of the spray-paint writing. What was that word? He tilted his head sideways . . .

  Shoot!

  Had to be teenagers. But man, what a pain to have to take care of. Especially when he couldn’t take off and go there.

  Maddie. He should’ve already called and asked her to take care of it, but he’d gotten sidetracked. He glanced at the clock—8:40 p.m. She’d be home on a Thursday night. He just dreaded the call. Not that he didn’t love his sister, he did, but Maddie knew how to lay on a guilt trip something fierce.

  He opened his cell and punched in her number. It rang twice before she answered. “Hey, Bubba.”

  “Hiya. How’s everything going?”

  A heavy pause filled the airway.

  His gut tightened. “Maddie, what’s wrong?”

  “The parole board. They sent another letter. Inviting us to speak at Simon Lancaster’s hearing.”

  The spicy jambalaya he’d eaten at the diner churned in his stomach. “What?”

  “Yeah, I know. They’re going to, wait, let me grab the letter and I’ll read you that part.”

  He couldn’t reply even if he wanted to.

  “Mmm. Oh, here it is. They want to make sure they, quote, give us opportunity to speak at Simon Lancaster’s hearing for or against his parole, unquote.”

  “Are you kidding me?” The words pushed past the massive rock lodged in his windpipe. “As if we’d even consider being there for his parole. Are they serious?”

  “I know, right? It’s crazy.”

  He leaned over the motel room’s desk, dropping his head into his free hand. The void of his parents’ deaths still left him numb and empty.

  “It’s gonna be okay, right, Bubba?” Maddie’s voice was soft . . . faint . . . and desperate for reassurance. She hadn’t called him Bubba in years.

  “Yeah, sis, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll be okay, just like always.” But the words scorched his tongue almost as bad as the cayenne pepper he had at supper.

  She let out a long breath. “So, what’s up?” Already she’d accepted his words and moved on.

  “It seems my house was vandalized.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yeah. I got the police report sent to me, and Darren went by and took some pictures. It ain’t pretty.”

  “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

  He ran a hand over his head, scratching his scalp. “I’ve called the insurance adjuster. He can just use the police report and photos and was going to make a quick inspection himself this afternoon. Could you please get in touch with the Realtor and have her set up people to perform repairs? Or ask Riley to do it?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks, Maddie.”

  “Not a problem.” She paused. “Have you heard from Riley the last day or so?”

  Something about the way she asked stood the hair on the back of his neck at full attention. “No, why?”

  “She and Garrison broke up.”

  Rafe cleared his throat. “That’s a bad thing how?”

  “Rafe, I know you didn’t like him, but Riley did.”

  He scraped his face with his hand. “Well, I say good riddance. She could do much better.”

  “Yeah. I’m just worried about her. I think she really thought she was in love with him.”

  “He was a jerk.”

  “Yeah, well, the feeling was mutual. Riley said he always said he hated that she compared him to you, an agent.”

  Rafe knew the source of the jerk’s attitude. “I can’t help it he couldn’t pass the entrance exam to get into the bureau’s academy. You can’t help stupid.”

  “Well, he must have had a bad case of sour grapes. Told Riley after
meeting you, he was glad he didn’t get in the FBI if the agents were all jerks like you.”

  Rafe chuckled. “Good thing she never told me that.” He rubbed the aching spot in the back of his neck. “She’ll get over the little dirtbag quick enough. She’s young and cute, and I love her, but she has the attention span of a gnat. She’ll move on.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. And she said she was working on a big story.”

  His baby sister: wannabe Barbara Walters. “Listen, I need to call Darren and check on Savannah. Thanks again for taking care of the house thing.” Rafe shut the cell and closed his eyes. He might’ve been able to comfort Maddie, but he was anything but peaceful about the Lancaster situation.

  Hunching further over the desk, he began to pray. For his sisters . . . for Savannah and Darren . . . for Hayden Simpson . . . for himself.

  The motel room’s phone rang, vibrating the whole desk. Rafe jumped and snatched up the receiver. “Baxter.”

  “So serious.”

  Rafe swallowed. “ASAC Hartlock. To what do I owe the honor?” For the man to be calling him at night, it had to be serious.

  “It’s Lars, remember? I never did get into the whole last name bit. Anyway, just calling to check in. You didn’t respond to my last e-mail, so I thought I’d just call you.” A pregnant pause filled Rafe’s ear. “So, have you made any progress?”

  “Not really. I met with Simpson tonight and we had some discussion. Let me ask you something about Remington Wyatt.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What did y’all think could be her motive for murdering Tate?”

  “Could have been a lot of things, but primarily we thought money. The judge was a wealthy man, had a lot of investments and funds. His goddaughter was the sole beneficiary.”

  Which made Rafe even more curious. If what Simpson’s mother told him was true, then Tate knew he had a son. Why would he cut his own flesh and blood out of his vast wealth? Rafe would have to do some digging to get an idea on that one.

  Hartlock continued. “His estate is estimated in the hundreds of thousands. Not bad, considering our economy. Why do you ask?”