by Robin Caroll
A rough hand grabbed her left forearm.
Pain kicked her in the teeth as she dropped to her knees. She forced herself to focus, even as she felt herself falling into darkness.
Lars Hartlock smiled down at her, but she couldn’t react.
Already, darkness opened its smothering arms to her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Excellence is not a skill. It is an attitude.”
Ralph Marston
“Excuse me, sir!” The rookie officer barged into Simpson’s office.
Rafe startled, then folded the fax pages and slipped them into his pocket. He sat on the edge of the desk.
“Yes?” Simpson glanced up, already his face looked like it could drag the floor. “What is it now?”
The rookie’s expression was grave. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s been a car accident.” He squirmed. “It’s your mother, sir.”
Simpson jumped to his feet. His chair shot out behind him from the force, crashing into the wall. “Where?”
“Old Promises Lane. First responders have already been dispatched. Officers are on the way.” The rookie ducked out of the office.
Rafe’s chest constricted.
Simpson grabbed his car keys, but Rafe snatched them away. “She was driving Remington home. Come on. I’ll drive.”
Simpson followed him out of the station and into the car. Rafe jammed the keys into the ignition.
“Dear Lord, please watch over them.” Simpson’s voice came out shaky. “Please, God, let them be okay.”
“Amen.” Rafe gunned the cruiser out of the parking lot, tires squealing as they raced toward Bella’s street.
“I should have warned Mom about the gravel. They just graded it yesterday.” Simpson shook his head. “We’ve begged the parish to pave that road because it can be so dangerous, but they won’t do anything. They say there isn’t enough traffic to justify the expense.”
“Stop beating yourself up.” Rafe’s palms slicked the steering wheel. “You don’t know what happened yet.”
The sun hid behind dark, ominous clouds. A sign? Lord, please let them be okay.
He took a sharp turn, and a fire truck came into view. Rafe’s heart dropped to his stomach. The Simpson car was T-boned, pushed almost into the ditch. The driver’s door completely caved into the cabin. The passenger’s door stood open.
Simpson jumped out of the cruiser before Rafe could get it into Park. He bypassed the two police cars and ran straight for the ambulance. Rafe raced to catch up.
Ardy Simpson lay on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance, an EMT dabbing at a cut on her forehead with wet gauze. Rafe took a quick evaluation. No gushing blood. Nobody having to administer CPR.
“Mom!” Simpson rushed to her side. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“The car came out of nowhere.” She propped up on her elbows. “I hit my head.”
The EMT finished bandaging and met Simpson’s questioning stare. “She’ll need a couple of stitches, and they’ll check her for a concussion at the hospital. We’ve already radioed it in.”
One of the officers waved for Simpson’s attention. “We can’t find the driver of the other car. We ran the plates and it’s registered as a federal vehicle.”
Simpson turned back to his mother. “Where’s Bella?”
“She’s missing. They’re supposedly looking for her, but I don’t know if they believed me 100 percent when I told them another person was in the car.”
Hartlock and Devane.
Rafe went cold to the depths of his spirit. “Stay with your mom. I’ll find her.”
He went to the squad car parked with its lights still blinking and approached the officer leaning against the door. “Do you have any idea where the passenger of Mrs. Simpson might have gone?”
The sergeant pushed off the vehicle. “Who are you and why is this any of your business?” Arrogance oozed off the man like mud between toes.
Rafe flashed his badge and put an edge to his voice. “I’ll ask one more time—do you have any idea where Mrs. Simpson’s passenger might have disappeared to?”
The officer stood at attention. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize—”
“Just answer my question.”
“Best we can tell so far, there were two people, we’re guessing men based upon the size of the shoeprints, in the car that hit Mrs. Simpson’s. Both of those prints are beside Mrs. Simpson’s passenger door. There’s a bit of scuff markings, as if something of about 130 or so pounds was dragged into the ditch there.” He pointed as he spoke. “We lose the tracks there in the grass, going to the woods around the bayou.”
“How many officers have been dispatched to search?”
“Every available man is out there. All four of them.”
Four? Was he serious? Rafe shook his head. Not bothering to respond, he took off into the woods. Oh, God, keep her safe until I can find her. Please.
It felt like her head had been packed with gauze.
Bella pushed to sitting and blinked. Again. And again. Nothing came into focus. Where was she? It was cold. She could smell fish. Fish and dirt. And—
“Well, well, well . . . it’s about time you came to.”
She trembled at Hartlock’s cold, heartless voice. She forced her eyes to stay open. Where was he? His voice had come from behind her, but his footsteps . . . in leaves . . . crunched to her right side. She turned her head that way. “What do you want, Hartlock?”
He laughed, more in front of her. She blinked again. “Remington Wyatt. All this time, you were just a state away.”
A fuzzy blob shifted in front of her. She flinched. Hey, God . . . it’s me again. I need Your help something really bad now.
Hartlock laughed again, then his voice dropped even colder. “You’ve made my life very miserable.”
She jerked backward as someone yanked the hair on the back of her head. Hard.
“Very miserable.” Hartlock’s breath scorched the side of her neck.
Bella shuddered. He released her hair with a push to her head.
She ran her right hand over her eyes, but she touched cloth instead. She tugged it free from her face. Bella glanced around, fighting for her bearings. She knew this area—this was the woods across the street from her home.
Hartlock and Devane hovered over her. Over her. God, please help me. I don’t want to die like this. Please, God, help me.
“How have I made your life miserable, huh? I haven’t chased you. Tried to kill you.” She stood, wobbly, but on her own feet. “You murdered Daniel. In cold blood.”
Hartlock’s eyes widened. “Well, there’s the spunk of the Remington I used to know. I wondered if you’d turned mushy while you hid like a coward.”
She lunged for him.
He gave her left shoulder a hard shove that sent her reeling. She landed on the hard, cold ground with a thud. He snorted. “Oh, you’ve been a thorn in my side ever since Rafe knocked you loose of the bushes.”
She stood again, watching as Hartlock paced. Devane held a gun, but it wasn’t aimed at her. Devane looked to favor his right arm. His shooting hand, as she recalled.
“You should have stayed hidden. But no . . . you had to come out of the woodwork, didn’t you?”
“You murdered a federal judge.”
Hartlock smiled. “I did. Daniel was too self-righteous for his own good. All that religion stuff he believed.”
Her stomach acid bubbled in the back of her throat. She checked on Devane from the corner of her eye. He barely looked awake. His grip on the gun, weak and limp.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve spent enough time on you already.” Hartlock gave a jerk of his head toward Devane.
“Why didn’t you just kill me back there after you hit u
s? No witnesses. You’d get away clean.”
He shook his head. “We both know it’s better if you just up and disappear.”
“You left the car. What about that?”
He smiled, sending chills all over her. “Poor Jack here . . . he’ll be found wandering in the woods later. He was in an accident and became disoriented.”
And there’d be no proof that she’d met with any foul play. At least, not by him. “Who’s pulling your chain, Hartlock? Who’s threatening you?” She turned, angling herself adjacent to the space between the two FBI agents. Devane still looked uninterested and dazed.
Hartlock lifted his lip and sneered. “What’s it to you?”
She gave a flash of her teeth as she inched forward. “Maybe I want to send him a thank-you card. I like seeing you squirm like a worm on a hook.”
He reared back his hand and slapped her across the face. The sting and heat cut deep. The coppery taste of blood rested on her tongue.
“Don’t be cute with me. Jonathan wants you dead as much as I do. Even more, which is hard to believe.”
Devane straightened for a moment, then relaxed.
Jonathan Busch, United States Attorney.
Of course. It all made sense. How the high-profile cases he won put him in line for his political aspirations. His race for the governor’s seat was practically a shoe-in, so the papers implied.
She angled a little more, leaning over to spit blood to the ground. Oh-my-stars that hurt. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You make me sick, Hartlock. You took an oath. You’re supposed to enforce the law, not be judge, jury, and executioner.” She shifted closer.
“What do you think we’ve been doing, Remington? We’ve been making sure the guilty don’t get off on technicalities or some such nonsense. Keeping those violent criminals behind bars, keeping people safe in their own homes.”
“What did Cason Moore do that was so violent?” She turned and moved a bit closer to Devane, who really looked like he’d been drugged. “That’s the case you murdered Daniel over, right?”
“That case was personal to Jonathan.”
“Personal?” She moved another inch or so.
“None of your business.” Hartlock’s eyes narrowed.
She recognized the look. Now or never. God, please give me strength.
Bella gritted her teeth and lunged into Devane. Her injured shoulder made contact with his chest, shooting hot pain throughout her body.
He dropped the gun as he fell. She grabbed for it as did Hartlock. Her hand wrapped around the waffle-patterned grip. She brought it up quickly, slamming it into Hartlock’s temple. He grunted as he dropped to all fours.
Devane was up faster than she’d imagined. He tackled her. She landed on her back with him on top of her. His hand tightened on her wrist. She twisted and kicked, trying to wrestle away.
Pop! The gun vibrated her hand as heat spread over her chest.
Rafe’s muscles locked at the sound of the gunshot. His breath got trapped in his lungs, scorching.
Then he reacted.
He blew out air, grabbed his gun, and sprinted in the direction he’d heard the shot fired from. God, please don’t let it have been her. Please, God. Please.
His thighs burned as he ran faster and faster over the uneven terrain. Dodging the tree on the left. Ducking under limbs. Sidestepping the stump on the right. Jumping over the small shrub.
Then he saw her.
Remington stood, a bloody circle on her shirt. She held a gun on a trembling Hartlock, kneeling in front of her with his fingers laced behind his head. Devane lay facedown on the ground. Unmoving. An exit wound leaking blood.
“Remington?” Rafe inched closer to her.
She looked at him, tears streaming down her face. “He murdered Daniel.”
“I know.” He kept his voice low, soothing, as if he were comforting a frightened child. In a way, he was.
“Rafe, help me. She shot Jack.” Hartlock turned to him.
She shoved the gun to his forehead.
“Hartlock, shut up.” Lord, don’t let her pull the trigger. She’ll never be able to live with herself later. He walked right beside her. “Don’t do it. He’s not worth it.”
The tears kept flowing. “I didn’t mean to kill Devane. We were wrestling for the gun.”
“I know.”
“She shot him in cold blood.”
She pushed the barrel of the gun harder, digging the end into Hartlock’s flesh. “You would know, wouldn’t you? You murdered Daniel.”
Rafe holstered his handgun. He could easily disarm her, but he might accidently hurt her in the process. “Remington . . . Bella.”
“He tried to kill me.”
“I know. But we’ve got him now. You got him.” He laid his hand on her arm, sliding it slowly down until his hand covered hers holding the gun. “You got him. He’ll pay for Daniel’s murder.”
She released the gun and turned into his chest, openly sobbing.
Thank You, Lord.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“The best proof of love is trust.”
JOYCE BROTHERS
There were two things she knew for certain: one, ripping out stitches after surgery sucked sour apples, and two, she could never be Bella Miller again.
Remington sat on the examining table in the emergency room—again. At least the pain in her shoulder had subsided. Then again, with as much pain medication as they’d pumped into her, it shouldn’t hurt. Ever.
The door eased open and Hayden stuck his head inside. “Hey, you.”
“How’s Ardy?”
He grinned and sat beside her on the table. “Good. Swapping recipes with the nurses.”
Remington chuckled. “Is she gonna have more stitches than me?”
“Probably. They’re going to keep her overnight for observation.”
She nodded. “I’m just really thankful she’s okay.”
“Me too.” He took her hand in his and held it. “I heard you were going to Little Rock with Rafe in the morning.”
“Yeah. I’m going to talk with the FBI. Give them my official statement.”
“Are you okay with that?”
She shrugged, not really sure how she felt. “Rafe’s SAC from Tennessee is meeting us there. I’m just ready for it to all be over.”
“I bet.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll take care of Chubbers for you.”
“Thanks.” And she hoped to be able to track down Whiskers back in Little Rock. She’d love to see her furry face again.
“Hey, the council offered to renew my contract. And give me a raise.”
“Wow, how’d that come about?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Apparently, when you assist the FBI in solving a major case, you get major kudos.”
Remington laughed. “I’m happy for you. Proud of you too.”
“Ditto that.” Hayden squeezed her hand again. “You done good, kiddo. Brought down the bad guys and made the right choice in the end.”
She rocked against him. “I guess. I feel bad about shooting Devane. I didn’t really mean to.”
“I know. It was an accident.”
Yeah, but . . . “Hayden?”
“What?”
“I really wanted to shoot Hartlock. I mean, really wanted to shoot him.”
“But you didn’t.”
How could she explain? “I couldn’t.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Of course not. You’re not like him. Not a killer.”
“No, you don’t understand. I wanted to pull that trigger.”
“So why didn’t you?”
He was really gonna think she was nuts. “Don’t laugh.”
Hayden
drew an invisible X on his chest and grinned. “I wouldn’t.”
She nudged him. “Seriously.”
“Okay. What?”
“I think God stopped me.” She refused to blink, her scrutiny ready to record any change in his expression.
His eyes widened and his mouth formed an O.
“I knew you’d think I was nuts.”
“No. I don’t. I believe you.”
“You do?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “I tell you that I believe you, and you ask me why. Because, silly girl, I’ve been praying for God to talk to you, talk some sense into you.”
“You have?”
“Yep. So I figured He was working on you when you showed up Sunday to go to church with me.”
Interesting. Very interesting.
She felt Hayden’s stare. “What?”
“So, you two are talking again?” The hope in his eyes made her laugh.
“Let’s say we’re clearing some of the air between us and leave it at that. For now.” But inside, her spirit to God’s, she knew she was coming home.
Hayden’s grin could split his face. “I have something for you.”
She sat straighter. “I hope it’s chocolate.”
He laughed. “No. I hope it’ll be something better.” He handed her a folded piece of yellow, lined legal paper.
Her hand trembled as she took it. “What is it?”
“The letter from Daniel.”
Even as she craved to devour every word, she pushed the letter back to him. “It’s to you. Not me.”
“I’ve read it. Many times.” He dropped it back into her lap as he stood. “You should read it.” He planted a kiss on her temple, then turned and left.
She stared at the folded paper in her hands. Her heart pounded. She’d shot Devane. Hartlock had been arrested. Two men responsible for Daniel’s murder had been caught.
But not the main culprit. Not the one who set everything in motion. He was still free.
Her hands trembled with the letter. She couldn’t read this. Not now. Not yet.
