by Sharon Sala
“Yes, I like them,” Wyrick said.
“Awesome. Try one of these!” he said, and plucked a small cherry tomato from the plant closest to him.
Wyrick obliged because it was Merlin and popped it in her mouth. Juice filled her mouth at the first bite.
“Umm, so good,” she said.
“Told you!” he crowed. “So, you’re working from home! What’s wrong?”
“Charlie is unavailable to take on new cases for a while, so I’ll be working from home, that’s all.”
He grabbed a little plastic bowl from a shelf, filled it with cherry tomatoes and handed it to her.
“Enjoy. There’s more where these came from. And one day, you’ll be the one growing them. When you do, eat one for me. I love these things.”
Wyrick left the greenhouse with a lump in her throat and the little bowl clutched against her chest. She hurried across the grounds and back into her apartment, then locked the door.
It wasn’t until she set the tomatoes on the counter that it dawned on her how much time she spent locking herself inside. Wherever she was, she was always locking doors. But was it only to keep the bad guys out—or was it to keep everyone out?
All she knew was this overwhelming fear began when she thought she was going to die, and then she didn’t. The cancer went away, but her fear didn’t. And it was all because of Cyrus Parks. He’d called himself her father, discarded her when he thought she was flawed, then stalked her from afar when she didn’t die. He kept the fear alive until she scared him, and now he wanted her dead. A whole new sense of injustice rolled through her.
“Well, Daddy dear, it’s about time you learn that you don’t always get what you want in life.”
She went into her little office, opened her laptop and pulled up a file labeled PAYBACK. After shutting UT down before, she didn’t think she’d ever have to use this one, but time had proved her wrong.
She opened the file and began pulling up one program after another, her fingers flying over the keys as she entered password after password to get them started. Once she was in, the rest was a matter of her own special skills and then removing the contents.
It took less than two hours to commit the crime of the century and erase every trace of what she’d stolen. She’d tied the knot. Now all she needed was to tie the bow.
She hacked into Parks’s personal email and sent one message.
I’m not dead and your hit man, Boyington, is in jail. You should have left me alone.
She hit Send, knowing that the email would disappear within minutes of being opened.
Then she pulled the videos from the office building, found the parts where Boyington had confronted her and sent all of them to the police department, to the officer who had arrested Boyington. Then just for good measure, she added background on the names she already knew of the other men Cyrus Parks had hired to track her, and documented all the times she’d moved because of it since she’d come to live in Dallas. She sent a signed electronic statement and forwarded it, too, and considered her part in that done, unless it ever went to trial, which she doubted. People like Cyrus always paid their way out of trouble.
Ten
Cyrus Parks was at a business lunch, and as it began winding down, he took out his debit card to pay. Minutes later, he was shocked when the waiter brought it back as declined.
“Good Lord! Are you serious? There must be something wrong on their end,” he muttered, and pulled out a credit card, only to have it declined, and then the third one he used came up the same way.
One of the men finally took pity on him and paid.
“There’s obviously some computer glitch attached to your name. I’ve got this. No worries.”
And the moment his friend said it, Cyrus’s heart skipped a beat. It can’t be. Surely not.
“Yes, obviously,” Cyrus said. “I’ll get my tech people right on it and hope it isn’t some hack job from a disgruntled employee.”
“In our level of the world, it happens,” another man said, and they soon parted company.
But the moment Cyrus was in his limo, he began to panic all over again. He checked his phone for messages that would alert him to what was happening, but there were none.
“Where to, Mr. Parks?” the driver asked.
“Home. Take me home.”
It took thirty-plus minutes to navigate the traffic, but the moment Cyrus was inside his house, he hurried to his office. The first thing he did was pull up his private email. He recognized all of the senders, except for one. All it said was PAYBACK.
“Oh God, oh God,” he muttered, as he opened it and read...
I’m not dead and your hit man, Boyington, is in jail. You should have left me alone.
“No, no, no,” he muttered, and logged in to his bank. There was a one-dollar balance. His heart sank, as he began checking into all of the accounts where his money was kept, and one after another, they each had a one-dollar balance.
His rage at Wyrick was nothing compared to his anger at the hit man. He’d just paid him the rest of the contract money to quit the job and leave her alone. The bastard had taken the money and went after her anyway. Obviously, he had failed in the process and given up the name of the man who’d put out the hit.
The only good part of this whole shit storm was now Cyrus knew the hit man’s name. He’d deal with him first and Wyrick later.
He started to reply to the email, only to realize it was gone. He grunted. Of course it was. He did not create fools.
The bank had been hacked. They would have to replace the money that disappeared, but that would take time. The other places he’d hidden money didn’t have that same insurable feature. That money was gone.
Universal Theorem had a constant flow of income, but this was Cyrus’s personal income. It was going to take time to build the accounts back up, and in the meantime, he was, as they say, a little short on cash.
* * *
Charlie rested in the recliner next to Annie’s bed, but his legs hung off the footrest and he was too tall to stretch out. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, and he was moving on autopilot, but sleep was impossible. There was no way to sleep through the sounds of her breathing or the intermittent moan she would emit.
Doris would raise the head of Annie’s bed, and for a while that would ease her labored breathing...until it started all over again.
Doris knew. Charlie knew. Everyone in Morning Light knew. Annie Dodge was in her last days.
He lost track of time, and didn’t even know whether it was day or night until he’d get the call that his dinner had been delivered and was waiting at the front desk.
At first he’d felt guilty about leaving her, but even he knew he had to eat sometime. But after a while, that call became the momentary escape he needed.
And every evening Wyrick sent something different.
The second day Wyrick sent a giant barbecue sandwich, steak fries and a beer. He ate with tears in his eyes.
The third day was cold and windy, and she’d ordered kung pao chicken, fried rice and spring rolls. Every day, something different, in the hopes it would strike the right chord and he’d eat enough of it to keep him going.
The fourth night it was a bag full of tacos, churros and Mexican beer.
And every night, the break and the food made going back into Morning Light bearable.
* * *
While Charlie was sitting vigil, Darrell Boyington was arraigned and let out on bail. He had retreated to his penthouse like a dog with his tail between his legs. Being booked and fingerprinted had technically brought an end to ever taking another contract job again, because he was now in the system. He’d been really good at his job until he let Wyrick get under his skin, and that was on him. It was the need for revenge that caused his downfall.
His lawyer was talking about getting the stalking
charges dropped to harassment, but he was still facing the possibility of a little jail time and a fine. It wouldn’t really affect his business activities. He had never been the face of the sports bars he owned, so business would not be affected. But it was the actual fact of serving time that horrified him.
* * *
It was just after lunch, and Darrell was waiting on a phone call from his attorney, but he was too fidgety to sit, so he took one of his favorite cigars out onto the balcony and lit up.
The air was cold and today there was enough breeze to carry away the smoke. And then he heard a commotion going on from somewhere below him, and out of curiosity, he got up and walked to the railing. Within moments, a drone shot straight up from somewhere below. Before he could react to what he was seeing, it was in his face.
The blast from the bomb it was carrying destroyed the living room behind him, and blew him and the balcony into pieces, before dropping all of it onto the street below.
Cyrus Parks had effected his own brand of payback.
* * *
Wyrick was sitting in the kitchen with Merlin, going over another set of papers with him and his lawyer, Rodney Gordon, when her cell phone rang.
She glanced at caller ID and then frowned.
“Excuse me a moment. It’s the Dallas Police Department. I suppose I’d better answer this,” she said, and got up and walked out into the hallway to talk. “Hello?”
“This is Detective Tillman, Homicide Division, calling for Jade Wyrick.”
“I’m Wyrick. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“For clarification, you recently filed stalking charges against a Darrell Boyington. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“What is your present location?” he asked.
“I’m at home. To be exact, I’m in my landlord’s kitchen, with his lawyer, where we’ve been for the past two hours. Now, what’s going on, and why all the questions?”
“Darrell Boyington is dead. Someone flew a bomb onto his balcony while he was on it and blew him all to hell.”
“I’m not into killing people. That was his hobby,” Wyrick said.
There was a moment of silence before Tillman spoke.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Boyington was a hit man. I’d suggest you start looking at the people who hired him, and the families of the people he killed.”
“And you know this, how?” Tillman asked.
“I just know stuff,” Wyrick said. “Hang on and I’ll let you speak to my landlord and his lawyer to verify where I am. They’re still here.”
She didn’t wait for him to agree; she just sauntered back into the kitchen, talking as she went.
“Hey, guys. A detective named Tillman needs to verify my whereabouts for the last two hours. Do you mind talking to him a minute?”
“Not at all,” Rodney said. “Put the phone on speaker. Then Art and I can do this together.”
“Done,” Wyrick said, and laid the phone down on the table. “Okay, Detective. Arthur Merlin is my landlord. Rodney Gordon is Merlin’s lawyer. They’re listening.”
“Detective Tillman, I’m Rodney Gordon. I believe you have testified in a couple of cases I’ve tried. If you’re asking how long Miss Wyrick has been with us, it’s going on a little over two hours now, and before that, she was in her apartment in the basement below.”
“I’m Art Merlin, Jade’s landlord. She rents my basement apartment, but she’s also a friend. She’s been here in my kitchen for more than two hours, during which time she has consumed a cup of coffee, one Pepsi and two candy bars.”
Wyrick laughed, and Tillman heard her. It was a nice laugh.
“Okay, Miss Wyrick. The recent incident between you and Boyington was why I called, and if I have further questions, we’ll be in touch.”
Jade picked up her phone, ended the call and dropped it back in her pocket.
“Now, where were we?”
Merlin wiggled a finger at her. “What was the recent incident between you and this dead man that I don’t know about?”
“Charlie caught him planting GPS trackers on my car. It was the third time he had shown up at my place of work to harass me, and I filed stalking charges against him.”
“Good Lord. Did you know him?” Rodney asked.
“Not until he walked into Charlie’s office, demanding to see him, which all turned out to be a ruse to get to me. He is...was...a hit man.”
Merlin’s expression shifted to one of concern.
“UT?” he asked.
Wyrick sighed. “I don’t know why I am surprised you know that much.”
He grinned and winked. “I know stuff, too.”
Rodney threw up his hands. “Okay, obviously this is a need-to-know basis, and I don’t need to know. And considering my workload, that’s fine, too. Now, we have one more set of papers to go over, but we won’t need you. I think this will be the last of it, until—”
“Until I’m gone,” Merlin said, and grinned at the lawyer. “She’s gonna take care of my tomatoes, and scatter my ashes in Galveston Bay. Whatever else she does afterward, she does with my blessing.”
The thought of Annie and Merlin both living their last days made her sad, and Wyrick, being Wyrick, hid her emotions behind sarcasm.
“Thank God I don’t have to go pick out a headstone, then come up with something smart and wise to put on it.”
They both burst into laughter.
“I’m going back to the dungeon, Master. Ring if you need me,” she said, and left through the kitchen stairwell.
Merlin sighed. “She is a broken child with the heart and stamina of a warrior, and most likely the most brilliant mind on the face of the earth. Treat her well when I am gone.”
“Consider it done,” Rodney said.
* * *
Sometime around midmorning on the fifth day of Charlie’s vigil, Annie’s breathing became markedly worse. Doris had been watching her carefully for a couple of hours, noting the change, but it was just now becoming evident to Charlie.
“What’s happening?” Charlie asked, as Doris placed her stethoscope on Annie’s chest.
“It’s sounding like she’s developed pneumonia. I want Dr. Dunleavy to look at her,” Doris said. “I think he’s still on-site.”
Charlie stood helplessly by as Doris made the call, listening to her side of the conversation, while watching Annie struggling for every breath. She was already on oxygen, but it was no longer working as it had.
He shoved a hand through his hair and then rubbed the back of his neck. He was so tired he was numb. Over the past few days he’d helped bath her, and when he was at his wit’s end watching her struggle to breathe, he’d rub her hands and feet with lotion because he couldn’t breathe for her, and he needed to do something.
A few minutes later, Dr. Dunleavy walked into Annie’s room. He gave Charlie a quick pat on the shoulder and then moved toward his patient.
His examination was cursory. Annie’s instructions were clear. No medicines to prolong her life. No CPR should her heart stop, and so it went. Charlie’s wishes would hold no weight here, and the longer he watched her struggle, the less likely he would have been to wish her back. Watching someone die was hard. Watching someone you love dying was hell on earth.
Finally, Dunleavy stepped back and then approached Charlie.
“She has pneumonia. Her lungs are filling with fluid.”
“Jesus,” Charlie whispered. “She is going to drown, isn’t she?”
“I’m sorry, Charlie. So sorry, but her wishes are clear. No extraordinary measures of resuscitation.”
Speech was impossible, and so was this, and yet Charlie couldn’t leave her. Seeing her out was the last thing he would do with her.
“So what do we do?” Charlie asked.
“Honor her
last wishes,” Dunleavy said, and walked out.
“I’m going to give you a little time with Annie,” Doris said. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me.”
Charlie sat back down beside Annie and reached for her hand. His voice was shaking, and he was swallowing past tears.
“Dammit, Annie, you never did want to quit on anything. It was one of the things I admired about you most. You are my best friend, and the only woman I ever loved. But I want you to know that whenever you’re ready to go home now, just go. You’ll be well there. You won’t be lost anymore.”
He sat there, waiting for her to inhale again. And waited. And waited, then realized he was holding his breath with her. Then she gasped, choked, and when she inhaled, it sounded like she was strangling.
Charlie shook his head and closed his eyes as the struggle for breathing continued. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there like that, but it wasn’t until Doris came back into the room that he realized what he’d been doing.
She walked up beside him, paused for a moment to watch, then leaned over and whispered in Charlie’s ear.
“Let her go, Charlie.”
“I did. I told her to go,” he said.
“No, I mean let go of her hand. Turn her loose...really loose.”
“Oh shit,” Charlie said, and yanked his hand back. “I didn’t think. I just—”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Doris said. “But we don’t really know how much the physical touch impacts the soul’s reluctance to leave. I’ve witnessed many things in my years of hospice care, and we both want her journey out of here to be as easy as possible.”
Charlie nodded, and then went a step further and got up and moved his chair to the far corner of the room. If she needed distance, he was giving it to her.
Anything for you, baby. Anything for you.
