Devil's Cut

by J. R. Ward

  After a moment, Lane steered Lizzie and himself around. Kissing her on the top of the head, he murmured, "Let's give them their privacy. They've earned it."

  The next morning dawned beautiful and clear, and as Lane got dressed in his closet, he picked out black: black for the suit, black for the socks, black for the belt and the tie and the shoes. The only things he had on that were white were his button-down shirt and his boxer shorts.

  But he made sure to include a red pocket square.

  When he stepped out, Lizzie was coming in from the bathroom and she looked rough--and beautiful in her black dress.

  "How bad is it today?" he asked.

  "Bad. But that's good, remember?"

  "I brought you up some ginger ale. And saltines. I made sure I put some in the car, too. As well as three Kroger's bags, a roll of paper towels, a spare toothbrush and toothpaste, some bottled water, and chewing gum--Wrigley's, your favorite."

  "I love you so much," she said as she closed her eyes. "How did you get all that done while I was in the shower?"

  "Moved fast. Otherwise, you were going to try to do it yourself."

  They met by the bed and embraced for a moment.

  "You ready for this?" she asked him.

  "As I'll ever be."

  "I'm with you all the way. Unless I have to throw up. In which case, I'll be back as soon as I can be."

  "I love you."

  "Me, too."

  They kissed and then it was down to the first floor, where Jeff was dressed in black, Amelia was chilling with her phone on the first step of the stairs, and Gin was not yet around.

  "Where's your mother?" Lane asked casually as he sat next to the girl.

  "Grabbing a smoothie, I think."

  Lane leaned in and looked at what was on the phone's screen. "You're going to have to show me how to play that game. What's it called?"

  "Dymonds. With a 'y.' Here, gimme your cell."

  Lane reached in and took the thing out of his breast pocket. "Password is one, one, one, one."

  The girl rolled her eyes. "Uncle Lane, that is not secure."

  "Nothing in there to hide."

  Amelia started to flip into programs or...he didn't know what, and didn't care--

  "Wait," he said sharply. "What's that?"

  "I'm downloading the app for you."

  "Lemme see it."

  There, on the app screen, or whatever you wanted to call it, was the title of the game and then the company that made it.

  Tricksey, Inc.

  "Jeff? Jeff...will you look at this?" Lane glanced over at the guy--who had his head buried in his own phone, no doubt analyzing documents on the damn thing. "Jeff. Come here."

  The guy snapped to attention and walked across, bending down as Lane held the screen up. "What the--what am I looking at?" he asked.

  "Tricksey, Incorporated."

  Amelia spoke up. "Oh, yeah. That's the developer of Dymonds. They've done a ton of other games. A girl in my dorm is, like, the owner's niece or something, and she said they were just bought out by--"

  Lane bolted up at the same time as Jeff evidently did the same math: Without a word, the two of them scrambled down the hall, punched open the door into the staff wing, and nearly mowed Gin over as they beelined for Greta's office.

  "Where's the third stack--where's the--"

  The German woman looked up from behind her desk. She had lasted even less than forty-eight hours on her vacation and had arrived back at Easterly at seven a.m. And in order to make sure no information was lost, she had carted all of William's business files over from his office and was systematically scanning each and every page into her computer.

  "Vhat are ve lookink for?" she inquired.

  "The third stack!" Lane dropped to the carpet and started pulling files out. "The I-don't-knows!"

  "Here now," she said. "Do not mess things!"

  As a string of no doubt highly uncomplimentary German phrases left her lips, she nonetheless got with the program, pointing the way for him and Jeff in the loads of boxes.

  Lane found the agreement in the second box he searched. "I got it, I got it...."

  Jeff sank down on the floor next to him as Amelia and Gin and Lizzie came in, and at first, words danced in front of Lane's eyes. But then...

  "Forty-nine percent." Lane looked up at Lizzie, dumbfounded. "Forty-nine percent of the company. William paid a quarter of a million dollars for it three years ago."

  Jeff grabbed the document and looked the thing over. "It's in force. This is a live agreement."

  Amelia started typing on her phone. And then she said, "Yeah, it's right here in the New York Times business section, under 'technology.' They were bought out for..."

  "What?" Lane said to the girl. "What were they bought out for?"

  The girl slowly raised her head and turned her phone around. "One point two billion dollars."

  No one moved. Or breathed.

  "I'm sorry," Lane interjected. "Did you say billion with a 'b.' "

  "Yes, it's all right here."

  As Lane fell back on his ass, Jeff started to laugh. "Looks like Mack gets to keep his new yeast strain."

  Oh, frothy relief. Oh, wonderful, magical, lottery-winning moment.

  Someone started cheering, and then Lizzie was down in his arms, and he was laughing his head off. With an interest like that, in a company valued at that level, it was going to be very easy to finance out of the bank debt. And then the BBC could survive, and thrive.

  On the day he had to bury his momma, the unexpected windfall was the one thing that could possibly have lifted Lane's spirits.

  And the only thing his father had ever done to help the family.

  --

  The Charlemont Baptist Church was located in the West End, and as Lane pulled the Phantom into its parking lot, he put the windows down so everyone in the car could wave at people they knew. The place was packed already, members of the community gathering in their funeral garb to pay their respects. And as he greeted folks and was greeted in return, he reflected on how beautifully everyone was dressed, the gentlemen in suits, the ladies in hats and fascinators, everything black.

  Except for pops of U of C red.

  Going around to the back, he left the Rolls next to a couple of Mercedes and a Lexus and told Lizzie and the others where to go and sit. Then he joined the other five pallbearers, all of whom were nephews of Miss Aurora's, by the hearse. Denny Browne, the nice man who'd seen Miss Aurora through the hospital and out into his care, had driven the coffin over himself.

  "Would you like to see what she's in?" he asked after they shook hands.

  "Yes, please."

  Denny opened the back of the hearse, and all six pallbearers went ohhhhhh. The coffin was a perfect University of Charlemont red with gleaming brass hinges and handles.

  "That'll do," Lane said. "That'll do more than just fine."

  They kibitzed for a good twenty minutes, and although Lane got hot in the sun, he wasn't going to take his coat off. Nope, he could catch on fire and he'd still keep that jacket on--and going by the way the nephews kept wiping their brows with their handkerchiefs, yet none of them took any layers off, either, clearly everybody was in the same boat.

  After all, when Lane went to his royal reward, the last thing he needed was Miss Aurora scolding him at the pearly gates for not being dressed right at her funeral.

  About ten minutes before things were supposed to get started, the Reverend Nyce came out of a side exit.

  "Are we ready?" the good man said, Bible in hand, flowing red robes making him look like a saint.

  "We are." Lane accepted the man's embrace. "I know she's watching us."

  "You bet she is." The reverend smiled and greeted each of the nephews by name. "Now, I'm going to ask you to bring her in this door here. Then go up the ramp and you'll be off to the side in the narthex. As I get the congregation settled, I want you to take her to the closed doors that lead into the church proper. I'll give the sig
n, those doors will open, and I want you to escort her all the way down to the altar. You will be seated on the left in the front row."

  "Yessir," Lane said.

  "We clear?"

  When there was a collective agreement, the reverend took his leave, and Lane lined up with the others at the back of the hearse, three on each side.

  Denny said, "She's going to come out headfirst, so, Lane, you're here. Okay, let's bring her out. She's going to be heavy, so be prepared."

  As her son, Lane assumed the front right corner, and Denny was correct, he was surprised by how much the coffin weighed. With slow, coordinated movements, the six of them took their grips sequentially as the coffin was pulled out, and then they were moving together, heading for a door held open by one of the men's wives.

  Lane just nodded at the woman as he went in. He wanted to say something pleasant, but his heart was pounding and his eyes were itching.

  He hadn't expected to get emotional now.

  Inside the church, the cool air felt good, and it cleared his mind some, but then he had to focus to get the coffin on the gurney. One of the assistant pastors added a beautiful satin sash, and then another of the wives put an arrangement of red and white roses on the top as well.

  And then they were rolling Miss Aurora up the ramp.

  It was impossible not to contrast everything around him and inside him with what it had been like to inter his father. Then it had been a chore to execute, something to check off a list, for the sole reason that he didn't want a damn dead person's ashes in the house.

  And the whole thing had had all the internal resonance of a trip to the grocery store.

  Now, though, as he walked with the other men, head bowed, hand locked on that brass bar like he could bend the metal, he wasn't sure how he was going to keep it together.

  Things got even harder as they positioned her at the closed double doors that would open into the sanctuary. Through the stained-glass sections, he could see a thousand people seated in the pews, and there were still more folks standing against the walls, every square inch of the huge space full.

  And how beautiful it all was: candles lit, flowers abounding, the altar shimmering with the glow of heaven above.

  I'm not ready--oh, shit, I've got to get ready--

  Lane tried to take a couple of breaths.

  Except then it was go time, the doors opening wide, the music starting to play, the two-hundred-person choir in their red robes starting to sway back and forth behind the altar.

  The music was what saved him.

  As the first strains of "God Is Keeping Me" began to play, he had to smile. They had thrown out the playbook for Miss Aurora, and he was so glad. She had been a member of the choir here for years herself; the music had always been her favorite part of the service and this was one of her most-loved gospel songs--

  Suddenly, something registered. The male voice...the male voice that led the choir...

  Lane nearly tripped halfway down the aisle.

  Standing in front of the singers, in a choir robe--with a clean-shaven face and trimmed hair--was Max. And he had his eyes closed, his head tilted back, his mouth open, that microphone held in place, his incredible voice overpowering even all the other big ones around him.

  Lane pulled a discreet pass of the eyes with his handkerchief, and then he and his brother met stares across the congregation.

  Thumbs-up was given and received by a nod before Max went on to the next verse.

  So many faces in the crowd, the sadness in each of them palpable, men and women alike wiping tears away. There were people Miss Aurora had trained in her kitchen--a new generation of chefs--and fellow singers, and cousins and distant cousins, and friends and acquaintances from church and U of C basketball games. There were folks that Lane didn't recognize, and others he thought of as family, and old friends he hadn't seen for years.

  As they stopped in front of the altar, Lane took a moment to look at everyone who had gathered on a workday, having taken the time to get dressed and bring even their small children, just to pay their respects.

  He was hard-pressed to think that any of them judged her harshly for what she had done to his father. She was a good force in the world who had taken a piece of evil out of it--hell, maybe his father wouldn't have survived that stroke, anyway. But either way, Miss Aurora had watched the abuse, witnessed the reign of terror, lived with the sadness and fear in that house and the family for as long as she could take it.

  And then, as was her way, she had done something about it.

  Lane thought of his mother and Gary McAdams. Of Edward and Sutton, now happy. Of himself and Lizzie, and Gin making peace with Amelia and coming forward, finally, with the news of Samuel T.'s parentage.

  Indeed, Miss Aurora had reset the family...after William had run roughshod over it for a generation's length of time.

  So no, Lane decided as he was overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, the depth of the love, the breadth of the mourning. Neither he, nor anyone else, blamed his momma for taking care of her family, any more than they mourned a man who had gotten exactly what he deserved.

  You tell me who was the sinner and who was the saint, Lane thought as he went to sit down next to Lizzie. Who was poor...

  ...and who died richer beyond measure.

  After the conclusion of the service, Lane and the pallbearers escorted Miss Aurora back out and returned her to the hearse. Then Lane led a mile-long procession of cars, all with their lights on, on a winding course of streets to Kinderhook, a cemetery located on the far edge of the west end.

  The Toms family was so big that they had their own section of markers, and Lane parked and got out beside it, searching for Edward and Sutton as Lizzie, Amelia, and Gin disembarked. When he saw his brother, he waved the man over.

  "Beautiful service," Edward said as they hugged.

  Sutton nodded. "Just lovely. So moving. Hey, Lizzie, Gin...hello, Amelia."

  The sound of a powerful motorcycle coming in got everyone's attention, and Lane shook his head as Max parked the bike and dismounted. The black jeans were right. And for Max, the button-down shirt was a miracle: It had no holes and was very clean.

  "I didn't think you'd come," Lane said as the guy walked over to the group. "And nice haircut."

  Max's eyes bounced around some. And then he seemed to force himself to focus. "I don't know, I guess I wanted to come and say good-bye properly."

  "I'm glad you're here." Lane clapped him on the shoulder. "It's the right thing to do."

  Max said his hellos, and then it was time for them to join the others by the awning that had been set up over the open grave.

  While they crossed onto the grass, Lane leaned in to the guy. "So you're staying, huh."

  "What?" Max glanced over. "What are you talking about?"

  "You never would have come back if you weren't staying. Never. So I'm guessing it took you a couple of days of driving around out there to realize what you found on the road wasn't quite as satisfying as it used to be--because there was a whole lot less to run from back here in Charlemont." Lane motioned around his own face. "Besides, the cleanup makes me wonder if you're trying to catch the eye of a certain oncology doctor who is--hey, she's right over there."

  As Lane lifted a palm in greeting to Tanesha, he had to smile. The woman's eyes were glued to Max as if she couldn't believe his transformation.

  "Go on, wave to her." Lane elbowed his brother in the side. "Before I pick your arm up and do it for you."

  That snapped Max to attention, and bless him, he became the color of a beet as he raised his hand to the woman.

  "Attaboy. And that cottage on the row is yours for however long you need it."

  "I don't know. Whatever. Yeah, I guess I'll hang around for a little while."

  Lane looked the guy right in the eye. "It's good to put down roots, Max. And it's safe here now. Okay? You're safe."

  Max shook his head. "How did you know...."

  "About your change
of heart?" Lane clapped a hand on the back of the man's neck and gave him a shake. "Because I had one myself for the same reason so I know what it looks like. And, listen, you can't beat the love of a good woman, trust me. If Tanesha Nyce will have you, take her and hold on to her for as long as you can. It will turn your life around."

  "I don't know what I'm going to do for a job."

  "Well, we have this little family business...I don't know if you're familiar with it?" Lane put his arm around his brother and they started walking together. "We make bourbon, realllly, realllllllllly good bourbon...."

  As they all lined up together with the rest of Miss Aurora's family, everyone took a red rose from a vase on a stand. The Reverend Nyce said some truly beautiful things, the coffin was lowered in, and then everyone filed by and dropped their roses.

  Edward and Sutton happened to be ahead of Lane, and Lane frowned.

  He was going to have to catch the guy and talk to him before people headed back to Easterly for refreshments.

  There was one more piece that needed to fall into place.

  --

  Gin let Amelia go first to drop her rose, and then mother followed daughter and did the same. After that was done, the two of them walked out toward where the long lineup of cars stretched far, far down the lane.

  "I'm sad that she's gone," Amelia said.

  "Me, too. She was an incredibly special person."

  "She used to make me these lemon cookies so that they were warm, you know, for when I came home from school."

  "Really?" Gin laughed a little. "We have that in common. She did that for me, too--"

  "Dad?"

  Gin looked over across the cropped lawn. Sure enough, Samuel T. was down on the narrow road, leaning back against the door of his Jaguar, looking perfectly handsome in his black suit.

  As Amelia ran ahead through the gravestones and the statues, Gin let the girl go and resigned herself to heading back to Easterly alone with Lizzie and Lane. But it was okay, she told herself. It was...the way things were going to be.

  "I didn't know you were there," Amelia was saying to her father as Gin approached. "I would have had you stand with us."

  Samuel T. removed his Ray-Bans. "I thought the front row in church--and for this part--was really more for family. Beautiful service, wasn't it? That choir is incredible--and was that Max? What the hell--oh, hey, Gin."

  Gin forced a pleasant smile on her face. "Hello. Well, I'll leave you two--unless you'd like me to take her home?"