On a Knife's Edge

by Lynda Bailey

  “You’re alleging Agent Newman falsified his report? That’s a serious accusation.”

  Shasta stifled her groan. She didn’t want to throw anyone under the bus, but how much loyalty did Newman really deserve? After all, he turned on Lynch…the man who’d saved his life.

  A knock landed on the front door. “I’m not saying anyone falsified anything.” She walked from the bedroom she’d been sharing with Wyatt and into the living room. “But your agent got the events wrong.” She opened the door. “I was there and…”

  Cognizant thought fled her brain. Lynch Callan stood on the porch.

  Wearing a stone gray t-shirt and washed out jeans, but no cut, he appeared exceedingly…at ease for a man recently accused of killing someone.

  She cast worried look down the street, grabbed his arm and towed him inside the house, closing the door with a thud. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  A groove appeared between his eyebrows. He nodded to her hand. “You on the phone?”

  She glanced down at the cell. “Crap….ummm, Agent Landau…?”

  “Is everything all right, Mrs. Dupree?” The agent sounded concerned.

  “Everything’s fine…I’ll, uh, get back to you.” She disconnected the call and stared at Lynch. “You know my brother is searching for you as we speak, right?”

  “Shaly—”

  “Why did you confess to shooting Graham? Do you want to go back to prison?” She snatched her purse off the end table. “Because that’s exactly where you’ll go if Dell has his way.”

  “Shaly…babe…you need to listen—”

  She rifled through her wallet, spilling used receipts and various other pieces of paper onto the coffee table. “I don’t know how much money I’ve got…damn…only twenty-seven dollars, but here’s my ATM card. The pin is 0517.” She extracted a key ring. “And take my car.” She pressed the keys, debit card and crumbled bills into Lynch’s hands. “You need to go. Dell will stop at nothing to make sure you end up—”

  Lynch tossed the money and keys onto the end table then gripped her shoulders with a solid shake. “Calm down, Shaly.”

  He wanted her to calm down? How? He faced murder charges—again. Because of her…

  He tugged her to the couch. “You need to sit down.”

  She pulled away. “No. You need to get in my car and drive. Get as far away from Stardust as you can before they arrest you.”

  He hauled down on the sofa cushion next to him. “No one’s getting arrested.”

  “How can you say that? The FBI report says you killed Graham. I won’t let you take the blame for what I did.”

  She stood, but Lynch tightened his hold on her hand. “Shaly, the report says what it does because I admitted to the killing.”

  “You what?”

  “I confessed.”

  Her posture wilted. She was like a boomerang, going from one emotional extreme to another. Tears gathered then spilled down her cheeks. “But…why? To somehow protect me? It was self defense. You and Agent Newman both saw that.”

  He held her gaze. “What have you told your son about that night?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “What’s that got to do with this?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  She looked away. “Wyatt’s too young to understand what happened.”

  “What about when he gets older?”

  Guilt clogged her throat. “What about it?”

  “He could find out the truth, including the fact you shot his dad.”

  “There’s no guarantee he’ll find out anything.”

  “There’s no guarantee he won’t either. Jesus, Shaly…this is biggest news to hit this area since the silver rush. Reporters are swarming the area. An FBI investigation into human trafficking. The murder of a deputy sheriff and the local DA. The fire. Shit…the gossip mill will be chewing on this for years.”

  She stared at her clasped hands in her lap. “So?”

  “So…it could lead to questions.” Lynch covered her hands with his. “And if your kid’s anything like you, he’s gonna want answers.”

  She looked at him. “That’s why you confessed? To spare Wyatt learning the truth?”

  “No son deserves to learn that kind of truth about his parents.”

  “And you think I’ll allow this?” She shook her head. “You went to prison once because of me…I refuse to let you do that a second time.”

  “No one’s going to prison, Shaly.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  One side of Lynch’s mouth ticked up. “For one, I’ve got a kickass lawyer. For another, I’ve got the backing of several noted FBI agents, as well as the sheriff of Grant County.”

  “Wait…Dell’s supporting you?”

  “Yeah. It was his suggestion I come talk to you. So you see, I’m in no danger of going back to the joint.” He traced a finger along her jaw line. “But even if that wasn’t the case, I still wouldn’t let you take the fall for killing Blackwell.”

  Tears again blurred her vision. “Why?” Her voice hitched.

  He cradled her face with his palms. “Because I love you. I’d do whatever was necessary to protect you. And your son.”

  A sob caught in her throat. Lynch enclosed her in a loose hug and rocked her gently as her tears dampened his shirt.

  He loved her so much that he’d sacrifice himself not just for her, but for Wyatt. Without hesitation. Without question. Without any regard for his own safety. And how did she repay that unconditional love? By keeping his son a secret.

  Did she dare tell him now? The words tickled her tongue. But how would he react? Would his love for her turn to hate? Could she chance that? A part of her died the day he went to prison. She’d never survive if he rejected her outright.

  Lynch eased her away. “What the hell…?”

  Her heart froze in mid-beat. Too late she realized what had fallen from her wallet. Seemed Fate had decided for her.

  He picked the frayed photo off the coffee table. “This is me right after I was born. Why did my mom give it to you?” He turned the picture over, and his body went rigid. “Wyatt Albright…Dupree?”

  Shasta didn’t know how long they sat there with her hands clasped tightly together in her lap not looking at Lynch. But she felt his gaze boring a hole in her head.

  “You want to explain this, Shaly?”

  She closed her eyes at the severity in his voice. The anger. Inhaling a breath, she prayed for the strength to endure what the next few minutes would bring.

  She met Lynch’s glare. “What’s to explain? You read the name. That’s a picture of Wyatt.”

  His stare sharpened. “You’re not going to even try denying it?”

  “I can’t deny the obvious. You’re Wyatt’s father.”

  Hurt flicked across his expression. He flopped against the sofa cushion and gazed at the photo. “When—” He coughed. “When’d you find out?”

  “Just before Labor Day that summer. I wasn’t sure how you’d react so I waited to tell you.”

  He didn’t look up.

  She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth. “A few days later, Dell got shot and you were arrested. I went to see you in the county jail, but was told you didn’t want any visitors except your lawyer.”

  No reaction.

  She willed away more tears. “I know I should’ve written to you, explaining about Wyatt, but didn’t. I told myself it you probably wouldn’t have accepted the letter. Truth was, I was afraid. Afraid of how people would treat Wyatt—and me—if they learned you were his biological dad. The only person who knew about my pregnancy was Graham, and he never asked who the father was. He suggested we marry to give Wyatt a name. So we did. And for seven years, I kept quiet. I lived a lie. I know there’s nothing that’ll ever make up for what I’ve done. Just please know how sorry I am for—”

  Lynch snapped up his head. The contempt in his eyes shriveled her heart. “The last thing I want to hear, is how sorry you are.”

&nbs
p; Pain, the likes of which she’d never experienced, lanced her chest. Yet she’d earned Lynch’s wrath. Earned it and more. No way could he forgive her. Nor should he.

  She collected the discarded items from her wallet, stood and headed for the kitchen.

  “I don’t know what your plans are…”

  His rusty voice turned her.

  Lynch stared at Wyatt’s picture, tracing his thumb along the edge. “But I want to help…you know…” He looked at her with overly bright eyes. “…provide for him. Any way I can.”

  Shasta’s brain screeched to a halt. “You do?”

  “Of course. He’s—” Lynch coughed and sat forward. “He’s my son.”

  She sank onto the sofa. “Aren’t you angry?”

  He barked a harsh laugh. “I’m way past angry. I’m fucking livid.”

  “At…me?”

  He snapped his gaze to hers. “At you? God no. At myself.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

  Lynch’s fury at himself floored her. “Ummm you got arrested, remember?”

  “No excuse.” He reverently placed the photo on the table. “Let me know the details about the money, okay?”

  “I will. That’s very generous. I don’t what will happen with Graham’s estate. The government might confiscate everything because of the federal charges.” She touched his arm. “Thank you.”

  He nodded,

  She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure if I should ask this, but does offering to help with Wyatt mean that, someday, you might consider…forgiving me?”

  “Forgive you for what? For making the best out of a fucked up situation? Christ…I can’t imagine what you went through. How confused you must’ve been. How scared. Knocked up by the guy accused of shooting your brother. If anyone needs forgiving, it’s me.”

  Shasta’s heart melted into a puddle in her chest. She twined her fingers with his and smiled. “Tell you what, I will if you will.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “Deal.”

  His eyes darkened to the color of storm-tossed waters and his grin slowly faded. Her pulse sped up. She licked her lips and his gaze dropped to her mouth. A groan rumbled in his chest. She leaned forward as her eyelids coasted closed…

  Lynch stood, jumping her backwards.

  He wiped his hands on his jeans. “I should go.” He beelined to the front door.

  Shasta leaped to her feet. “Go? Why?”

  “Because if I stay, something’s gonna happen between us.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  He gripped the knob. “You know it is, Shaly.”

  He opened the door, but her hand shoved it shut. She situated herself with her back against the wood, her arms crossed. He shifted away, wariness in his eyes.

  She glared. “Why is it a bad idea?”

  “Look, Shaly—”

  “Don’t ‘Shaly’ me.” She heaved from her spot and moved forward. “You just forgave me the world’s biggest sin and you said you loved me. I said I loved you too, in your trailer, in case you forgot.”

  He stepped back. “I remember.”

  “And knowing that, you’re gonna leave? Just walk out?”

  “Ummm…no?”

  She poked him in the chest with her finger. “Damn skippy no. After everything we’ve been through, don’t we deserve the chance to be together? A chance to be happy? I sure as hell think we do.”

  Lynch slanted away from her. “That’s a mistake.”

  “Really?” She recrossed her arms. “Give me one reason why”

  “I’ll give you two. One, your brother won’t approve.”

  “Oh, pffft.” She waved her hand in the air. “Dell has no say over my life.”

  “And what about your son? What’ll happen if Wyatt finds out I killed his dad—”

  “Graham wasn’t his dad. You are.”

  Moisture brightened Lynch’s eyes. He ducked his head.

  She relaxed her stance and tangled her fingers with his. “And you didn’t kill Graham. I did.” She tightened her hold. “When Wyatt’s old enough, he should know everything that happened. He needs to understand the lengths his dad took in order to protect him—and his mom.”

  A tear eked from the corner of his eye. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  She tripped her fingers up to his shoulders. “Say you love me.”

  He wound his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “I love you, Shaly.”

  She cupped his face and stared deep into his eyes. “And I love you. Now kiss me like you mean it.”

  And he did.

  Chapter Thirty

  (Epilogue)

  Two months later…

  “DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER?” Shasta looked up from the file in her hands and met Emma’s gaze. The agent and her brother sat across the table in the sheriff department’s conference room. Lynch stood behind Shasta’s chair, reading over her shoulder. “I don’t know what that means.”

  Emma laced her fingers together on the table. “You might know it as Multiple Personality Disorder.”

  Shasta gaped. “You’re saying Graham had a split personality? Is that a joke?”

  Emma shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “I was his wife…how did I not know?”

  “Because chances are Graham Dupree didn’t know himself.”

  Lynch scoffed. “What a crock.” He slouched in the seat next to Shasta, his thigh press against hers. “Dupree didn’t know what he was doing? Yeah, right. Imagine me, or any Streeter, using that excuse.”

  “It’s not an excuse,” Emma countered. “D.I.D. is a real disorder where one personality dominates…in this case Ian Blackwell and is aware of everything. While the other personality…Graham Dupree knows only his world.”

  Lynch grunted again.

  Shasta swatted his arm. “Be nice.” She looked back at Emma. “So that’s why Graham kept saying he was Ian at the cabin? Because of this disorder?”

  “Yes.”

  “What causes this…dissociative thing?”

  Emma sighed. “Any number of factors…a genetic predisposition for mental illness, a severe trauma.” She paused. “Prolonged abuse.”

  “Abuse? Graham never said he was abused.”

  The agent glanced at Dell.

  Shasta’s stomach squeezed. “Am I missing something?”

  Her brother sat forward. “What do you know about the steamer trunk in Graham’s office?”

  “Nothing. I rarely went in his office. Even to clean.”

  Emma cleared her throat. “In that trunk we found journals and a few audio cassette tapes.”

  Shasta shivered, suddenly cold. “O…kay.”

  “I’ll spare you the gruesome details, but at the cabin and from the time he was less than a year old, Graham Dupree was systematically mental, physical and…” The agent swallowed. “…sexually abused.”

  Shasta gasped. “Dear God—by whom?”

  “His cousin, Ian.”

  “What? No. Graham always said he and Ian were like brothers.”

  “Our forensic psychiatrist says that’s how predators typically work. They become an essential part of their victim’s life, making their victims dependent on them.”

  “How was that possible? Ian was just a little boy when Graham was born…”

  “There’s no age requirement for being a psychopath.”

  Closing her eyes, Shasta pressed shaky fingers to her temples.

  “That’s not all, sis,” Dell said.

  She peeked up. “There’s more?”

  Her brother’s expression was grim. “Unfortunately. Remember the story about the African safari Graham was supposed to go on with his family in the sixth grade?”

  Shasta nodded. “But he didn’t go because he got mono. He ended up staying with Dad and Grandma and Grandpa.” Another chill hit her. “Graham’s family died in a small plane crash.”

  “Turns out no one went to Africa. We found a shallow grave at
the cabin with the remains of five bodies. All shot in the head.”

  Shasta’s hands flew up to cover her mouth. Lynch wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

  Emma pulled a file out from her open briefcase. “Dental records confirm those bodies were Maxwell and Irene Dupree, along with Charles, Margret and Ian Blackwell.”

  Shasta slowly lowered her hands. “And you think Graham—at age eleven or twelve—killed them?”

  “Not Graham, Ian. And yes, the evidence is indisputable.”

  “Evidence like DNA and fingerprints?”

  “No, nothing like that—”

  “Then what?” Shasta demanded.

  Lynch’s arm tightened. “Take it easy, Shaly.”

  “You take it easy. You weren’t married to a man who might’ve killed his entire family. You didn’t have Wyatt around him.” Shasta gave the agent a hard look. “I ask again, what evidence?”

  Emma blew out another sigh. “Our handwriting expert concluded one of the journals was written by a younger Graham Dupree. In it, he referred to himself as Ian and detailed how he drugged everyone, then shot them.”

  Shasta’s stomach heaved. “Jesus…this is so unbelievable.”

  “You need to remember it was Ian, not—”

  “Not who?” Shasta snapped. “Graham? Ian? Ian? Graham? God only knows who I was married to.”

  Emma’s gaze drilled into her. “Listen to me. You were married to Graham Dupree. A good man and a loyal public servant.”

  “Who lied about everything. His family. Being paralyzed.”

  “Dupree didn’t lie because he didn’t know. As far as his paralysis went, that was very real for him.”

  With a groan, Shasta buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  Lynch massaged her neck muscles. “What would cause this guy to jump back and forth from being Dupree to Blackwell?”

  “A trigger of some kind,” Emma answered. “We’ve surmised the reason he killed his family in the first place was because Ian had joined the army and planned to leave Stardust.”

  Shasta looked up. “But if Ian abused him, wouldn’t Graham be happy he left?”

  “Not necessarily. It’s like I said, abusers make themselves indispensable to their victims. Ian’s leaving could have been perceived as an abandonment by Graham, causing a psychotic break. And since abusers are seen as having all the power and control, that could be why Graham took the persona of Ian Blackwell…to emulate that power and control.”