If I Should Die lk-3

by Allison Brennan

When Paul was sixteen, he’d been pulled over for speeding by a cop Daddy didn’t have in his pocket. A payload of pseudoephedrine was in his truck, and he could have been hauled in if the cop had an ounce more brainpower. I watched Daddy beat the shit out of Paul. It had been quite thrilling. I hated Paul, the Golden Child.

  The day I turned eighteen, Paul stared at me for a long time. He said, “I want to kill you, but you’re family.” I stared back. He turned around and walked to Daddy’s desk.

  “Ten thousand and I never want to see you again.”

  “Fifty thousand,” I countered.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Sick pervert. Like I’d really screw my own brother?”

  He wanted to hit me, and I wanted him to try.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t. And though he gave me the fifty thousand, I regretted not killing him that day.

  It took years to build my own empire. Though banished, I cultivated my own people in Spruce Lake. I learned about the drug business from the best and brightest. It took time, and what I had to suffer …

  The night I killed my husband was the culmination of all that I had learned. I risked everything because I trusted no one. I had set it up all on my own. It was the only way I could ensure I would never be a suspect, by the police or Herve’s people. All because of one small misstep, and Herve’s suspicions, I knew my days were numbered. He’d started pulling away from me, and if I didn’t act first, I knew that one night there’d be a bullet in my head.

  I crushed a couple Viagra tablets into his preferred drink. I wanted him horny. I came to his bed wearing his favorite of my nighties, a white satin sheath. I apologized for talking to the wrong person, for damaging his reputation. No tears, because he’d know I was faking. Just a simple apology. Told him I didn’t want to leave, that I loved him, but if he wanted me to go I’d go quietly. I was contrite the entire speech, even though inside my heart raced with anticipation and danger.

  He said he didn’t know if he could trust me anymore. That’s when I showed a little emotion, just a hint of deep remorse. He patted the bed beside him.

  When I sat on the silk sheets and Herve squeezed my breast, when I felt his erection against my thigh and saw the sweat bead on his forehead from his drug-induced excitement, there was no turning back. I didn’t want to die, but nothing worth having means anything if there isn’t a risk. Daddy always told me I had to take risks, be bold, be smart. And that night, I was all that.

  Herve had always liked my sexual energy. My red hair and translucent skin. My voice when I moaned and gasped his name. I loved the theatrics of sex and the way I turned men into desperate, lustful creatures. I let Herve fuck me hard and made sure he enjoyed it. Never had I peaked so high, so long, so intensely as the night I last made love to Herve, knowing he would soon be dead.

  After his first orgasm he was still hard, thanks to the drugs. I rolled him over so I was on top and grabbed the headboard to steady myself. Then I rode him hard, playing into his fantasy of a wild woman who couldn’t get enough of her man.

  Earlier, I’d taped a knife to the backside of the headboard-after Herve’s security goon swept the room with a metal detector. I’d stolen the blade from an associate of Herve’s he had been suspicious about, and set it up so the schmuck had no alibi.

  I gripped the handle as I arched my back so Herve could get a face full of my breasts. He licked greedily, slobbering. It would have been a turn-off if I wasn’t so jazzed about my plans.

  Herve wasn’t stupid, so I didn’t hesitate. As soon as I had the knife in hand, I pressed my thighs down and tightened my body around him, knowing it was the best way to get him off. He closed his eyes, his mouth open and drooling, his face flushed. He called my name.

  I slit his throat.

  I had killed before, but never in such a raw, primal way. I cut him deep, without hesitation, because I knew I’d have only one chance.

  He grabbed my hand, but had little control. I jumped off his body and watched as he died. There was so much blood-more than I expected.

  But I could work with that.

  I used the sheet that had fallen to the floor during sex and wiped the handle of the knife. I then cut my arms as if I were holding them up to my face to protect me. They might scar, but I didn’t care-they would remind me of victory.

  I cut one breast, my stomach, the back of my legs. My heart was racing, and I felt light-headed and wondered if I was losing too much blood. I tossed the knife out of the window, made sure there was blood on the windowsill, and screamed so loud my head ached. Then I hit myself with one of Herve’s blue-and-white Chinese vases he said he bought for a hundred thousand dollars. Ridiculous to pay so much for something so impractical.

  Blood flowed down my face into my eyes. I fell to my knees and crawled toward the bed. I was dizzy, and I looked down and saw that the cut in my stomach was still bleeding. I hadn’t realized I had cut so deep. I found the sheet again and pressed it to my stomach as my vision faded. I grabbed the phone and dialed for help, but didn’t know if the call went through. Everything was a blur.

  I heard people rush in. Shouts. And then nothing.

  I woke hours later in the hospital, and the police detective told me Herve had been murdered and I was lucky to be alive. The two uniformed officers at my door asked me if I saw who attacked us.

  I cried when I said yes, and begged them to protect me.

  Herve’s right-hand man heard me, and by the time the police found Julio Gomez, he was dead.

  The war had begun, and I walked away scot free.

  That was six years ago. I followed that victory with another. I knocked Paul off his high horse and put his ass in prison.

  And now I was the Royal Queen.

  I heard someone say my name, and remembered where I was.

  “It’s fucking cold out here, Bobbie,” Ian said. He actually sounded irritated with me.

  I turned to face him. He was huddled in a thick coat, the collar turned up past his ears, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets. I hadn’t realized, until we’d arrived in Spruce Lake, that Ian was somewhat of a wimp.

  “I was just admiring my kingdom,” I said. “And remembering how hard I worked for it.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Ricky Swain waited in the Callahans’ garage for two hours before Jon Callahan returned from the bar. He’d parked by the lake so no one would see his car, then trekked through the back of Joe Hendrickson’s property until he reached the Callahans’. At midnight, all but the porch light went off in the house. He huddled in his coat, pacing to keep warm, and hoped he wasn’t making a fatal mistake.

  But he had no other ideas. Asking Jon Callahan for help was his last hope to get out of this mess.

  At nearly two in the morning, Ricky saw headlights turn onto the drive, pass the house, and stop in front of the detached garage. Jon didn’t open the door, but started toward the house.

  Ricky ran out of the garage. “Mr. Callahan!”

  Jon jumped and reached into his pocket. Ricky put up his hands. “It’s me, Rick Swain.”

  At first Jon looked confused, then angry. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I have no place to go.” Ricky’s teeth were chattering and he bounced on his feet.

  “You can’t be here.” Jon glanced around, as if worried someone was watching.

  “I walked around. There’s no one here. The lights went off at midnight.” Ricky bit his lip. “Can I come in?”

  Jon hesitated, then nodded and walked briskly toward the house. Ricky followed him through the back door into a toasty warm kitchen. Ricky’s skin tingled in the heat.

  “Thank-”

  “Shh. Wait here.”

  Jon left the room and Ricky heard him close doors, then walk around upstairs. Ricky walked closer to the fireplace where wood still smoldered in the stove inset. By the time Jon returned, Ricky almost felt normal.

  “Why are you here?” Jon asked.

  “Before my mother died, she told me
you were the only person I could trust in an emergency.”

  “Things have changed.”

  “I wouldn’t have come if I had any other choice. I’m scared.” There, he’d said it. Before he’d seen his Aunt Bobbie, he was worried-but now he was downright terrified. With Jimmy dead, there was nothing stopping her from going after him. Ricky had never known why his aunt stayed away, but his mother said as long as Jimmy was around, Bobbie didn’t dare return to Spruce Lake.

  Jon walked over to the counter and poured whiskey into a glass. He drained it in one gulp, then put his hands on the counter and stared intently at the tiles.

  “There’s nowhere else I can go.” Ricky’s voice cracked. “My Aunt Bobbie is here. I–I think she killed Jimmy. And-and you know what she did to my mom.”

  Jon’s voice was so soft Ricky almost didn’t hear him say, “I know.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, Ricky continued, speaking quickly. “I really screwed up, Mr. Callahan. I set the fire. I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to, but everything just got out of control and-” Ricky stopped himself. He took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. “I know you and my father didn’t always get along, but my mom trusted you, and so I have to trust you. Tonight, there was a meeting at the church. Bobbie was there, with Reverend Browne and everyone else my uncle Butch hangs out with. Even Reggie was there.”

  Jon’s head snapped up. “Reggie? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Jon rubbed his face with both hands. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  “No, I swear. I parked behind the sludge pile near the lake and walked.”

  Jon went through drawers until he found paper and a pen. He wrote a line of numbers that at first looked like a phone number, but when he handed the paper to Ricky, he realized it was too long. “The bank is in Montreal. The first five digits are my safe deposit box number. The last seven are the pass code to access it. It’s everything I have on Bobbie. It’s what was keeping you alive. But with Jimmy gone-I don’t know why she’d kill him when she’s so close to finishing this deal.”

  “What deal?”

  Jon didn’t answer the question. “Do you know where the Fosters’ summer cabin is?”

  “Of course.”

  “The key is hidden in a box nailed to the underside of the second porch step. Do not turn on any lights, make a fire, nothing. Nothing that might attract attention.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve made my bed-” his voice trailed off. “Don’t worry about me,” Jon said firmly. “I only need until Sunday, then this will all be over. But if something happens to me before then, you have to go to my bank. Understand?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “Do not leave the Fosters’ house. If you follow my instructions, you’ll be safe. But if Bobbie finds you, I won’t be able to help you.”

  Ricky bit his lip and nodded. “What’s really going on?”

  “Go on, everything’s changed and I need to get to work.” Jon walked Ricky to the back door, distracted.

  “Wait.”

  Ricky was hoping for an invitation to stay, but Jon ran upstairs. When he returned, he handed Ricky a pistol. “Be careful, it’s loaded.”

  Ricky took it, made sure the safety was on, and put it in his pocket. Without another word, he stepped into the frigid night and headed for the other side of Spruce Lake.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Lucy sat in the co-pilot seat of Sean’s private Cessna while he performed a fuel and systems check. They’d left Spruce Lake at dawn, but now the sun was warming the air and the sky was clear and blue. A perfect day for flying. She sipped her coffee and watched Sean. He looked tired, and she knew he was still in pain from the stitches.

  “Are you sure these extreme measures are necessary?” Lucy asked.

  Because of the latest threatening note, Sean had altered their plans. Last night, he had asked Noah to fly with Patrick to Ogdenburg, and then fly Lucy to Albany in Sean’s plane.

  “Yes, I am,” he said.

  “It’s not easy to sabotage a plane, especially with the security-”

  “But it’s not impossible,” Sean said. “I can take you to nearly any airport in the country and in ten minutes show you how I could breach security.”

  “That’s your job, Sean-you get paid to breach security.”

  He gave her a half-smile. “I am good, aren’t I? But I’m not so arrogant as to think I’m the only person in the country who knows how to exploit security weaknesses. There are at least three or four of us.”

  At least his sense humor was back. Last night had taken a lot out of Sean. He was worried about the teenager Ricky Swain, and alternately angry with and worried about Henry and Emily Callahan.

  He took her hand. “Seriously, Lucy, they know you’re flying out today. I don’t know how, but they do. I have to mix things up. They could be waiting at this airport, in Albany, or be on the same plane. We don’t know all the players, nor do we know what the stakes are. But if they were willing to kill a federal agent to protect their secrets, they will kill you.”

  “And you,” she reminded him. “I’m worried about you. Like you said, they’ll kill to keep their secrets.”

  He kissed her lightly. Unlike the peck last night, this kiss, though light, was filled with restrained emotion. His hands squeezed hers and he looked her in the eyes, holding her gaze with his. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  A weight lifted off her heart. Even though she still didn’t understand everything that had happened yesterday between them when he clammed up and told her it was best she get out of town, she now understood it wasn’t because he thought she was incapable.

  She kissed him again. “Me, too. We’re going to work this out.” Lucy vowed to try to understand Sean’s experience with authority, and not take his animosity personally.

  “This is just hard for me.”

  “Me being a Fed?”

  He shook his head. “Calling Noah for help,” he said, his gaze focused on the horizon.

  Now Lucy was even more confused. “Because he’s FBI?”

  “No.” He looked perplexed. “For a Fed, he’s not the worst out there.”

  “From you, that’s a compliment.”

  “Don’t you see it?”

  “See what?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t do that to me, Sean. You always tell me to spit it out. Or you just tell me what I’m thinking. Well, I’m not as good at reading your mind as apparently you are at reading mine, so I don’t understand.”

  He tilted his head in disbelief. Well, if he wasn’t clear, how could she understand what he meant? She wasn’t psychic!

  “Patrick would much rather have you dating someone like Noah than someone like me.”

  She laughed; she just couldn’t help herself. That was the last thing she’d expected Sean to say. Date Noah?

  He wasn’t laughing with her, and though she was still smiling, she suddenly realized there was more to this than Sean was letting on.

  “First, I doubt you’re right about Patrick,” she said. “My brother would probably prefer I date no one. But that doesn’t matter, because what Patrick might or might not want is irrelevant.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You think I make my decisions based on what other people tell me I should do? I’m perfectly capable of making my own choices in life.”

  “Patrick is different. Maybe you don’t see it-”

  “There’s nothing to see!”

  What was Sean keeping bottled up inside? She didn’t understand, and she hated feeling that she was missing something. It made her apprehensive. “Let’s not be mad at each other before I go to Albany.”

  He reached behind her neck and pulled her across the small space separating the pilot and co-pilot’s seats. His heat-filled embrace sent her pulse racing. His hand went to her waist, under her sweater, pushing at the small of her back, holding her as close as he possibly could w
ithout bringing her into his lap. His mouth became aggressive, as if wanting to imprint the kiss on her, to kiss her so thoroughly that she wouldn’t be able to forget. Lucy held him tight, shivers of desire running through her, a need to keep Sean close.

  He turned her head and kissed her jawline, all the way to her ear. A faint moan escaped her chest and he put his hands on her face, his forehead pressed against hers. “I’m not mad at you, Lucy. I was never mad. I love you.”

  “I-” Her chest tightened. Tell him! Tell him you love him. “I’m not mad, either.” Her voice cracked.

  His phone rang. Before he answered, she saw disappointment in his eyes.

  He let her go. “It’s Patrick.”

  Sean walked Noah through the mechanics of his Cessna, shared some of its quirks, and closed with, “Any questions?”

  “I was an Air Force pilot for ten years; I think I can fly a little Cessna.”

  “She’s not a fighter plane,” Sean said.

  “I’ll take good care of her.”

  Sean didn’t miss that Noah glanced at Lucy, who’d watched the flight “lesson” with a bemused expression on her face.

  “When are you returning?”

  “Tonight,” Noah said. “Considering what’s been happening, you need all the help you can get.” He handed Sean a file folder. “Here’s everything you need to get in to see Paul Swain.”

  Though Swain was in a state penitentiary, Noah had contacted the FBI liaison and smoothed the way for Sean.

  “I appreciate it,” he said. It wasn’t the first time Noah had pulled strings for him, and he didn’t particularly like feeling indebted to him.

  Sean took Lucy’s hand. “Be careful, Luce.” He pulled her into a hug. She stiffened, just a bit, but he didn’t let her go. She’d never been comfortable with public displays of affection, and usually he respected her feelings, but this time he wasn’t pulling back. He kissed her long enough to make sure Noah Armstrong understood that Lucy was off-limits.

  When he stepped back, she touched his cheek softly and said, “You be careful, Sean Rogan. I’ll be surrounded by FBI agents in a military-controlled building. You’re marching back to the lion’s den.”