Deadly Secrets

by Ann Christopher

  I should be dead now.

  I’m alive.

  Kira wiped her eyes, recovered her composure and reached out.

  He took her hand. It was soft. Strong. Familiar. But their hands didn’t belong together, and that was starting to feel okay. Like the natural order of things.

  So he squeezed that hand and let it go.

  “We should have known he wasn’t dead,” she said.

  “Yep. K.J. would never go out in an explosion. Too quick and easy. Too considerate.”

  She grinned, but it didn’t last long. “He knew about us.”

  “Yeah. I denied it, though.”

  “So did I.” Another face crumple and quick recovery, even though her voice remained hoarse. “I’m a murderer now, Kerry.”

  “Nah. You’re a liberator. They should throw you a parade. The world owes you.”

  “Our long national nightmare is over, huh?”

  “Our long national nightmare is over.” He rested his head against the seat, rubbed the sudden tears from his eyes and wished he hadn’t let go of Kira’s hand so quickly. “I wish I’d killed him for you. I tried my best.”

  “You weakened him for me,” she said. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  If only it were that easy to dismiss his shortcomings. “I’m not great at being a protector.”

  “That’s not how I see it at all, Kerry.”

  Polite of her to say, but it hadn’t been that long since she’d told him she could never love a criminal like him, and if she could, he would have been her second choice of criminal. She’d loved Kareem once and now she loved Brady, but she’d never loved Kerry.

  That information wasn’t the kind of thing a guy got over right away.

  Not that it mattered now. He’d almost died. He’d come out the other side. That mattered. That did something to a person. What it did was a question for another day. The only thing he knew for sure right now was that he was looking forward from now on. Not back.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her.

  Another long silence.

  “I was so scared,” she whispered. “I can’t figure out how I’m still here.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He remembered how Kareem had kissed him and left him to bleed and suffer when he could just as easily have finished him off with a bullet to the head. “It was bad.”

  “You think we’ll get past this?”

  “Got to,” he said, latching on to the idea of optimism even if he wasn’t quite feeling it. “Otherwise, what was it all for?”

  She nodded, giving him a lingering once-over. “You’re still not drinking, right?”

  “I’m done drinking. If I’d been drunk when he showed up, you’d be talking to a corpse right now.”

  “Good.” She smiled. “So what will you do now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You could get a job at—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. Her heart was in the right place, but there were some things he couldn’t do (killing Kareem Gregory came to mind), and this was one of them.

  He couldn’t be friends with Kira. Not yet.

  Now that he’d gained the near-death perspective, it was easy to see how he’d spent way too much of his time obsessing about both Gregorys. On the one hand, he’d wanted to survive Kareem. On the other hand, he’d wanted to get Kira back. That was what he’d told himself, anyway. The only thing was, he’d never had Kira. They’d had a connection, sure. Fantastic sex? Absolutely. Stolen moments that gave him something to look forward to at the darkest time of his life? Undoubtedly.

  But she’d never loved him. She’d told him outright. And the way she’d looked at Brady just now—the way she’d melted for him, glowed for him—was the clincher.

  She’d damn sure never looked at Kerry like that.

  Had Kerry loved her?

  Maybe.

  Maybe he’d just loved the thrall of a beautiful and sweet woman, the excitement of a secret lover and the challenge of trying to win her. Not to mention the sick thrill of getting over on Kareem, the man who’d owned every other aspect of Kerry’s miserable life.

  Maybe wanting Kira had simply become a habit, the same way that fearing Kareem had been a habit.

  Habits could be broken, though.

  More productive habits could be formed if you put your mind to it.

  The funny thing was, the answers didn’t matter much. Not after what he’d been through. When you stared Death in the face and came out the other side, you tended not to get mired down in all the little whys and wherefores. You tended to see that they didn’t matter much in the big scheme of things.

  All he knew—all he needed to know at this crossroads of his life—was that he couldn’t get over Kira if she didn’t give him the space to do that.

  “You told me before that I’m not your responsibility and it’s not my job to save you,” he said gently. “Now I’m agreeing with you. I’m done living in the past. I’m moving on. But I can’t do that with you holding my hand. So go be happy with Brady and don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Those big brown eyes filled up with hurt, but, to her credit, she understood. “You need some distance?”

  “I need some distance.”

  “Okay,” she said grudgingly. “As long as you understand two things.”

  “What?”

  “That Dexter and I are here for you if you need anything.”

  “I appreciate that,” he said, because he did. Today’s events notwithstanding, he knew Brady had never been his biggest fan, so having his support—not that he’d ever call on it in a million years; his pride would never allow it—meant something. “What’s the other thing?”

  She leaned forward and squeezed his arm. “That I think you’re a good man.”

  He stiffened, but she tightened her grip.

  “Jayne’s not the only one who’s been too judgmental,” she said, staring him in the face. “Who am I to judge you? I’ve done stupid things and made terrible mistakes, but I had my reasons. I did what I had to do at the time. In my heart of hearts, where it counts, I’m a good person. And so are you. I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. You saved my life. You were dying, and your last thoughts were of saving someone else. That makes you a good person. And I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you.”

  Rarely had he gotten so choked up so quickly. He nodded and turned away, nostrils flaring, and tried not to let her see how much her words meant to him. Even if they were a lie—and they had to be a lie, because he was still the same piece of shit that he’d been all his life—he was touched that she’d bother to try to make him feel better.

  “Bye, Kira,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “Bye, K—”

  Someone knocked. Hopefully Jayne. Kerry cleared his throat, and they both looked around at the door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened, and in walked one of the little old church ladies that had been friends with his grandmother. Kerry was frantically trying to remember her name—Mrs. Philips? Mrs. Peters?—when she tugged another little old lady in behind her—

  Oh, shit.

  It was Kareem’s mother. Aunt Wanda, Kerry had always called her, though they weren’t blood relations. What the fuck was she doing here?

  Judging by Kira’s sharp gasp, she was wondering the same thing.

  Wanda froze halfway in, all her attention zeroing in on Kira, who went pale.

  “What are you doing here?” Wanda demanded.

  17

  “Hush, Wanda.” The little friend shot worried glances between Kira and Wanda. “I told you we shouldn’t have come. You know your blood pressure is up.”

  “I…” Wanda rubbed her chest, then adjusted her pocketbook in the crook of her arm. “I’m fine. I want to talk to Kerry. Why don’t you go get some coffee? B
ring me some. Cream and sugar.”

  “But—”

  “I’m fine.”

  After an uncertain beat or two, the friend headed for the door. Her bad feeling about this visit was apparently as strong as Kerry’s. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, Wanda.”

  Wanda ignored this. She walked toward Kira with a sleepwalker’s dazed gait, giving Kerry a few seconds to check Wanda out more closely. He hadn’t seen her since Kareem’s fake funeral six months back—he’d caught a glance at her from a distance—and he was shocked to see her now. She’d lost weight and looked haggard and droopy. Her circa 1995 track suit swallowed her whole. She’d also stopped dyeing her black hair, just like his grandmother had done when she started her decline, and had a wide skunk stripe running down the middle.

  What the hell did she want? What would make her drive up here to see him?

  Wanda reached Kira and stared down at her with all the venom of a nightmare mother-in-law. Kira warily watched her and Kerry kept one eye on the door, wishing Brady would come back, because there was something about the wild light in Wanda’s eyes that—

  “You killed my son, you bitch!” Deploying reflexes that were surprisingly sharp, Wanda raised a hand to give Kira a vicious slap—

  Kerry half rose out of his chair, which was as far as he could get before the pain smacked him back down. “No!”

  Kira’s reflexes were quicker than Wanda’s. Crying out, she caught Wanda’s hand and hung on to it before it could connect with her face. “Stop, Wanda!”

  “You killed my son! He faked his death so he could stay out of prison, and then when he finally came back to me, you killed him. You killed my son!”

  Without warning, Wanda’s grief caught up with her and took away her fight. She wrenched free of Kira, wrapped her arms around her waist and doubled up, sobbing the way she’d done over the coffin at Kareem’s faux funeral.

  “My son is dead! My son is dead!”

  Pressing a hand to his side, Kerry slumped back in his chair and shot Kira an are you okay? look.

  She nodded shakily.

  Kerry watched Wanda cry it out, and wondered which of the three of them had suffered the worst fate at Kareem’s hands: Wanda, who’d endured her son’s death not once but twice, Kira, who’d been raped and maimed, or Kerry, who’d nearly bled out.

  Ah, hell. It was a tie, as far as he was concerned.

  After several damp tissues and nose blows, Wanda had it together enough to resume her accusations.

  “How can you look me in the face when you killed my son?” she asked Kira.

  Kira was the picture of defiance with her chin hitched up and her shoulders squared. “What was I supposed to do, Wanda? Let him kill me instead?”

  “Yes!”

  Twisted smile from Kira. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “This is all your fault,” Wanda said. “You were never a good wife to him—”

  “Nope,” Kira said lightly. “You can’t be a good wife to a sociopathic monster.”

  “Don’t you call him names! My son is dead, may he rest in peace.”

  Kerry tried to picture Kareem finding eternal rest in heaven, but came up pretty short. Still, Wanda was the man’s mother, old as hell and entitled to her delusions. Especially when it came to the role she may have played in creating the monster.

  “Why are you here, Wanda?” Kira asked wearily.

  The question seemed to reinvigorate Wanda, who straightened her spindly spine and gleamed malice in all directions. For a second, she actually reminded Kerry of the wicked witch in some old Disney movie.

  “I wanted to look Kerry in the eye and let him know that I know.” All that negative attention swung around to Kerry. He felt foolish because Wanda was too old and frail to do anyone any real damage, but he still felt a chill trail over his flesh. “I know that you’re the one who snitched on Kareem. Even though he was a brother to you. Even though you were like my other son. I want you to know that I know how evil you are. And God knows.”

  “Oh, please,” Kira muttered.

  The interruption sailed right over Wanda’s head.

  “Why did you do it?” she asked Kerry.

  “I wanted to do the right thing. For once in my life,” he said.

  “The right thing would have been standing by your brother!”

  “Yeah, well, my brother shot Yogi in the back of the head.”

  Maybe Wanda already knew this information. Maybe she didn’t care. Either way, her expression never changed. “I’m sure Yogi had it coming.”

  Kerry, who’d always wondered how deep Wanda’s complicity went, gaped at her. Maybe the question wasn’t why Kareem became a sociopath. Maybe it was how he could have become anything else with this woman at the helm of his morality code.

  “How do you live with yourself, Wanda?” Kira asked quietly. “Kareem ran a drug empire. He was a murderer. A rapist. Did you ever lose any sleep over that? Because it sure ate me alive.”

  “No,” Wanda said. “I never did. Because I raised my son to be a strong black man who provided for his family. And that’s what he was.”

  “Until he died and left you penniless.” There wasn’t one ounce of mercy in Kira’s flashing eyes. Exactly the amount Wanda deserved. “Actually, he died and left you penniless twice, didn’t he?”

  Wanda’s lip curled. “You don’t know anything about what he left me. So don’t you speak on it.”

  Yeah, okay. Enough was enough. Kerry’s side flared with pain, and Kira’s face had started to lose color again. None of them needed this.

  “You were my grandmother’s closest friend, Aunt Wanda,” he said. “You meant the world to me growing up. I hope you’re going to be okay. But now it’s time for you to leave. And not come back.”

  Wanda’s spiteful smile made Kerry’s skin crawl. “God may forgive you, Kerry, but I never will. Maybe God will punish me for it, but I wish you dead.” She looked to Kira, who met her gaze even as she shrank back into her chair. “I wish you both dead.”

  18

  She’s not coming back, Kerry thought, pressing a hand to his side to see if that would help the throbbing. It didn’t. The slice across his face and neck? More agony. And just for kicks, a wave of nausea rolled over him, threatening to make him revisit his nasty-ass breakfast oatmeal.

  All the unexpected visitors had taken it out of him. Maybe he should lie down for a minute.

  The enticing hospital bed waited for him, as deceptively innocent as a layer of leaves that hid a pool of quicksand. He could climb back in, relax, give himself a shot from the morphine pump and drift away into oblivion until the doctor finally remembered he was alive and came to sign the discharge papers.

  But Kerry damn sure wasn’t getting back into that adjustable bed if he could help it. The more he slept, the more he’d want to sleep. Wasting time in oblivion wasn’t going to get his life back for him, and having his head all fuzzed up with opiates wasn’t the way he wanted to go, even for a little while. So he’d sit in his lounge chair, lean his head back and pretend he was a guy in front of his living room TV waiting for his game to come on.

  He could close his eyes for a minute, though. That wouldn’t hurt anything.

  After a quick glance at his ajar door—still no sign of Jayne, because she evidently wasn’t coming back—he eased back and let his eyes roll closed.

  Ahhh. Much better.

  He just needed to hang on for a little while longer.

  The doctor would sign him out soon, a cab would deliver him to Cousin Ernie’s and he’d get a real nap in a real bed. Then tomorrow, when he was rested and stronger, he’d work on finding a J-O-B.

  What was the saying? Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of his life? Yeah. That.

  But Jayne, man. She wasn’t coming back.

  Which was cool, he supposed. The woman had a life, and she’d already stuck around for most of yesterday and then turned around and come back early today. Way beyond the call of duty for her criminal informa
nt, no doubt. But he couldn’t expect her to sacrifice her entire weekend on his behalf. Why would she? Because she was a nice person who felt bad for him?

  Yeah, he didn’t think so.

  Jayne.

  She was pretty funny, that one. Kept things interesting.

  And she’d brought him a change of clothes.

  Who did that?

  He thought hard for a minute, searching for the last time someone had done a no-strings-attached nice thing for him. Aaand, yeah, he had nothing. Well, except for the time when he was a senior in med school and that med tech had saved him a piece of cake after someone’s going-away party, but, now that he thought about it, she’d had a glint in her eye that said she’d probably been hoping to get laid. So she didn’t count.

  Still, Jayne had said she’d be back, and she seemed like the type to keep her word. The straightforward, no-hidden-agenda ethical type.

  The type who wouldn’t want to be bothered for long with a wounded CI who was some sort of moral obligation and would never be considered a friend.

  So you need to get over it, Randolph.

  She isn’t coming back.

  His side hissed at him. Kerry frowned against the pain and worked on a deep breath or two.

  It’s not that bad, he told himself, as big a lie as Kareem isn’t that angry or Kareem’s knife isn’t that sharp. It’s not that bad—

  “Kerry? You awake?”

  He opened his eyes and snapped to attention just as Jayne and the nurse crept inside his room and exchanged worried glances. He didn’t see the nurse. He saw Jayne.

  Who kept her word.

  “Hey,” he said groggily, rubbing his eyes.

  “Hey.” Jayne brightened. She was like a big ball of sunshine with her yellow dress, easy smile and sparkling eyes. The only thing that could have made him happier to see her was the news she delivered. “Look who I just met in the hall. You ready to get out of here?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Jayne sat in the chair, out of the way.

  The nurse—her name was Alma—stepped forward with her brisk efficiency and packet of papers. “Kerry, I’m going to check your incisions and your vitals again and go through your discharge instructions. The doctor is down the hall, but he’ll be here in a minute. Okay?”