by Dawn Brown
Doing anything to stick it to Heddi made him happy, but poking at the old bitch was akin to poking an angry bear. God only knew what she’d do if she felt cornered. “There’s no way they’d believe I was willing to help them again. Yesterday, I had it out with Kate and told her if anything happened to you, I’d…let’s just say I made it clear whose side I’m on.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. After last night, and knowing you care about me, they might be more likely to believe you’d be willing to help them if they promised to keep Tic away.”
His insides churned. “I do care about you, Shayne. Heddi’s dangerous when she doesn’t feel threatened. If you’re right, and she was somehow involved in what happened to him, you could be painting an even bigger target on yourself.”
She stepped forward and gripped his arm. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”
Did he? What if the man he’d despised his entire life was innocent? The blood in his head trickled slowly to his shoes, leaving him a little dizzy.
“I’m not sure.” The words scraped from his throat in a raspy whisper.
“Then we leave it.” She turned, reached into the sink pulled out a plate and started to dry it.
“Will you write your book?”
“I’ll finish the research. If what I learn still points to Anderson as the killer, then yes. But if it doesn’t, I’ll move on to another project.”
And they’d both be left wondering. Could he go through the rest of his life never knowing?
“While I’m with Heddi, I want you to stay here. Keep the door locked and don’t go anywhere on your own until the police tell you they’ve picked up Tic.” She should be all right alone in his apartment. With Rose spying from her back window nearly 24-7, it was like having his own alarm system.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” She watched him, gentle compassion bright in her gaze.
He nodded. “Yeah, I have to know, or I’ll always wonder.”
Des hesitated outside Heddi’s front door, his stomach knotted. What if he was about to make a fucked-up situation infinitely worse? So far, he’d found his maybe-murderer father with his head bashed in, his grandmother had set loose a psychopath on the woman he loved and he was toying with the idea Heddi might have murdered his mother, after all. How much worse could things get?
He lifted his fist and pounded on the heavy oak. The door opened and Hudson’s hulking frame filled the space. “She’s waiting for you in the library.”
Des nodded, moved past the huge man and started down the hall. His skin prickled beneath Hudson’s glare. The man was probably as eager to toss his ass out as Des was to leave.
He swallowed hard. How should he play this, angry or desperate? What would the old woman be most likely to believe? Maybe a combination of both.
He walked into the library and found Heddi buried beneath a pile of blankets on the chaise. That skeletal grin stretched across her face as her black eyes fixed on him. “Have you come to tell me all the ways you’re going to embarrass this family? Kate told me about your threats.”
So Kate had told her about his threat should anything happen to Shayne. And Heddi must have already heard about Shayne’s run-in with Tic. Not surprising. Avery probably couldn’t wait to let her know. Des wouldn’t be at all surprised if Shayne’s camera went missing from the evidence room, or the pictures of Tic’s trashing her car were mysteriously erased.
Heddi would also know Des had picked Shayne up from the station.
“I may have overreacted,” he ground out, as if he had to force each word from his mouth. Under normal circumstances he would have. “I want to know if our agreement is completely dead.”
Heddi’s grin widened, exposing more short, yellowed teeth, and she let out a rusty cackle. “But I thought you cared for this woman.”
He swallowed hard, and shifted his gaze to the river. Heavy gray clouds had blotted out the sunshine from earlier this morning. The black waters looked like slow-chugging tar. “I don’t want her hurt.”
“Do you expect me to believe she would trust you with anything?”
He turned and met her gaze, careful to keep his expression blank. “She and I had a conversation over breakfast the details of which you would find very interesting. Is our deal dead or not?”
Her black eyes gleamed. “Tell me.”
“Call off Tic.”
“Done.”
“How can I trust you?”
“Won’t you take me at my word?” Her saccharine tone, filled with malicious humor, made his skin crawl. God, he hated her.
“I don’t think so.”
“Seems we’re at an impasse.” She leaned forward, her grin turning feral. “But I’m the one holding the cards. If you want your writer safe, you’ll tell me what she knows.”
His heart stuttered in his chest, fear’s bony fingers curling in his gut. But his growing fear had little to do with Heddi’s attempt to appear menacing. In her day, she’d been imposing, vicious and strong. The sound of her footsteps in the hall had made him cringe in terror as a child, but that woman had long been abandoned to the shriveled husk before him. No, the swell of fear building inside him had nothing to do with the threat Heddi posed to him and everything to do with the possibility Shayne had been right.
He eased into the chair next to Heddi’s, keeping his gaze locked with hers. “Not quite. I have the trump card. I have what you want.”
Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed, and any trace of humor slid from her features. She never liked to be bested, but she hated having it rubbed in her face even more. Des struggled to quell the dark pleasure burning inside him.
“Tell me,” she demanded, furious.
“I don’t think so,” he said, unable to stop the hard smirk from pulling at his mouth. “You see, we both have some issues with trust that need to be ironed out first. You don’t trust me to do the job, and I don’t trust you at all. This is what I’m going to do. I’ll give you a little now, and if you can behave, I’ll tell you the rest later.”
“You dare bargain with me?” Despite the illness turning her body frail, her booming voice filled the room. Cancer might be wreaking havoc with her insides, but even the disease might have bitten off more than it could chew with Heddi. Pure mean would keep her alive.
Des didn’t move, merely continued to watch her with his bland expression fixed in place. “Yup.”
Her eyes burned like tiny black coals as she stared at him unblinkingly. He didn’t flinch.
“I’ll pay Tic off, and if you succeed, you will be free of your sister’s debt.”
Des nodded. “Shayne is beginning to question Robert’s guilt. She even has couple of potential suspects.”
Heddi leaned forward, practically salivating. “Who?”
“You.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“The second most-common perpetrators of family murder are adolescent males.”
—excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds
Heddi leapt from the chair as if something sharp had poked her backside. A rage-filled shriek tore free from her lips. She snatched the cup from the table and winged it across the room. Des ducked as the china exploded off the bookshelf behind him.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Hudson’s hulking frame filled the doorway.
As if her temper tantrum had sapped her strength, Heddi collapsed onto the chaise. She looked shrunken and ancient, already dead.
She raised a trembling, bony hand and waved Hudson away. “Go.” Her voice was whispery. The big man moved back, but no doubt hovered nearby, listening to every word that passed between him and his grandmother. “You have to stop her, Des. I will not allow Robert Anderson to be known as anything but the killer he was.”
“When Shayne interviewed him, he claimed he was innocent. Why would he do that after serving twenty-five years in prison?”
“How would I know how his sick mind worked? When he confessed, it was the only time in his pathetic life
he did right by my daughter. She was brilliant, and she could have been so much more than just another woman with three screaming brats clinging to her legs. He took everything she could have been and destroyed it when he planted you inside her womb like a cancer.” Tears welled, turned her eyes glassy and trickled down her papery cheeks. “Robert Anderson might have been the one to murder my daughter, but you stole her life.”
The vehemence in her words caught Des like a sucker punch to the gut, thrusting the air from his lungs. Oh, he’d known she hated him. She hadn’t exactly hidden her feelings when he’d been a child growing up in this hellhole. But all these years he’d assumed her hatred stemmed from his being the son of the man who’d killed her daughter. He had no idea she viewed him as the catalyst. The reason her daughter was dead.
Des cleared his throat. “That may be, but more than one person has told Shayne you were responsible for vandalizing their home and Robert’s business.”
Her lips curled back from her teeth. “And this is why that bitch thinks I killed my daughter? I would never have hurt my Gwen. Your father killed her because she was leaving him. She was coming back to me, to the life she should have been living. She was coming home.”
If Heddi was telling the truth, she didn’t have a reason to kill his mother. Robert, on the other hand, had every reason.
“When push came to shove,” Heddi continued, stabbing a bony finger at him, “your father couldn’t provide for his family, and when Gwen finally came to that realization, she had no choice but to come home.”
“And vandalizing his business and their house no doubt helped hammer home that particular point.”
She tilted her head and flashed him a faintly coy smile. In her younger days, the expression would have been coquettish, but in her present state it was horrifying. “True, but I needn’t have wasted my money. In the end, her useless first husband did the work for me. I warned her when she married Warren his kind were all the same. Like vermin picking through your garbage. Once they get a taste, they always come back.”
Des frowned. Maybe the implications his mother had been with someone else were true. “He wanted to get back together?”
“No, he wanted more money. She needed to pay him off, or he’d sue her for custody of the children. She came to me for help, and I agreed, provided she’d leave Robert. But that bastard would have rather seen her dead than let me win. At least, I can go to my grave knowing he’s dead—and I hope hell is hot.”
She shouldn’t hope too hard, she’d be there soon enough. “Did you kill him?”
She leaned heavily against the back of the chaise and closed her eyes. “I can hardly stand and walk across the room.”
Des rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Did you have the job done?”
“I thought about it. From the moment I learned what had happened to my Gwen. I would have loved nothing more than to wipe any trace of that man’s existence from the planet.” Himself included, no doubt. “But I didn’t get where I am today by making foolish decisions. I wouldn’t risk all I have by arranging his demise.”
She opened her eyes, her black gaze locking with his. “Whoever did do it has my eternal gratitude, though. Now, you said that woman had other suspects in mind.”
Des shot her a knowing smile. In truth, he and Shayne hadn’t discussed anyone else, but letting Heddi think there were others might keep her honest—for a while, at least. “I’ll tell you more when I’m sure you’re keeping your word.”
Her eyes narrowed and she sat up a little. “Don’t play games with me, Desmond. I can make things go very badly for you.”
Christ, like he hadn’t heard that before. He nearly rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. “I’ll throw you one more bone, but that’s it for now. Shayne is also exploring the possibility my mother was involved with another man when Robert murdered her.”
“And where would she have gotten that idea?” Heddi’s bony fingers curled into the thick blankets on the chaise.
“Cal Warren.” His uncle, as well, but Des wouldn’t sell out Ian.
She nodded slowly, her thin lips pursed tightly together. “I’ll deal with him.”
Shit, he should have kept his mouth shut. He hoped he hadn’t cost Shayne a source. He’d have to tell her what he’d done. What if she thought he’d done it on purpose, that he was still helping his grandmother put a stop to her book? Their new trust was shaky. It wouldn’t take much to shatter it.
“Don’t do anything. After the damage Vivian did, getting Shayne to trust me again wasn’t easy. The last thing I need is for you to screw that up.”
“If you think I’m going to sit back and let that stupid girl slander my daughter, imply I had something to do with her death while that murdering bastard, Anderson, was railroaded, you’re in for an unpleasant surprise.”
“For Shayne to do all that, she’d have to finish the book. I’ll see she doesn’t.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
He shot Heddi a pointed stare.
“You actually believe you’ll be able to stop her from writing this book by sleeping with her?” She let out a dry cackle.
“Look how easily I was able to regain her trust. I’m sure Rose informed you she spent the night with me last night.”
“She did. And Kate informed me you’re quite fond of the writer. So much so, you threatened me.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Which I didn’t care for.”
“That’s why I’m helping you, to keep Shayne safe.”
She sniffed and waved her hand. “What else do you have to tell me?”
“I think that’s enough for now.” When Heddi opened her mouth to argue, he cut her off. “Don’t worry. By the end of the week Shayne will be gone and the book forgotten.”
“You better be right.” Heddi leaned back against the chaise, and turned her head to the window. “If you double-cross me, I’ll make you pay. And I’ll do it through your writer.”
Shayne sat on Des’s sofa, computer balanced on her lap and fingers flying over the keyboard. She should have been at work on her book—and in a way she was—making a list of people who might have killed Gwen and why. Heddi was still her best suspect. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t come up with a reason why Robert confessed. If she could figure out why the man admitted to a crime he didn’t commit, served twenty-five years without even trying to appeal the verdict, she might be able to figure out who killed Gwen and Christian.
Unless, of course, Robert was guilty all along, and she was a sucker for buying his story.
She sighed, and tapped her finger on the edge of the keyboard. But Robert Anderson was dead, murdered. Coincidence? She couldn’t be sure, and she’d rather rule the possibility out before continuing on with her book.
Why would someone be willing to go to jail for a quarter of a century for something he didn’t do?
Guilt? While he may not have killed his wife and stepson, perhaps Robert believed their deaths were his fault. That didn’t sound right. Granted, she’d only spoken to the man once, but he hadn’t struck her as the martyr type. Especially if Heddra Grey was the killer. Could he have been trying to protect someone? Maybe, but who?
The most obvious choice seemed his own child, and perhaps his stepdaughter. Julia may have seen the killer. Could Robert have gone to prison to somehow protect her? And if Heddra was the murderer, his confession put both children in the woman’s hands.
Of course, Des wasn’t his only son. Shayne sat up a little, slow dawning rolling over her like a wave. He had Sam, the son from his first marriage who was about twelve when the murders occurred. If Robert and Gwen planned to move on with their new family, could Sam have been angry enough to kill?
He might have seen Gwen as the catalyst for his parents’ divorce, the woman who had taken his father from him. And Christian, who was close to the same age as Sam, the son who’d replaced him.
But would Robert have confessed to protect his son? Possibly. He might have even felt some respon
sibility for his son’s actions.
Shayne dug her Day-Timer and cell phone out of her purse. After a few minutes of scanning the pages of her organizer for the right number, she dialed. The electronic ring sounded in her ear, then Sam Anderson’s low voice instructed her to leave a message.
Voice mail. Figures. She didn’t like her odds that the man would actually bother to call her back, but what choice did she have?
“Mr. Anderson, this is Shayne Reynolds. We spoke the other day. I have some follow-up questions and a few details I’d like to clarify. These are things we could take care of over the phone when you have a free moment. If you could give me a call back, I’d appreciate it.” She rattled off her number, then snapped her phone closed.
Hopefully, he’d call her back, but after meeting the man in person, she had her doubts.
The lock in the door downstairs rattled, and Shayne tensed. Her heart rate kicked up. It’s Des. Still, she strained her ears, listening for Tic’s mirth-filled voice.
“Des?” she called.
“Yeah, it’s me.” The low timbre of his voice chased away her swelling anxiety. She let out a slow breath. Paranoia was not a state she enjoyed.
“You okay?” Des asked as he emerged from the stairway. “Your voice sounds funny.”
“I’m fine, just overreacting. I heard from the police earlier. They still haven’t picked up Tic. They went to his house, and his truck was there, but they couldn’t find any trace of him. They figure he’s laying low. One of his pals is probably hiding him. They did manage to find his friend, Norton.”
Des slipped his hands into his jeans pockets and nodded, his gaze distant as if his mind was somewhere else. His skin looked pale beneath the reddish-brown stubble on his cheeks and chin. He hadn’t shaved before going to see his grandmother. “That’s good. Norton has no backbone without Tic. If he knows where Tic is, he’ll tell the police.”
