Thread of Revenge (The Joe Tyler Series, #6)

by Jeff Shelby

  Then I leaned back in the seat, my heart aching, and waited to go pick up my daughter.

  FORTY FIVE

  The evening desert sky hung high above me and I spun the coffee cup slowly on the table in front of me.

  I was sitting outside at a small, 24-hour Mexican restaurant on the north side of Phoenix. I’d gotten off the plane and immediately called Noah and Carter's number. Carter called back, gave me an address, and said they'd be there in thirty minutes. I grabbed my car from the long-term lot and drove to the restaurant. I still hadn't found my appetite, but I was running on fumes and needed something inside of me, so I ordered a large coffee at the walk-up window and then sat down at an outside table.

  As I spun the cup one more time, I watched as an older model Ford Explorer pulled into the lot. I could make out the much larger Carter behind the wheel and Noah in the passenger seat. But the first door to open was the rear passenger side and Elizabeth stepped out tentatively, saw me, then used that track kick to race across the lot to me.

  I stood and she hit me like a running back taking on a linebacker. I bobbled backward, but stayed upright and wrapped my arms around her. She squeezed me in a way I didn't think I'd ever been hugged before.

  “Hey,” I whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Hey.”

  She was crying and her body shook against mine.

  Noah and Carter got out of the Explorer, but hung back.

  There were moments since Elizabeth returned where we felt the time we'd lost. Things she liked that I didn't know about. Food she didn't like. Her favorite color. They were things I should've known about my daughter, but hadn't had the opportunity to learn because she'd been taken from me. The gap was awkward and impossible to ignore, but we did our best to move forward.

  But standing there in that parking lot, Elizabeth sobbing against my chest, it felt like she'd never been gone from me.

  It took her several minutes before she quieted. She finally pulled her head away from my chest, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks blotchy. She sniffed several times and pulled at my shirt to wipe her eyes.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Don't apologize,” I said. “It's okay. Are you ready to go?”

  “I need to get my stuff,” she said. “Hang on.”

  She turned and walked back toward the Explorer. Noah was holding her bag and held it out to her. She took it from him and I could see her saying something to him. He gave her a thin smile and nodded his head at her. Then she sidestepped toward Carter and stepped into him, hugging him, her body miniscule next to his. He tucked a giant arm around her and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. She nodded, then let go and came back to me.

  I pointed her toward the car, told her it was unlocked, and that I'd be there in just a minute. As she crossed the parking lot, I went over to Carter and Noah.

  I reached toward the back of my jeans and pulled out the envelope I'd tucked inside my waistband. I held it out to them. “The balance.”

  Carter took it from me and held it up. “Thanks.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. For taking care of her. And for taking it seriously.”

  They both nodded.

  “You headed back to San Diego?” I asked.

  Carter looked at Noah.

  “Eventually,” Noah said. “Soon.”

  I nodded. “Alright. If I can ever do anything for you, let me know.”

  We all shook hands, and Carter walked around the back of the Explorer, heading back to the driver's side. Noah lingered, his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

  He tilted his head toward the car. “Your daughter. She's a good kid. Smart. Funny, too.”

  I looked toward the car. “Thanks. She is. All those things.”

  “She told me yesterday she's a runner.”

  “She is.”

  “Said CIF's are coming up,” he said, squinting at me. “Finals. She's that good?”

  “So far, yeah.”

  He nodded. “That's great.” He paused and toed the ground. “I'm sorry...it didn't go the way you planned.”

  A lump took up residence in my throat and I couldn't say anything.

  “I know what that's like,” he said.

  We stood quiet for a moment.

  He looked toward the car again. “But you got her. That's a good thing.”

  I nodded, the lump choking off my words.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  He turned and climbed into the Explorer. Carter eased the SUV out of the parking stall and toward the street. Then he turned left and they disappeared down the street.

  FORTY SIX

  Three weeks later

  “I should've won,” Elizabeth said.

  “I know,” I said.

  The sun was sinking in the western sky and we were walking slowly along the sand in front of the Hotel Del. Her bare feet were splashing in the water and I was walking on the hard packed sand next to her.

  “I waited too long,” she said, shaking her head. “I should've gone on the corner and I waited until we made the entire turn. Five more yards and I would've finished four yards in front of her.”

  I smiled at her. “I know.”

  Two days earlier, she'd run the 1600 in the CIF state finals. She'd been nervous about the race, knowing she'd missed a few days of training and that her sleep patterns and eating had been off. But she'd decided she wanted to run. She ran a perfect 1400 meters, staying within striking distance of the girl who'd led from the gun and was favored. She'd gradually closed the distance between them on the third and fourth laps and as I sat in the stands, I knew what was going through her head. She knew her kick was stronger and she was going to take her on the final straightaway.

  But she'd waited about two seconds too long, waiting until they'd made it all the way around the final turn, and the other girl managed to hang on as Elizabeth closed on her, but ultimately ran out of track. The other girl dropped to the track after crossing the line, spent and exhausted. Elizabeth came to an abrupt halt, her hands on her hips, turning to look at where she'd just come from, like the distance wasn't what she'd expected and she wanted to run it again to measure it.

  “Next year,” I said. “You'll be ready.”

  She shrugged and kicked a foot through the shallow ocean water. She looked up ahead. “How far are we going?”

  “Maybe down to the end?” I said. “Just past the deck on the hotel. Should be pretty quiet down there.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Mom liked that side better, anyway.”

  “She did, yeah.”

  “Did you guys go to the beach a lot?” she asked. “Like, before I was born?”

  “Yeah, I said. “A bunch. But never crowded spots or on the weekends. She liked to go when it was quieter. When we could walk or sit without being on top of anyone else.”

  She nodded but didn't say anything.

  We'd driven from Phoenix after I'd picked her up from Noah and Carter. She didn't say much on the drive, just hung on to my arm and leaned against me. When we'd gotten home, neither of us seemed to know what to do in the house, wandering from room to room, unable to focus on any task. She'd slept in my bedroom for a week before she could go back to her own room. She'd waited a few days before she went back to school.

  The official story was that Lauren had flown to Minneapolis and then to Chicago on business. She'd gone on a sightseeing boat ride and had an unfortunate accident. Her body was not recovered.

  The story had holes, but only if you poked hard enough. It seemed clear to me that Stefano had cleaned up behind me, doing whatever he'd done with Anchor, sealing the mouths of the hotel employees, putting enough evidence in place that got Lauren to Chicago and then on to some sort of boat. I'd been interviewed by SDPD and by Chicago police, and I'd been upset enough over her death that I'd been convincing in my grief. I knew they were thinking it was suicide, and while that galled me that anyone would think she'd take her own life, I knew that contesting it loudly would lead to questions I did
n't want to answer.

  I'd shared the details of the cover story with Elizabeth because she'd had so many questions related to the fallout. She seemed to understand that it was necessary, but she was still troubled by the notion that there was no justice for Lauren and that there wouldn't ever be. I shared those same thoughts, but my history taught me that justice wasn't always meted out fairly.

  We walked a bit further, the breeze coming in off the ocean, the small waves crashing into rolls of white water.

  “It doesn't feel like she's really gone,” Elizabeth said. “I keep thinking she'll come home.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “It's how I felt when you were gone.”

  She cut her eyes in my direction. “And you know for sure, right?”

  I nodded.

  I told her I had evidence and if she wanted to know what it was, I'd share it with her. She'd decided against it, which I was grateful for. She didn't need to see the video because she wouldn't be able to forget it. I didn't want her to have to live with that.

  One of us was enough.

  She slowed her pace and came to a stop. She turned to the water and looked out toward the sun. “This seems good.”

  “Okay.”

  She reached into her pocket and withdrew a 3x5 picture of her and Lauren.

  I did the same and pulled out a photo from our wedding day.

  We didn't have her ashes, but we wanted to do something to give us some closure, and to let her know, if she could somehow see or hear us, that we missed her. It was Elizabeth's idea to make copies of photos of each of us with Lauren and take them to the ocean. We could let them go in the way that people spread ashes or belongings in remembrance. I'd been hesitant at first because of how she'd been killed, but I also knew how much she loved the ocean, how often she'd visited the beach when she was trying to cope with Elizabeth being gone.

  So I agreed and made copies of photos that we both chose.

  Elizabeth waded out to her knees, the small waves breaking into her legs. I followed behind her. She held the picture in both hands for a moment, then rolled it into a tight tube. I pulled a small glass container out of my pocket and took the photo from her. I pushed the tube into the container.

  I handed her the container and took another look at the photo I'd brought. It had been taken during the first dance at our reception, and I was saying something into her ear. Lauren's head was tucked onto my shoulder, listening and smiling. I couldn't remember what I'd said to her.

  I rolled the photo like Elizabeth had and stuck it into the container in Elizabeth's hands. She sealed it and handed it back to me.

  “You do it,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “You can throw farther.”

  I nodded and stared at the container for probably close to a minute. It was heavy in my hands, filled not just with the photos but also with my sadness and anger and helplessness. All of my days had been filled with those things since we'd gotten back, and I wasn't sure when they'd go away. If they would go away. I tried to keep an even keel for Elizabeth, but in the middle of the night, when I knew she was asleep, I'd stare at the ceiling and cry until I couldn't cry anymore.

  I looked at our daughter. “You know, she didn't give up on you. I don't want you to ever think that.”

  She nodded, but it was halting, unsure.

  “I'm serious, Elizabeth,” I said. “In so many ways, she did the hard thing. She let go so she could keep living. I held on because I didn't know what else to do. But your mom never stopped hoping I'd find you. She never gave up, and when I told her I knew you were alive, she was all in.” I smiled at her through my tears. “She was all in.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks and she nodded.

  I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  I took a step clear from her, the container still heavy in my hand.

  I had no idea when the grief would stop. No idea what the future held for me or Elizabeth. But I knew that Lauren would want me to press forward, that she wouldn't want me to waste the second chance I had with our daughter. I wasn't sure how to reconcile all of that, but I owed it to Lauren to at least try.

  I reared back and launched the container out toward the horizon and the setting sun, a Rorschach test of pinks and golds. It sailed in a long arc out beyond the break, disappearing behind a rising wave.

  Elizabeth and I stood there for a few minutes, watching the sun disappear, changing the sky from blue to gray and then black, the water lapping at our knees. The breeze picked up and we finally retreated to the shore and headed back in the direction of our home.

  Her hand found mine in the same way a smaller child's finds their parent's and she squeezed, her fingers latched tightly around my hand.

  “We can still talk about her, right?” she said.

  “We have to.”

  “I don't want to forget her.”

  “You won't. We won't.”

  We passed the hotel again.

  “I don't know what to do now, Dad,” she said. “How to act. What to say. What to think.”

  “Me, either. Just have to keep trying.”

  She looked up at me, our legs locked in sync. “I will. I won't give up. I promise.”

  I squeezed her hand. “I know you won't. You're a lot like your mom in that way.”

  She forced a smile onto her face.

  And we kept walking on the sand, headed home, so we could figure out how to keep trying.

  The End

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  Read on for a note from the author and a sneak peek at the next book coming from Jeff Shelby, LOCKED IN – the long-awaited fifth novel in the Noah Braddock series.

  Author's Note

  Joe's not done.

  When I wrote Thread of Hope, I never would've imagined writing six books about him. His story seemed finite to me at the time. But the more I've written about him, the more interesting I've found him and as his world continues to evolve – in both good and bad ways – I keep seeing new stories for him. So he'll be back...very soon.

  And did you recognize those two guys who took care of Elizabeth? If you've read the books that started my career, then you probably did. They've been gone awhile and I thought it might be fun to see them step into Joe's world for a moment. (Actually, that's not true. It was my wife's idea. Because she's far smarter than I am.)

  But Noah and Carter are on their way back...in their own book. LOCKED IN is the fifth book in the Noah Braddock series. It'll be out in December. And if you keep reading, you can check out the first chapter of LOCKED IN right now...

  LOCKED IN

  A Noah Braddock novel

  ONE

  Carter handed me the cell phone. “You sure you wanna do this?”

  I looked at the phone, one of those pay as you go things sold at grocery and convenience stores. “No.”

  “Then don't,” he said, adjusting the mirrored sunglasses on his face. “Don't do it.”

  “I don't have a choice.”

  “There are always choices, man,” he said, trying to stretch out his massive frame in the driver's seat, his knees bumping against the steering wheel. “We could move to Mexico or something. Buy a bar in some little beach town. Surf all day, drink all night.”

  I looked out the window. We were pulled off to the side of the highway, right before it crossed from Arizona into California. It was late afternoon. It had taken us two days to get from Florida to Phoenix and we'd stayed a little longer than originally planned because I was still having second thoughts about going back to San Diego. We'd picked up a job through a friend of Carter's and earned some much needed cash. We'd bought the phone somewhere in New Mexico before we'd gotten to Arizona and I'd been contemplating the call since I'd carried it out
of the store.

  And I knew Carter was serious. If I said the word, he'd get us set up in Mexico in a heartbeat, even if that meant he was harboring a criminal. We'd been friends since we were kids and he had yet to let me down, never letting legalities or potential consequences get in the way.

  “Or we could go to, like, South Africa or something,” Carter said. “I know people there. They could probably set us up.”

  “You know people in South Africa?”

  He grinned like an evil Cheshire cat. “I know people everywhere.”

  That was probably true. “You don't have to go with me.”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we're like peanut butter and jelly,” he said. “Gin and tonic. Eggs and bacon.”

  “I think you're just hungry.”

  “I am, but that's not the point.” He shifted in the driver's seat and ran a hand through the spiky yellow-white hair on his head. “Noah, look. I'll do whatever you want, man. You wanna go back and face the shit storm? Cool. You wanna shave our heads and grow mustaches and hang out in Costa Rica for the next six years? Cool. I don't really care. But, either way? I'm all in. With you.”

  I looked out the window again. The desert sprawled out in front of us, small hills rising and falling on the horizon, the sun blinding off the sand. I knew the desert would disappear soon, replaced by the mountains and the eastern most suburbs of San Diego. I could picture it all in my head: the highway snaking through and down the mountains and back into civilization, the El Cajon valley giving way to Mt. Helix, then the corridor below San Diego State, cutting through Mission Valley and emptying out in the beach cities.

  My stomach knotted.

  It felt like forever since I'd seen any of those things. I hadn't been in Florida for that long, but the days had seemed endless, probably because I'd wanted to create a chasm of sorts between myself and when I'd left San Diego. I knew that people would think I'd run to Florida to hide from being questioned in Landon Keene's murder, and maybe I had. But more than anything, I'd gone to get away from the memories of Liz.