by Debra Webb
Emily’s eyes shot open. She sat up, looked around. Didn’t immediately recognize their location.
She leaned forward. “Deputy Caruthers? Mike?”
The deputy shifted the car into park, released his seat belt, and turned sideways to look at her. “You all right, Emily?”
There was no reason to be afraid. She knew Mike Caruthers, not all that well, but he’d married one of her closest friends.
But she’d known Misty and Justine, too.
Emily blinked, stared at his profile. Recognition slammed into her … the blondish hair … he was one of the guys in the photo she’d taken from Justine’s house. Emily had only seen his profile in the picture. His profile and the blond hair that wasn’t quite blond. It was him. She remembered now. He’d hated his carrot top so bad, he’d tried to go blond one summer. As a freshman, she vaguely remembered making fun of him behind his back.
Mike Caruthers had been one of Justine’s boys.
The fear pressing against Emily’s throat suddenly made speech impossible. She forced her head into an up-and-down motion in response to his question. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He sighed, removed his cap. “I wanted to do this myself. The others warned me against it, but I know what you’ve been through these past ten years. I’ve kept up with your folks, and Ray always said you’d paid a high price for what happened to Heather.”
Emily licked her lips, wished her throat weren’t so dry. “I … I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to worry. Everything will be fine now. We know Misty is lying. And we’re going to take care of everything; you have my word.”
Somehow she managed to squeeze two words around the constriction in her throat. “Thank you.”
“You have to understand that our information was limited during the Baker investigation. Certain people had to be protected.”
Keith. Caruthers meant Keith and his father. He didn’t have to say so. Ray had likely confronted Justine about the necklace and she’d claimed Keith was the guilty party. There was no telling what else she and Misty had done to make Keith look guilty. Granville had no doubt paid top dollar to see that Keith was left in the clear. Clint Austin had taken the fall. He was nobody. A guy who was on thin ice with the law anyway. No big deal. Who was going to argue? Who would care enough to?
No one.
That injustice twisted in Emily’s chest. Clint never had a chance.
“We’ll make sure justice is carried out swiftly and fairly this time. Misty Briggs will be dead before she reaches City Hall. We won’t waste the taxpayers’ time or money on a trial.”
Shock generated a tremor along Emily’s limbs. She tried to hold still, certain she hadn’t heard right. Absolutely positive she didn’t want to ask him to repeat it.
“You may have forgotten, Emily, since you’ve lived away so long, but here in Pine Bluff we take care of our own. Misty and Justine just got out of control before we realized how much damage they’d done. Even Ray was fooled for a while. But we’ve got the situation under control now. We’ll take care of everything. Justine’s home will become a secondary crime scene, as will Misty’s; whatever they’re hiding, we’ll find it.”
Then Emily understood. “You’re doing this for Ray.” She tried to take comfort in that. Misty and Justine had killed Ray. His men likely wanted vengeance.
But these were officers of the law. The bizarre combination of fear and dread and even understanding churned some more, confusing Emily further. She tried to rationalize how this could be right in some capacity.
Caruthers nodded thoughtfully. “In part, you’re right. We are doing this for Ray. But Mr. Granville and I spoke shortly before midnight last night. We reached an agreement about how this would be handled. He alerted me a little later to the possibility that Justine might go after you and Clint.” With a heavy sigh, Caruthers added, “That’s behind us now, but there are other things. Things we don’t need to go into, that simply shouldn’t be aired in public. We don’t want any more harm done to the community and certainly not to the reputation of our fine school. It’s better if we do it this way.”
Her entire body quaked during the expanse of silence that followed his dissertation.
“Deputy Caruthers?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
She held her hands tightly together in an attempt to keep them still. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Well, now there’s a perfectly good reason for that.”
Tiny blasts of fear detonated in her veins.
“We don’t want that nasty business about Ray having tampered with evidence to ever end up in the media. We know you and Clint stole that report. It really isn’t that significant, since the necklace could have belonged to you or Heather or really anyone, for that matter. Unless, of course, you were to make it significant. We all feel that the best thing to do is just let all this ugliness fade into history where it belongs. We want this to end. Now.”
He had just admitted to her that the Pine Bluff Police Department intended to kill a suspect and suppress evidence. Why not just do it and let her believe, along with the rest of the world, that it was whatever they decided to report to the media? There had to be more. Her palms began to sweat with the urge to try the door, but she couldn’t escape, not from the backseat of an official squad car.
Clint. The idea that he could be killed just like Misty ripped through Emily. “What about Clint?”
“Oh, we’ll see that he’s fully exonerated,” Caruthers assured her. “We don’t need anyone getting restless down the line and asking questions. It’s best that we all move on with our lives and put this terrible, terrible tragedy behind us once and for all. Don’t you agree?”
Funny, everyone had been telling her that for ages. She met his eyes, tried her best not to allow accusation to enter hers. “Sure.” Terror pounded in her ears. “You’re absolutely right.”
He stared at her for what felt like a whole minute. Maybe assessing her reliability. Emily tried all in her power to look utterly unfazed and entirely agreeable.
“One last thing.”
She held her breath. Please don’t let this be worse news. “Yes?”
“I’m certain you understand that if you fail to stand by our arrangement Clint will have to pay the price.”
She wasn’t sure what she was expected to say to that. “I …” She cleared her throat but couldn’t dislodge the wad of dread there “ … I thought you said he would be exonerated.”
“You can count on that,” Caruthers insisted with an affirming nod, “just as long as we can count on you to keep up your end of this arrangement. I’m sure you know that these things take time. There’ll be an official inquiry, perhaps questions from the ABI or even the FBI. Possibly other testimony. Once that’s all settled, Clint will be free to move forward with clearing his name legally. Until then, of course, his is still a somewhat delicate situation. We wouldn’t want his parole officer to get his hands on a copy of that video of Clint breaking into the courthouse—”
“Video?” What the hell was Caruthers talking about?
Caruthers smiled, the act unholy somehow. “We were pretty sure the two of you would try something foolish that night, so we took the liberty of keeping an eye on you. For insurance if we ever needed it.”
… if we ever needed it. Emily had to remind herself that this was real … not just a nightmare. She’d known these people her whole life … how could this be possible?
The rest of the picture cleared for Emily; her stomach filled with dread. “If Brady sees the video, Clint goes back to Holman.” And even if his name was cleared of the murder, he would have spent the intervening time back in Holman … he couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t let that happen.
“Right.” Caruthers nodded. “We videoed your interview about that, too. There’s no denying it happened. We certainly wouldn’t want to drag any of that up unnecessarily.”
They had her. Had her and Clint both right where they
wanted them.
Evidently her silence told Caruthers she’d reached the proper conclusion. “I’m glad you can see our dilemma. We don’t want Clint to go back to prison; we just want him to move on with his life. Maybe even move to another town the way you did. Too many reminders of the past here.”
Emily bit her lips together to hold back the emotions mounting inside her.
“You do your part,” Caruthers assured her, “we’ll do ours.”
She nodded jerkily. “I understand.”
“And the evidence report? Just for the sake of tidying loose ends.”
“It’s taped under the dash of Clint’s truck.”
“Very good, Emily.” Caruthers settled his cap back into place. “I knew we could count on you.”
Sudden inspiration awakened in Emily’s fatigued mind as the events of the last twenty-four hours whipped around madly. “Just a minute, Deputy Caruthers.”
He turned back to her with a questioning look.
“I’ll keep your bargain because I grew up in Pine Bluff and I don’t want anyone else hurt unnecessarily. And Clint will move forward with clearing his name.”
“I’m certain you have a point, Emily,” Caruthers suggested, his impatience showing.
“I do indeed.” She looked him square in the eye. “As far as the video goes, I’ll happily trade a photo of a buddy giving you a blow job for it. Sound doable?” She smiled at his stunned look. A tiny jolt of shock unsettled her just then as she realized who his buddy in the photo most likely was … Ray Hale. He and Mike Caruthers had been best friends forever. “Anything happens to me or Clint and, gee, the world will know your little secret.” She thought of what Marv had told her. “That might be a little difficult to live down.”
Fury tightened Caruthers’s lips.
“I almost didn’t recognize you with the blond hair,” she added just to ensure there was no misunderstanding. “And, ah, don’t get any ideas about doing to me what you’re planning to do to Misty. That photo is my insurance, and my attorney knows just what to do with the envelope if anything happens to me.” She held her breath, hoped like hell Caruthers would go for her concocted story. She didn’t even have an attorney.
“I think we understand each other.”
She smiled, satisfied and more relieved than she would dare let him see. “Excellent.”
Caruthers checked his side mirror before executing a U-turn and heading in the direction of town. Their gazes met in the rearview mirror. She refused to show the first inkling of fear.
“I will be mighty glad,” he said cordially, “to see things get back to normal in Pine Bluff.”
Emily held his gaze until he looked away, but she didn’t comment. When he’d settled his attention back on the road, she stared out at the passing landscape. She shivered, only then remembering that her clothes were damp from the drizzle making everything look shiny and new. Normal.
Pine Bluff and normal were two things that would never, ever again go together in her mind.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
224 Old Columbiana Road Hoover, Alabama Monday, September 16, 5:00 P.M.
“Clint Austin Innocent.”
Emily stared at the headline of the copy of the Pine Bluff Sentinel her parents had mailed. She read the first few sentences even though she already knew what the article said.
Misty Briggs was shot to death on County Road 18 on the same morning she and accomplice Justine Mallory attempted a double homicide at the residence of Clint Austin. The tragic ending gave final closure to a nightmare more than a decade in the making … .
The official report had said Misty tried to kick her way out through the rear window of the squad car. When the deputy driving pulled over to the side of the road so that he could better restrain the suspect, she grabbed for his weapon. The deputy had no choice but to use deadly force.
The dead had been buried and Clint’s name had been cleared.
Case closed.
How could a small town harbor such depraved secrets without anyone recognizing just how ugly things had gotten? Why hadn’t someone noticed?
Apparently the pictures Justine had kept of her many conquests had been powerful enough to keep men such as Mike Caruthers and Ray Hale afraid of anyone ever finding out. The only real question left in Emily’s mind was how the hell had Justine gotten all those testosterone-fueled athletes to go along with her?
The fear Emily had heard in Marvin Cook’s voice that night on his front deck was somehow the answer. She wasn’t sure she could completely let the past go without an answer to that question. She knew how Justine had kept Keith in line, with that concocted story about him blacking out and killing Heather, but what about Ray, Mike, and all the others?
Before Emily could talk herself out of it, she’d called information and gotten the number. She entered it without hesitation and listened through the “Higgins Auto Repair Shop” spiel.
“Marvin Cook, please,” she said, then waited while the call was transferred to the shop.
“Cook.”
“Hey, Marv, this is Emily.”
The silence on the other end of the line told her that her voice was the last thing Marvin Cook ever wanted to hear again.
“Don’t worry, Marv. I just have one quick question for you.” Since he didn’t hang up, she went on. “How did Justine get you guys to cooperate when she made those blackmail photos? I have to know so I can maybe forgive jerks like you.” She hadn’t meant to let her fury make an appearance, but there it was.
“It’s over, Em; let it go,” he snapped.
“I’ll let it go,” she said, forcing a calm she didn’t feel, “as soon as you tell me the truth. Last time you’ll ever hear from me, I promise.”
“She had a special cocktail,” he said grudgingly. “A mixture of whiskey and some kind of drug. We didn’t know for sure, but we figured it was like that date-rape crap. She slipped it to all of us at least once. We would have done anything she asked.”
“Thanks, Marv, that’s all I needed to—”
The sharp click let her know he’d hung up on her. She couldn’t really blame him. He wanted to put this behind him.
Justine Mallory had been a despicable individual. How could she have looked so normal? And Misty, well, she’d simply been one of those people everyone thought was creepy, but no one suspected of harm. She’d latched on to Justine in grade school and had hung on ever since. The fear of losing Justine’s unconditional love had driven Misty to murder.
The cover-up had gone deep.
Emily had the videotape of her and Clint’s courthouse escapade. Caruthers had the incriminating photo. Of course, she’d kept a copy, as had he if he was half as smart as she presumed he was. Either way, it was over. The men in Pine Bluff got to keep their dirty little secret, and Clint got his life back.
Emily pushed the thoughts away. She was through with that. Moving on. Just as her parents had encouraged her to do years ago, without the therapy. In fact, she hadn’t had a panic attack since … since that first time she and Clint made love. Sex with Clint was way better than Prozac or Xanax.
Once in a great while she let the idea that she’d fired the shot that ended Justine’s life bother her, but then she remembered how many lives Justine had devastated, including her own, and she dismissed the whole concern.
Clint had moved in with her and they were both focused on the future.
Life in general was good.
“Em!”
A grin tugged at her lips and her heart skipped a beat.
Life with Clint was fantastic.
“In here!”
He burst into the room and her breath caught just as it did every morning when she woke up to find him lying in bed next to her.
“Guess what?” he said, excitement making those gray eyes glitter like silver stars. He swung his big, strong arms around her and pulled her close. “I got an A on the test.”
Pride welled in her chest. “I never doubted it for a second. You’re g
oing to be the best damned paralegal in the state!” Eventually he hoped to get his law degree, but no hurry. One step at a time. He wanted to be able to counsel those in trouble, especially those in prison. He knew firsthand just how badly good advice was needed.
“We need to celebrate.”
She couldn’t agree more.
He kissed her. Deeply, desperately, and daringly. She wanted him to kiss her like this every day for the rest of their lives.
They’d gotten married in August and Clint had enrolled in the university with a scholarship funded fully by the State of Alabama. As soon as he finished, he would go to work full-time and Emily would go back to school and go after that medical degree she’d always planned on. Maybe not as a doctor, maybe as a nurse like her mother or a physician’s assistant. Once school was behind them both, the baby making would begin. Who knew? Maybe before.
They finally had what they had both deserved more than a decade ago.
Clint deepened the kiss, dragged her down onto the bed, and, as he undressed her, she made one more life-altering decision … she was never looking back again.
Some things were simply better off left in the past.
Other things—Clint dragged her panties off and kissed his way up her thighs—were best suited to the here and now.
And to tomorrow. And to the day after that … .
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I must thank Stephanie Kip Rostan, my agent, for her relentless faith in my ability to make this leap. Her expert guidance, keen eye for detail, endless patience and outstanding grasp on the industry amaze me. She is simply incredible. I will forever be in her debt.
Jennifer Weis, wow! It is an honor to have her as an editor. Her enthusiasm and vision are remarkable. The sheer excitement she generates inspires me to reach deeper, to push the limits of the creative process. Working with Jennifer and the team at St. Martin’s is truly a privilege.
I sincerely want to thank teachers across America. As a dedicated parent volunteer for a number of years in the public school system, I am keenly aware of the hard work and dedication required to be a teacher. You are the people who shape our future, you have the most important job of all: teaching our children. I am ashamed of those who pretend to be one of you and who dare to harm a child.
