Her Last Chance

by Terri Reed

  “Grandmother!” Abigail cried out.

  The old woman was slowly working her way down the front porch stairs, gripping the hand railing. She’d left her walker at the top of the stairs. She teetered and tottered and looked as if at any moment she’d tumble head over heels down the steps.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Roman growled, and headed in Colleen’s direction while still holding firmly to Leah’s upper arm.

  When they reached Colleen, Roman and Leah steadied the old woman and helped her down the last of the stairs.

  “The walker,” Leah stated with a plea in her gaze.

  With a roll of his eyes, Roman momentarily released Leah to grab the walker. He set the thing in front of Colleen and then took Leah by the arm again.

  “If you’re fixin’on taking her, you’re taking me, too,” the grandmother declared, her expression determinedly stubborn. Obviously, the prospect of prison hadn’t deterred her.

  Great. Why not? The more the merrier. Yeah, right. Brother, could this job get any more complicated? “Okay, ladies, this is how we’re going to do this. I take Grams along on one condition.”

  “What condition?” Leah asked, her brown eyes wary.

  “You don’t try to escape. If you’re really who you think you are, then you’ll be home before supper.”

  Colleen huffed. “Of course, we will. I have a roast we need to cook.”

  Leah stayed silent, her mysterious dark eyes holding secrets. He didn’t want to know what they were. He was just the retrieval service, not the investigator. He’d left that part behind years ago. “Agreed?”

  She slowly nodded.

  With Leah on his right and Colleen on his left, Roman marched the two ladies very slowly and carefully toward his vehicle baking in the hot June sun.

  At the SUV, he maneuvered the women around the back and to the passenger side. Opening the back door, he helped Colleen inside and buckled her up. When Leah moved to go around to the other side, he caught her hand, keenly aware of how slight she was and how easily he could crush her delicate bones. He steered her to the front passenger seat. “I want you where I can see you.”

  The sharp ping of metal hitting metal sent Roman’s adrenal glands into hyperdrive. A bullet shattered the window in the passenger door, barely missing Leah’s head. She screamed and ducked.

  “Get in, get in,” Roman commanded. Leah climbed into the seat. “Stay down,” he ordered.

  Just as Roman slammed the door shut, another bullet hit the door inches from him. One second sooner and that bullet would have been embedded in Leah.

  In a crouch, he ran around the front of the SUV to the driver’s side. Thankfully, he’d left his keys in the ignition, though he hadn’t anticipated a gunfight or a car chase.

  He started up the SUV and spun the tires as he turned the wheel and pressed the gas, shooting them forward down the drive to the two-lane highway.

  Right or left? He didn’t know where the shots had come from, so he could only choose a direction and pray they didn’t run into an ambush. Right took them toward Loomis. The logical choice would be to take her in and collect his money.

  He turned left, because obviously someone wanted Leah dead, not returned.

  A dead bounty meant no money.

  But a dead Leah also meant not finding out the truth for Clint, and justice wouldn’t be served.

  Why would someone not want Earl Farley and Dylan Renault’s murderer brought in?

  The deeply ingrained need to bring the bad guys to justice wouldn’t allow Roman to abandon this woman, especially since he wasn’t sure she was the bad guy.

  Roman drove at breakneck speed down the highway, heading into the swamplands of the Louisiana bayou. Tall, bald cypress trees silver-green with moss loomed, their ancient branches hanging like spidery fingers reaching out to capture the unsuspecting.

  The woman beside him gripped the dash with both hands.

  The old woman repeatedly gasped, “Oh, my!”

  In the rearview mirror, a small red car gained on them. Roman pressed harder on the gas, pushing the SUV to the limit. The huge engine wound out with a roar. Up ahead, the road curved.

  Behind them, the car closed the gap. A sports car. Go figure.

  Roman cranked the wheel, tires squealing as they took the curve. For a moment the car behind them wasn’t visible.

  Roman’s gaze snagged on a dirt road to the right. Without hesitation, he turned the vehicle down the un-paved path, which was full of potholes. The SUV bumped along, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.

  Behind them the little sports car turned onto the dirt road and came to a sliding halt. Roman smiled and kept driving until he couldn’t see the car anymore. He didn’t have any idea where they were headed, but the road had to lead somewhere. He slowed to a more reasonable speed.

  Wanting to figure out just what was going on, he asked, “How come someone wants you dead, Leah?”

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know,” she whispered.

  Roman stepped on the brake and brought the car to a grinding halt. “Are you Leah Farley?”

  Leah sank back against the door, her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything before the day I woke up in a ditch and found my grandmother’s house.”

  “You woke up in a ditch?” Roman asked, his voice rife with doubt.

  “I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s true. One day last January I awoke alongside the road. My head was bleeding and I was all scraped up.”

  “You should have seen her,” Colleen interjected. “I declare. Such a mess. Her hair was matted and her clothes torn and caked with dirt. Couldn’t even remember me, her own grandmother.”

  “I honestly have no memories before that day.” Tears slipped silently down Leah’s cheeks. The heartbreaking agony on her face twisted a knot the size of the state of Louisiana in Roman’s chest.

  Not sure whether to believe her or not, Roman steeled himself against any softening. He couldn’t let emotions sway him. The story seemed too convenient, yet she sounded sincere.

  Six months ago she’d dropped her daughter off at her brother Clint’s and disappeared. If what she said was true, it sounded as if she’d been taken against her will. Who took her? Why?

  Plus, obviously someone wanted her dead.

  Until he knew who and why, he wasn’t taking her back to Loomis.

  He took out his BlackBerry and activated the GPS, then scrolled through the commands until he had the information he wanted. He started up the engine.

  “Where are we going?” Leah asked, her voice nervous.

  “This road will take us to Tangipahoa Parish, and I know a place we can go while I try to figure out what’s going on.”

  “You’re not taking me in?”

  He shifted into Drive. “No.”

  “But what about your bounty?”

  “Justice is more important than money,” he stated his own personal mantra. “Besides, I consider your brother a friend, and even though I owe your brother-in-law, Dennis, a huge debt of honor, something hinky is going on. I’m reserving the right to a grace period before collecting my cash.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Make no mistake, lady. If you are Leah Farley, and if you did kill those men, you are going to jail.”

  “But I didn’t,” she protested. “I couldn’t. I mean, I don’t think I could.”

  The frustration and fear in her eyes was real, making Roman believe that maybe she was telling him the truth. “Then we better figure out who did.”

  They drove in silence for a few miles before Leah asked, “You said you owe Dennis Farley a debt of honor. Did you serve in the military together?”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “No. Dennis saved my life one night after I’d been shot by a bail jumper.”

  “You were shot? How awful,” she said, sympathy reverberating in her tone.

  Remembering the horror of that night brought back the strange yearning he’d felt as he’d la
in there bleeding, believing he was going to die. He’d cried out to God in desperation, like some clichéd tale. God had evidently been listening. The parable of the Good Samaritan would forever have personal meaning to him.

  An hour later, Roman brought the vehicle to a halt in front of a weathered, clapboard house.

  “This is where we’re going to figure things out?” Leah asked with disbelief.

  Roman agreed the farmhouse wasn’t much to look at, but it was his, left to him by his mother’s parents. He and his mother had lived here before she died. “It may not be the Ritz, but let’s hope no one knows about it.”

  With his laptop case slung over his shoulder, Roman helped Colleen out of the SUV and up the two concrete stairs to the covered entrance. Using a key on his rabbit’s-foot key ring, he unlocked the door.

  “Who owns this place?” Leah asked as she stepped inside.

  “I do.” He didn’t watch to see her reaction. Her opinion of him or the house didn’t matter.

  As he entered, he looked at the place with a fresh perspective, that of a stranger. The years hadn’t been kind to the inside. Flowered wallpaper, yellowed with age, curled along the seams and baseboards. Knotty pine floors that once had shined now were dull and dusty.

  When he’d come to stay with his grandparents every summer while his mother worked, the house had been spotless and the world a wonderful place. He helped his grandfather with the chores. Back then there were animals for milking and a garden for tending, and then they’d spend hours fishing on Lake Pontchartrain.

  But after his grandfather died of lung cancer and his grandmother succumbed to pneumonia, twelve-year-old Roman and his mother had moved in. And life was never the same.

  Sadness filtered through his stoic reserve. There weren’t many happy memories here now, only guilt, thick and oppressive, weighing on Roman like heavy bricks tied to his back.

  Forcing away the unwanted emotion, Roman led the women into the living room where he settled Colleen in a leather recliner. The chair squeaked with disuse as she relaxed back against the cushions.

  “I declare, I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much excitement.” She held a hand over her heart. “I’m surprised my old ticker is still kicking, what with bullets flying and car chases.”

  Leah knelt beside Colleen. Taking the older woman’s hand in hers, Leah said, “I’m sorry to have put you through such an ordeal. This is entirely my fault.”

  “Nonsense, child. I wouldn’t have missed this adventure for the world.” Colleen touched Leah’s cheek.

  Uncomfortable with the two ladies’ display of affection, Roman said, “Are either of you thirsty? There’s a case of bottled water in the cellar along with some other food supplies.”

  “In the cellar?” Leah questioned.

  “It’s good to have a safe place in case I need to lay low for a while.” In case I ever find the man who destroyed my mother’s life.

  He gestured to the laptop he’d carried in from the car. “I’m going to do some digging, see what I can find out about your husband’s death and that of Dylan Renault.”

  “Who is Dylan Renault?” Leah asked, her expression puzzled.

  Colleen snorted. “A no-good louse just like his great granddaddy, if you ask me. The Renaults practically run Loomis. But it’s the Pershings who own most of the property downtown, which, let me tell you, fries Charla Renault’s hide to no end.”

  “I remember there being a feud between the two families,” Roman commented, picturing his days in high school when the Renault kids, Ava and Dylan, would butt heads with Max Pershing. Roman had had his own demons to battle, so he hadn’t paid that much attention to the town’s golden children.

  Colleen nodded. “That there is. Seventy-some-odd years ago, Roland Renault the third married Mayor Scooter Pershing’s daughter. I was just a little girl, but my own mama witnessed Ronald’s philandering ways, which led poor Melinda to commit suicide.” Colleen shook her head. “Such a tragedy. She was pregnant at the time.”

  “That’s awful,” Leah said.

  “Yes, it is. The two families have been fighting over land, mayorships, friends and anything imaginable ever since,” Colleen concluded.

  “And the police think I had something to do with Dylan Renault’s death?” Leah shook her head. “I can’t even picture Dylan, let alone Earl Farley. How come the authorities believe I killed these men?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out,” Roman replied, pulling out his BlackBerry and punching in a number. “I have a contact on the Loomis police force. I’m going to see what he can share with me.”

  He could only pray the information would be helpful and not damaging to the pretty, fragile lady in his charge.

  Leah watched as Roman wandered off to another part of the house, his phone to his ear. Big and brawny, with thick, dark hair and black-as-night eyes, dressed in black jeans, a black T-shirt and black boots, he reminded her of the hunter in the Terminator movies she’d recently seen on Colleen’s old RCA television set. Leah prayed Roman turned out to be more like the Terminator in the second movie, where his sole mission was to protect.

  Because obviously she needed protection.

  But from whom? She clenched her fists.

  She’d known the day would come when she’d be found, but she’d hoped to have her memory back first.

  In the spring while shopping for some supplies in Folsom, she’d discovered the truth: she wasn’t Abigail Lang, as Colleen professed, but Leah Farley. Mother of three-year-old Sarah Farley.

  That hurt the worst. Why couldn’t she remember her daughter, at least?

  An ache deep in her soul throbbed. Ever since she’d seen the news article about her disappearance and abandonment of her child, she’d been plagued with guilt and fear. What if she really did do the things she’d been accused of?

  She prayed every night that she hadn’t.

  Because if she had, her daughter deserved better.

  TWO

  After viewing the newspaper article back in April, Leah hadn’t been able to stop herself from going to see her child. She’d done a little investigating of her own and hidden in the bushes near where her daughter played. The little golden-haired girl, so perfect, had brought tears to Leah’s eyes. But no memories had surfaced, much to her disappointment.

  “Dear, are you all right?”

  Leah forced a smile for Colleen. “Just very confused and scared. I wish I knew why someone wanted to kill me.”

  Colleen took her hand and rubbed it. “God will protect you. He has already sent us Mr. Black.”

  “True.” Though she couldn’t remember her past, Leah had a deep faith in God that surpassed memory. And thinking that Roman’s arrival at the Lang farm was God-ordained made her feel good, like maybe God really loved her even though she had no memory.

  “I’ll take a cold glass of water now,” Colleen said.

  “I’ll be right back.” Leah headed for the kitchen.

  She found the door to the cellar and cautiously went down the dark staircase. She groped along the wall until she found the light switch. The small room was indeed stocked with canned goods, bottled water and a cot with several blankets. A radio sat on a little round bedside table. Stacks and stacks of comic books lined one wall. Curious, she inspected the titles. The Maze Agency, Batman, Superman and the League of Superheroes—even Spider-Man. Quite the collection. Quite the fascination with heroes.

  Did Roman have a hero complex? And what made him need a place to hide?

  Did bounty hunters have to “lay low” often? From whom? The law? Or the bad guys?

  She shuddered and hurriedly grabbed two bottles of water.

  Though handsome in a rugged way, Roman’s sheer size and demeanor scared her, yet there was something that tugged at her, making her want to trust him. Maybe it was the way he’d elected to protect her rather than turn her over. Or maybe it was the pain she sensed when they’d first walked into the house. He said he owned th
e place, yet she didn’t get the feeling that he felt like the house was home.

  She returned to the kitchen, closing the cellar door behind her. The freezer luckily had some ice cubes, which she took and put in a glass. He may not live here, but he maintained the property with running water and electricity. The little house obviously meant something to him, more than just a place to hide in.

  She carried the ice-filled glass and one bottle of water to the living room, where she found Colleen softly snoring.

  Glad that her “grandmother” was resting, Leah set the glass and bottle on the floor beside the recliner and headed off to find Roman. They needed to talk about food, clothing and Colleen’s medicines.

  She found him in what traditionally would be considered the parlor, but now held nothing but a small beat-up leather love seat and a coffee table. His computer was open and running when she walked in.

  He waved her over and pointed to the screen.

  She sucked in a breath. There was her picture and the news article she’d seen while in the Piggly Wiggly near Folsom. Her gaze shifted to Roman. His unreadable dark eyes stared at her, piercing her all the way to her soul. She swallowed back the protestations that rose. She couldn’t continue claiming ignorance of the truth. If she had any hope of reclaiming her life and her daughter, she had to take the risk and trust Roman.

  What had Colleen said? God will protect you. He has already sent us Mr. Black.

  She needed to honor the protection God provided. She had to come clean. “That’s me.”

  He lifted his dark eyebrows. “So you admit you’re Leah Farley?”

  She inhaled, then released the air in a swoosh and her resolve stiffened. “Yes. I am Leah Farley. But you have to believe me when I say I don’t remember being Leah. I only know who I really am because I read it in the newspaper and saw that picture of myself.”

  “What are you yammering on about?” Colleen said, her voice rising with each word as she came tottering into the room, her walker scraping across the hardwood floor. “You’re Abigail Lang. My grandbaby.”