Her Last Chance

by Terri Reed

  To the left, Leah could just make out a structure on the riverbank and what looked like a road leading away from the water. She pointed to it and Roman nodded as he maneuvered the oars to take the boat to the shore.

  Once there, he jumped out and pulled the boat farther aground before helping Colleen out of the boat and carrying her to the rickety lean-to. He deposited her on a makeshift bench created from a two-by-four supported by two sawhorses.

  Leah moved to the front of the boat and was climbing out when Roman came back to help her. His firm and comforting grip on her elbow steadied her as she stepped from the boat onto the soft shore. Her sandals sank in the marshy mud and made walking forward difficult.

  She gasped when Roman swung her into his arms and lifted her from the ground. Reflexively, she hung on to his neck as he carried her to the shelter. So close to his skin, she breathed in his masculine scent and it filled her senses, making her want to snuggle close and forget the dangers waiting to pounce.

  He set her on the ground and she reluctantly withdrew her arms from around him, feeling bereft of his warmth. Needing a diversion from the handsome man pacing before her, she tried to force her memory to come back. She focused on the images from her nightmares, but nothing new surfaced. When the frustration became unbearable, she abandoned that futile endeavor and instead watched Roman.

  She never would have dreamed when she’d first seen him that she’d put her life into his hands. Why was he willing to protect her when he’d been so bent on gaining his bounty money?

  She approached him where he stood guard, watching the water and the road. By the light of the moon, she could make out the hard line of his jaw and the watchfulness of his dark eyes.

  Keeping her voice just above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the bayou, she asked, “When I asked you the other day why you weren’t turning me in, you said justice was more important than money. What does that mean? I don’t think many people would turn down money for justice.”

  His voice maintained the same quality as hers. “More people should stand up for those who’ve been knocked down and knocked around. Too few have felt the bite of injustice. And many who have didn’t deserve it.”

  Did that mean he’d been knocked around? A spasm of sympathy rushed through her. “Do you speak from experience?”

  When he didn’t immediately answer, she realized he had experienced injustice—or someone close to him, anyway—and he didn’t want to share the details with her. Why should he? Even though he professed to want justice, he still had doubts of her innocence. She couldn’t say she blamed him. She couldn’t be sure she wasn’t guilty until her memory returned.

  “I’m sorry, I have no right ask you that,” she said, and folded her arms over her chest.

  She sensed rather than saw his shrug. “It’s okay.”

  The sound of tires squishing on the muddy service road claimed their attention. Leah steeled herself for meeting his business partner as headlights slashed through the darkness and blinded her. Would this Mort person be as concerned with justice, or would he just as soon turn her in and collect a bounty? Using a hand to shield her eyes, she instinctively moved behind Roman.

  The brightness dimmed to the small orange parking lights of a big extended cab truck. The door on the driver’s side opened and a man climbed out. “Hey, boss,” Mort said as he ambled closer. His tall, thin frame was outlined in an amber glow.

  Roman met him with a handshake. “Did you find a place?”

  “Sure did. On the far side of town near the old pier,” Mort replied, his gaze landing on Leah.

  She ducked her chin. His lean face and wide-set eyes showed his curiosity.

  “Let’s get the ladies in the truck and get out of here,” Roman said, and walked away to gather Colleen into his arms.

  Exposed, Leah wrapped her arms around her middle.

  “So you’re the mystery woman,” Mort said, and stuck out a hand. “Mort Jenkins, at your service.”

  Swallowing back the wariness that made her want to refuse his offered hand, Leah placed her hand in his anyway. Roman trusted this man, and she doubted Roman’s trust was easily won. Mort’s handshake was firm and brief.

  “Let’s get you in the truck. Roman made it sound like y’all were being chased,” Mort said as he escorted Leah to the truck.

  “Yes, we were—are. They blew up Roman’s house.” Her throat constricted with sorrow at the loss of Roman’s home.

  “Whew, these boys mean business then,” Mort replied as he opened the door for the back of the cab.

  She climbed in and then helped to get Colleen settled on the seat beside her.

  Roman touched her hand briefly. “It’s going to be okay.”

  That he was trying to reassure her was sweet. She gave him a wan smile. If only she could believe that everything would be okay.

  But she didn’t know what to believe. Was she capable of murder? She prayed not. And someone was out to kill her. Why? What secrets were locked in her brain?

  Mort drove them around the outskirts of Loomis, past sleeping neighborhoods, to an old Victorian house. Even in the dim light of the high moon, Leah noted the house was in need of repair. The porch sagged and there were roof tiles missing. Mort parked the truck around the back, close to the door.

  “Best if no one sees you ladies enter,” Mort explained. “We wouldn’t want whoever’s after you to realize you’re here.”

  Roman came around for Colleen and helped her inside.

  Feeling conspicuous, even though the hour was so late, Leah quickly left the safety of the truck for the house. What if a neighbor was peering out a window, watching them?

  She entered the back door that led to a kitchen with stained, white linoleum flooring and out-of-date appliances. The pea-green color of the walls did nothing to cheer up the room. The air inside smelled slightly of mothballs and disinfectant.

  “This place could sure use some sprucing up,” Colleen muttered as Roman carried her inside. She tapped his shoulder. “Set me down, boy.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, and complied.

  Mort closed the door behind him. “This here place used to be a boardinghouse run by Vera Peel. Though her husband and his mistress were murdered decades ago, she was just recently arrested for the crime.”

  “There was a murder in this house?” Colleen shuddered. “I don’t think I can sleep where someone’s been murdered.”

  Mort held up his hand. “Now, I didn’t say someone was murdered here. Seems Mrs. Peel did her husband and his girlfriend in at some underground railroad tunnel used to smuggle out slaves back in the day.” He turned his hazel eyes on Leah. “From what I’ve gathered, the police were actually looking for you in the tunnels, Mrs. Farley, when they stumbled on the skeletal remains of the two dead bodies.”

  The thought that she might have been in that tunnel with the skeletons creeped her out.

  “Do the authorities know who the blood on the shoe belongs to yet?” Roman asked.

  Mort shrugged his thin shoulders. “The gossipmongers don’t know it but there’s plenty of speculation that it’s Dylan Renault’s.”

  Leah cringed and her stomach sank. Maybe she had killed Dylan. But why?

  “Tomorrow I’ll see what I can find out,” Roman said. “For now, I suggest we clean up and get some rest.”

  Leah hated to point out the obvious. “We have no clothes or anything to use to get clean.”

  “Not a problem,” Mort said. “This place came furnished and with clothes in several of the closets when I rented it from Mrs. Peel’s daughter. She said the stuff was left by boarders over the years. I’m sure y’all will find something useful.”

  Suppressing a shiver of revulsion over wearing other people’s clothes, Leah found something suitable to wear for the night for Colleen and herself. Thankfully, the garments smelled clean if a little musty.

  She decided in the morning she’d wash the rest of the outfits they would borrow. After clea
nsing showers, Leah settled Colleen into a strange bed.

  Yawning, Leah made her way to her own bed and fell back against the down pillow, wondering if she’d ever know a good night’s sleep again.

  A twig snapped. The hairs on the back of her neck quivered. Danger! The silent alert boomed inside her head as pain exploded. The ground rushed up to meet her. Sharp talons reached for her. She fought to get away from the beast that gripped her. More pain as something dark smothered her. She glimpsed the big black bird, its beak hung open as if letting out a mocking laugh that chilled her to the bone.

  Leah jolted awake. She scrambled to a sitting position. Her frantic gaze took stock of her surroundings. No dark bird loomed. She was safe in the bedroom of the upstairs apartment located in the old Peel boardinghouse. She took deep fortifying breaths as she tried to make sense of the dream.

  Closing her eyes, she realized she had glimpsed something else.

  Something she hoped would be a clue.

  The next morning, Roman and Mort joined the ladies for coffee and beignets, compliments of Mort’s trip to the local bakery at the crack of dawn.

  Too early for Roman. He’d spent a good portion of the night bringing Mort up to speed on this particular bounty. And Mort had an interesting bit of information to impart, as well. Disturbing information that Roman would have to verify before he said anything to Leah.

  “I had another nightmare last night,” Leah said, her expression worried.

  “Tell us about it,” Roman said, his gaze steady on Leah’s face. Dark circles marred the delicate skin beneath her warm brown eyes and concentration lined the edges of her mouth.

  He felt sorry for her. He didn’t like seeing her so worn out. She’d been through so much and there was still more to come.

  Leah closed her eyes, her eyebrows drawing together as she tried to recall her dream. “A house. Only not a normal house. Bigger, grander. At least it probably was at one time. In my dream it was very run-down. Dilapidated. Overgrown with bushes and wisteria. There were columns, a wide porch.” She opened her eyes. “That’s all.”

  “That’s a start,” Roman said, encouraged by the slow bits of memory returning.

  Mort rubbed his chin with his hand. “There are a lot of old plantation homes in the South that could match that description, but the only one here in Loomis would be Renault Hall. No one’s lived there for years from what I’ve been told.” He looked at Roman. “You asked me to get the lay of the land. Let me tell y’all there are some wagging tongues in this town only too glad to spill some gossip to newcomers. Renault Hall is where Dylan Renault was murdered.”

  Leah’s face blanched. “Dylan was…”

  Roman’s stomach dropped. Dread snaked through his system. She remembered the scene of Dylan’s murder! The thought that maybe she was guilty of Dylan’s death hung in the tense air around them.

  Colleen reached over to take Leah’s hand.

  Mort drew their attention. “Originally, the sheriff accused Max Pershing of killing Renault when a land deal went south between them. But he was later released without being charged.”

  “Now that doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Colleen said. “Why would a Pershing and Renault join forces when their families have been feuding since…well, since before any of us were born?”

  “Ah, so you know your Loomis history. I’ve been privy to all the juicy tidbits,” Mort stated. “Y’all will appreciate that Ava Renault and Max Pershing are engaged. Seems the whole town’s abuzz.”

  Colleen’s gray eyes widened. “Ooh-whee, I’m sure Miz Charla’s fit to be tied.”

  Mort’s mouth quirked. “Yes, from what I understand, both the Renault and the Pershing matriarchs are not exactly jumping with joy. But Lenore Pershing went to extreme measures to break apart her son and Charla’s daughter. She tried to frame Max for Dylan’s murder.”

  Leah shook her head. “I don’t think I’d want to get on the bad side of either of those two ladies.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about Mrs. Pershing. She was arrested and sent to jail for trying to poison Charla Renault during the Mother of the Year Pageant last month.”

  “This town’s a regular Peyton Place,” Roman observed, not liking the penchant for gossip that seemed to permeate Loomis. Even so, the rumor mills would be a useful source for information in the next couple of days as he tried to figure out who was trying to keep Leah missing.

  He captured Leah’s free hand. Her bones seemed so small and crushable within his big grip. “I’d like to take you out there, to Renault Hall. See if being in the surroundings will bring back your memory.”

  Though she shuddered, she lifted her chin with a determined air. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

  Roman appreciated and admired her bravery. “Not during daylight. Too risky, you might be seen.”

  “Well, y’all can’t go there at night. The place is a disaster. You’d never be able to see anything,” Mort interjected. “I’d suggest y’all go at the break of day tomorrow, before the good citizens of Loomis start their mornings.”

  “Good idea, Mort,” Roman said.

  “Hey, y’all didn’t hire me for my good looks,” Mort quipped.

  Roman laughed. “True.” He’d hired Mort because the man was excellent at gathering information. Roman had needed someone with anonymity. People didn’t view Mort as a threat, with his congenial smile and unassuming looks. He blended in well in most situations and knew what questions to ask without stirring up suspicion.

  With Roman, people took one look at him and either braced themselves for battle or turned tail and ran. Just like Leah had that first day. Just how he liked it. Normally.

  “What’ll we do until then?” Leah asked, drawing his attention.

  “Lie low,” Roman answered. “I also think it’s time I inform your brother that you’re alive and in town.”

  She bit her lower lip. “I’m not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I can’t remember him.”

  “Maybe seeing him will jog your memory,” Roman said.

  “If you think it’s a good idea, then call him.”

  Her faith in his judgment pleased him. He found Clint’s number in his BlackBerry and pushed Send. A minute later, voice mail picked up. Roman didn’t leave a message. Telling Clint about his sister wasn’t something he wanted to do on a machine. Next, he tried Clint’s office number.

  The receptionist picked up. “Herald Construction.”

  “Clint, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Herald and his family are on vacation this week. Can I take a message for when he returns?” she asked, her voice cheery and friendly.

  His family? Did the woman mean Sarah? Or was there someone else in the picture? “When will he return?”

  “A few days.” Wariness entered the woman’s tone. “Was there a message?”

  “No. No message.” Roman hung up. “He’s on vacation.”

  Leah’s eyes widened. “He took Sarah somewhere?”

  “I assume.”

  Leah was quiet for a moment. “That’s probably good, then. At least I know she’s safe with Clint.”

  “Yes.” At least he hoped so. He chose not to mention the whole family comment to Leah. “If you need anything from town, give Mort a list.”

  As the ladies began making their list for Mort, Roman excused himself and took his cell phone to the parlor. He sat down on the hard, gold-and-blue brocade settee. There was a text waiting for him from Karl. Anticipation roared in his ears. He clicked open the text. His breathing quickened and adrenaline pumped through his veins as he read the words. I think I might have a bite. I’ll know within the next forty-eight hours.

  What was forty-eight hours compared to the past twenty years?

  Soon, very soon, he would have a line on the man responsible for his mother’s death.

  FIVE

  Nerves kept Leah awake most of the night, so when the first rays of dawn chased away the shadows of darkness, she was up, dressed and champ
ing at the bit to go to Renault Hall.

  Determination and desperation gnawed at her. She had to remember more, and somehow this Renault Hall was an integral part of what was locked in her brain.

  She donned a pair of jeans a couple sizes too big and held them up with a leather belt. She also put on a white long-sleeved men’s T-shirt that covered the mosquito bites on her arms from the swamp last night. She found a baseball cap on the top shelf of the hall closet to complete her outfit.

  As she entered the kitchen, Roman offered her a Thermos full of coffee. “Good morning,” he said with a smile. “Any more dreams?”

  “No. I didn’t sleep much.” With a grateful smile, she took the container, unscrewed the cap and breathed in the strong scent of caffeine. She took a sturdy swig of the warm liquid before screwing the lid back on. Her stomach rumbled with hunger.

  “You should probably eat something before we head out.” He rinsed out his mug and set it on the drain board.

  “I’ll eat a banana on the way,” she said, taking the piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter. “I need to let Grandmother Colleen know we’re leaving.”

  “We’ll be back before she’s awake,” Roman said, and opened the back door.

  Even so, she scribbled a note in case she did awake before they returned. Leah didn’t want the older woman to worry. With that done, Leah followed Roman to the truck parked out the back door.

  He started up the engine. “Just in case, slump down in the seat.”

  She slid down until she could barely see out the front window. The banana tasted like chalk in her dry mouth. She managed to drink from the Thermos without spilling.

  As the town of Loomis went by, she tried to dredge up some memory of what she was seeing. The bakery was the only place with any activity on Main Street. Leah slunk lower in the seat as they passed.

  Ten minutes later, Roman brought the truck to a halt a block from Renault Hall. “We’re here.”

  Leah sat up and gazed at the overgrown front yard of the big, dingy gray Greek Revival house. She waited for any inkling of memory, her breath stilling.