by Terri Reed
Leah held on for a moment as she fought her tears. “Thank you.”
Jocelyn leaned back with a smile. “You can’t live your life afraid of the gossipmongers of Loomis. Besides, Coral has her own baggage to carry around. She falsely accused Shelby’s fiancé, Patrick, of rape back in college, but then the truth came to light that she’d lied. I’m sure she’s just glad the gossip mill in town is off her and on to you. And soon it will go on to something else. Always does.”
Leah appreciated Jocelyn’s attempt to make her feel better.
Nothing changed the fact that once the world knew she had been raped, she’d carry the stigma of being victimized for the rest of her life.
There had to be a way to keep the rape secret while the rest of the truth was brought forward. There just had to be.
NINE
“You’re what?” Leah asked, sure she hadn’t heard Roman correctly. “Leaving? Now?”
His expression begged her to understand, but she didn’t. She paced away from him on the small patio outside the back door of the Peel house. A rusty patio set dominated the cement floor and an empty oak barrel sat forlornly at the edge of the patio as if waiting for someone to take notice and plant cheery flowers in its interior. Leah felt anything but cheery.
“I know this seems abrupt, but I have to. You’ll be well taken care of here now. Clive has everything handled. Your brother is available if needed, and you’ve got Colleen to keep you company while you work with Jocelyn.”
“But how come? Can’t whatever it is wait? What if someone comes after me again?” She really didn’t want to go through this without him. He’d become her rock, her anchor through this stormy nightmare.
He pulled her to the metal chairs and sat with her beside him. His expression beseeched her to understand. Taking her hands in his, he said, “I told you my mother died. But that isn’t the whole truth. She didn’t just die, she killed herself.”
Her heart filled with pain. “Oh, Roman, I’m so…sorry. Why? How come she would do such a thing? How could a mother do that?”
“She was driven to it by the torment of—” He swiped a hand over his chin as if trying to gather his composure. “She was raped, Leah.”
A spasm of agony tightened in her stomach as tears burned the backs of her eyes. His mother had suffered the same fate she had, only instead of suicide, Leah’s memory had vacated, leaving her child abandoned just as Roman’s mother had left him. She reached out to hug him, to offer what little solace she could.
He eased her back, his hands firm on her upper arms. “I’ve waited twenty years to find the man who attacked my mother. Now, my prayers have finally been answered.”
His words didn’t compute in her brain. “I don’t understand. The man wasn’t arrested at the time?”
“No. He vanished, leaving my mother broken and abused.”
A dreadful feeling stirred low in the pit of her stomach. “Then how do you know who he is?”
He closed his eyes a moment as if the answer were too hurtful to say. When he opened his eyes, there was such hatred and malice in their inky depths that she leaned away from him, not out of fear as much as surprise.
“I saw it happen. I saw him rape my mother. And I couldn’t stop him,” he uttered.
Horror, stark and vivid, gripped her by the throat. “You said your mother died when you were eighteen.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Five years after the rape.”
She did the math. And what it added up to sent dismay spiraling through her. “You were, what? Thirteen? You can’t blame yourself, Roman. How could you have stopped it?”
His gaze turned to the landscape, but she sensed he wasn’t seeing the dry grass or the cypress trees. “I should have been able to. My mother worked as a cocktail waitress for the Blue Oyster Bar. At nights, she’d stash me in the storage room with my comic books and a cot.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “One night, she was closing up and a customer she’d had a problem with earlier in the evening slipped in again through the back door. I heard a noise that was out of place. I went to investigate and saw him forcing himself on her. I grabbed a chair and hit him with it. He backhanded me and sent me flying. But I still saw what he did. Then he was gone, and my mother was on the floor, sobbing. He’d busted her nose, as well as raped her.”
A deep, gut-wrenching ache filled Leah’s soul. No child should have to witness such violence. She hated that there was so much evil in the world. Evil that had touched both of their lives.
She slid her arm around his shoulders and laid her head against his biceps, offering the only comfort she could. There were no words that would adequately convey the empathy she felt for him and his mother. Were these deep feelings echoes of her past? Had she felt the same way when she’d discovered her dead husband?
“If you knew what he looked like, why didn’t the police arrest him?” she asked, her voice shaky with tears of grief.
“Like you said, I was a kid. They didn’t listen much to me, nor did they try very hard to find him.” The anger in his tone echoed through the stillness of the backyard.
“But your mother’s testimony? Surely the authorities listened to her.”
“My mom denied it. Said she’d fallen to explain her busted nose. She didn’t want anyone to know what had happened. She wanted to keep it a secret.”
Her whole being stilled. She understood his mother’s desire not to tell. Leah hadn’t told when Dylan raped her, and she still didn’t want anyone to know. Yet, look how keeping the truth hidden had destroyed Roman’s mother. Leah’s heart hurt. “So that’s why you went into law enforcement? So others wouldn’t have to go through the same thing?”
He gave a short, brittle laugh. “No, my reasons weren’t that honorable. I became a cop to track down the dirtbag. I’d saved a shot glass the man drank from, and as soon as I was on the force, I started running his prints. Today there was finally a hit. He raped again.”
Her mouth dried out. She was almost afraid to ask—knowing he was capable of killing someone in cold blood would be hard to deal with. But her need to know outweighed her need to sugarcoat the situation. “You want revenge.”
“I want justice,” he said, his voice hard-edged. He stood and paced.
“What will that give you?”
He glanced at her. “Peace. Satisfaction. Redemption. Take your pick.”
Everything inside her shrank from him now. Her deep faith made her sadly aware of how mistaken he was. “You won’t find any of those. Vengeance isn’t yours to take.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. “I know. I know. ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’ I’ve heard the scripture. But that doesn’t mean the guy should be allowed to get away with what he did.” His hands fisted at his sides. A hard light entered his gaze. “He has to pay.”
Her breath seized in her lungs, making her chest tight. With effort, she said, “You want to kill him.”
“Yes. I want to extract the justice due my mother.”
“But you can’t. Only God can claim justice,” she cried.
“God brought me this opportunity,” Roman argued, his jaw set in a stubborn line.
“God wouldn’t orchestrate a murder. Ever. And that’s what you’re talking about. Murdering this man as an act of revenge. You’ll lose your soul if you make that choice.”
“The man has to pay,” he insisted, his dark eyes flashing with rage.
“But you can’t be his judge, jury and executioner. How can you think that in choosing to do this you’ll gain any peace?”
He spun away from her, his hands flexing at his sides. “I have to go, Leah.”
She rose from the chair, her hand outstretched. If she could physically touch him, she might be able to reach his heart and soul. “No, Roman, you don’t have to. You choose to. Please don’t choose to be like him.”
The back door banged open as Mort came bounding out. “Hey, I…” He stopped in his tracks, his gaze going from Lea
h to Roman. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” Roman said, his face a mask of stone. “What do you want?”
Mort blinked. “Uh, Deputy Olsen called. Chuck’s been spotted at the old Renault estate. Olsen said he’d give us first crack at talking to him before he passed on the information to the sheriff.” A gleam entered Mort’s hazel eyes. “I think Deputy Olsen’s looking to replace the sheriff, if you ask me.”
“He’d be good for this town,” Roman replied, his gaze never leaving Leah’s face. “Let’s go find Chuck and get him to talk.”
Leah nearly crumbled in relief. He wasn’t leaving, at least not yet. As she followed the men to the truck, she sent up a silent plea to the Lord for guidance. How could she make Roman understand that two acts of evil would only result in more pain?
Roman stole a glance at Leah. She sat between him and Mort in the cab of the truck as they rambled through Loomis toward the Renault plantation house. The pensive expression on her lovely face made him wonder if she were thinking about his revelations.
Why he’d told Leah of his mother’s rape was beyond him. He never talked about that night to anyone. He’d had girlfriends in the past, but he’d never felt compelled to share his private grief with any of them the way he had felt compelled to do with Leah.
Maybe it was her current situation that made him feel the need to open up. Or maybe the things Colleen had said about Leah being taken with him had softened his heart and turned his brain to mush.
Roman just didn’t know what to think or feel. His heart told him to listen to Leah, but his mind screamed that he had to take the opportunity presented or he’d never redeem himself, never be able to live fully.
The need for revenge and his faith warred inside his mind, heart and soul, causing a riot of acid to churn inside him. Where were the antacids when you needed them?
He forced himself to focus on finishing what he’d started here in Loomis—protecting Leah and making sure that justice was served in her case, to whatever end that led.
Once they found Chuck and discovered whom he’d seen, Roman would then be able to leave without feeling as if he’d failed Leah. At least he hoped.
Mort brought the truck to a halt near the dilapidated front gate. “This place gives me the creeps,” he stated.
“Me, too,” Leah agreed.
Roman opened the door, anxious to get this done. “Mort, you circle around the left side of the house, and Leah and I will go around the right side. If you find Chuck, detain him,” Roman instructed before stepping out of the truck.
He turned to help Leah out of the cab. She offered him a smile as she took his offered hand. Her delicate fingers closed around his and the pressure she exerted sent tingles zinging up his arm to curl through his chest and wrap around his heart.
He tried to fight the welling of affection coming up from his very depths. The desire to be who she wanted him to be blasted through him like a rocket launcher. But he couldn’t be that person. Not until he had justice for his mother.
Releasing Leah’s hand, he stepped away, as if distance between them would alleviate some of his inner turmoil. She gave him a curious look before grabbing the Thermos of black coffee they’d brought just in case they would need to sober Chuck up.
He held the gate open for her to pass through, then followed her through the overgrown front garden. The scent of summer flowers mingled with the decaying smell of plant life gave the hot Louisiana air a putrid tinge. They rounded the corner of the house and stopped beside the looming stone birdbath with the huge brass pelican clutching the side.
Leah stared at the fountain, lines of concentration marring the delicate skin around her eyes and mouth. Then she shook her head. “I hate this ugly thing.”
“Do you remember anything else?” Roman asked.
“No, nothing new. Just that flash of red.” She looked around. “Do you think Chuck is inside the main house? Or could he be in there?” she asked, pointing toward the garage.
Mort came to join them and gestured toward the house. “I’ll look inside if you two want to take the garage.”
“That works,” Roman said.
Leading Leah to the garage, Roman made his way carefully to the side window. The glass was too dirty to see through. They circled around the small building and found a door in the back. When Roman tried the knob, it easily turned in his hand. The hinges squeaked as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Stale air and another pungent odor met them.
“Phew,” Leah said, waving the air away from her nose.
“Alcohol,” Roman whispered, and put a finger to his lips. “I think we’ve found Chuck’s other lair.”
Dirt covered the cement floor, the wooden wall was in need of repair and the windows were so dingy they muted the sun’s glow. In the far corner on top of a pile of burlap sacks and worn blankets, a man lay curled in the fetal position. Short red hair stuck up in all directions from his round head. His face, even in repose, looked haggard with stubble covering his jaw and chin. The clothes hanging on his thin frame had seen too many days and appeared to barely be holding together by the threads.
Empathy blew through Roman, making him wince. How did a man get in this state? He’d never understood homelessness. Was it a product of self-pity or circumstances?
There were places that would provide shelter and food, even in a town like Loomis, yet here Chuck was, reeking of alcohol and living in an abandoned building.
Shaking off his unproductive thoughts, Roman shook Chuck awake.
“Whaaat?” Chuck muttered, and batted at Roman’s hands.
“Wake up,” Roman said. “We need to talk to you.”
Chuck grumbled and groused as he sat up, holding his head as if to keep it on. “Ugh. Why’d ya go ’n wake me? I was haven’ a good dream.”
Roman squatted down to eye level with the man and ignored the stench emanating from his foul breath. “Chuck, listen. We need your help.”
Chuck frowned and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I can’t help no one.”
Leah moved forward with the Thermos. “Here, drink this.”
The smell of coffee chased the less favorable odors away. Chuck eyed Leah and the coffee suspiciously. “How do I know you ain’t gonna poison me with that?”
“Why would we want to poison you?” Leah asked.
“You work for her, don’t you?”
“Who?” Roman asked.
Chuck shook his head, agitation making his movements jerky. He cringed from Roman. “I told her I wouldn’t say nothing.”
Anticipation mounted. Roman tried for calm even though he wanted to reach out and shake the answers out of the man. But first he had to sober him up. “Look, I’ll drink some first.” He drank from the Thermos. “See, no poison.”
With a shaky hand, Chuck reached out and drank from the Thermos. Roman exchanged a glance with Leah. The guy was a little nutty.
“Tell us about the red-haired woman,” Leah said in a soothing tone.
Chuck recoiled. “No.”
“You saw her hurt someone,” Roman prompted, trying to keep his voice even.
Chuck scrambled away until he was wedged in the corner, his hands covering his ears. “No, no, no. I won’t tell.”
Frustration gripped Roman in a tight vice. He stood and clenched his jaw as he stared at the cowering man. “This is getting us nowhere.”
Leah put her hand on his arm, the pressure enough to grab his attention. “Let me try.”
Roman made a “go ahead” gesture with his hand.
She moved to where Chuck rocked on his heels. Lowering herself to a sitting position, she said, “Chuck, no one is going to hurt you. We won’t let them. But we really need you to tell us what you saw.”
Chuck shook his head.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
His head bobbed up and down.
“The police say I killed my husband and Dylan Renault.”
Chuck’s eyes widened. H
e shook his head vigorously. “You didn’t kill no one.”
Hope that he could help clear her name made her voice shaky. “No, Chuck, I didn’t. At least I don’t think so. You see, I can’t remember. Someone hit me on the head and I’ve lost my memory.” She tried to appeal to his conscience. “I need you to help me.”
Chuck’s face screwed up tight. “She hit you!”
Heart beating wildly, Leah said, “She did?”
He nodded as he moved closer. “Who else would? You’re lucky she didn’t use her gun on you the way she did the others. She’s a coward.”
Ignoring his stench, Leah laid her hand on his arm. “Who did you see her shoot?”
He seemed to shrink. His gaze darted around as if he was worried someone would overhear. “Earl. Dylan. Angelina.”
Leah’s gaze flew to Roman. He made a rolling motion with his hand, which she figured meant keep Chuck talking. She focused back on the man beside her. “Please tell me who killed them. Who hurt me?”
He clutched her hand. His bloodshot eyes implored her. “You sure you won’t let her hurt me?”
“I promise.”
He shook his head and backed away. “You won’t believe me. She said no one would believe me.”
Holding on to her patience by a thin thread, Leah said, “I promise I’ll believe you.”
For a moment his blurry-eyed gaze searched her face as if trying to decide if she was telling the truth. He clamped his jaw tight and shook his head.
“You saw her face?” Leah probed. She needed him to tell her who he saw. “Please, tell me. Does she have red hair?”
“A red wig.” He wrinkled his nose. “And she stinks.”
“Stinks?”
“Yeah. A sickly sweet kinda stink.”
Leah sat back on her heels. She’d remembered a sickly sweet smell when she’d recalled the bird fountain. “Did you see this woman here, at the fountain?”
“Maybe,” Chuck said, stubbornness tightening the lines around his mouth. “I’m not gonna say any more. I don’t want to be knocked on the head and shot in the back and left for dead.”
