Blind Trust

by Terri Blackstock

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “All right. While you’re handling things, the fiancé slips out and goes home, even though you told him to stay put. Next thing you know, someone’s tried to kill him, and almost succeeded. What are your options? Would you try your hardest to protect him?”

  “Of course, but I wouldn’t have to lie to my daughter to do it. And I wouldn’t—”

  “What if you knew that if your daughter knew she’d be worried sick and would try to find him? What if you didn’t want anyone to suspect that the fiancé was the witness, because you thought that was his best protection? And if the daughter knew why he’d really left, she’d insist on going with him? Would you deliberately want to set your own daughter up for that kind of danger?”

  Sherry dropped her face and covered it with a hand. “No.”

  “If your father had not done everything he could to protect me, I wouldn’t have lived another day. I’m convinced of that!”

  Sherry’s head shot up. “You still might not, Clint! I’m convinced of that!”

  Clint took her hands and made her look at him. “I will. As soon as we can, we’ll go somewhere else and start over if you want to.”

  Sherry dropped her head back and focused on a knot in the raw ceiling, letting her tears roll down her temples.

  “Are you telling me you don’t mind just leaving our lives behind and—”

  “Sherry, if I’ve learned anything in the past eight months it’s that you have to accept things. I don’t want to leave Shreveport. I didn’t want to before. And I didn’t want to leave you. But as long as I have you this time, I’ll dig ditches on a cratered planet and live in a pup tent. I don’t care.” Sherry slid off the stool and into his secure embrace. He crushed her against him and buried his face in her hair. “I love you, Sherry. There were days when I wanted to die, but I knew that you were still there, and somehow it all seemed worthwhile. I would dream of your eyes and the feel of your hair and the way you smell. Your dad kept me up to date on what you were doing, how you were coping. He brought me pictures of you. A few times, before you moved in with Madeline, I even called you just to hear you say hello. Little things, but they kept me going. They kept me feeling, even when I sometimes just needed to be numb. I have you here now, and I’ll do anything I can to keep it that way. Be happy, Sherry. Please, be happy.”

  Sherry lifted her face to his, all shiny and glowing in the yellow light of the lamp. “I am happy,” she whispered. “I am.” But mirrored in his eyes she saw her worry, her dread, and knew that he wasn’t entirely resolved to its being the end either. “It’s just that too many people have died. Gary, and Paul, and his brother. So many lives have been hurt. Neither one of us can ever be the same, and I miss that. I’d give anything if we could go back to being the people we used to be.”

  Clint kissed her eyelid and brushed his fingers up through her hair. “We’re the same people we always were, Sherry. We didn’t change to cope with this. We just had to dig a little deeper into ourselves than we ever did before. We’ll be all right. If we survived this, we can survive anything.” He pulled her toward the door and smiled down at her. “Let’s go back and talk to your dad. I think it’s time you forgave him. He’s suffering too.”

  Sherry heaved a great sigh. Not certain what she would do when she faced her father again, she wiped at her eyes and reached for the doorknob.

  “Not so fast.” A voice from the shadows beside the farther boat stopped them, and they both swung around. “Neither of you is going anywhere.”

  Clint’s hand clamped protectively around Sherry’s, and he pushed her slowly behind him as he saw the glint of a gun in the man’s hand. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice harsh.

  The man took another step forward, bringing his features partially into relief—the shaggy brown hair, the bitter set of dry lips, the bearded jaw. “I’m the man whose life you ruined,” he whispered. “And I’ve come to repay the favor.”

  Sherry felt a surge of nausea mingled with dizziness as she looked into the hard, aged eyes of the young man who had started this whole nightmare.

  The dull, lifeless eyes of Paul Calloway.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I thought you were dead.” Clint’s voice was no more than a horrified whisper.

  “I’m sure you wished it more than once,” Paul said, keeping his voice low enough so that no one outside could hear.

  “But they found your body.”

  Paul’s frosty smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It wasn’t my body. It was Zeke’s, the only guy I could trust. We were torching the building and leaving my fingerprints and clothes and stuff scattered around to make it look like I burned up there …”

  “You killed him?”

  Rage and remembered terror broke through the dullness in Paul’s eyes, giving him a mournful, yet youthful quality that took the edge off the cool sound of his voice. “No, I didn’t kill him! He was helping me! It was his idea! It’s just that the fumes rose too fast, and he lit the fire too soon. I had already gotten out. We didn’t know …” His voice fell off, and he hardened his expression. “The fire backlashed, and he was burned so bad that they couldn’t even identify him. They found some of the stuff I left. Figured it was me.”

  Clint’s nostrils flared in disgust. “Then you got what you wanted, after all.”

  The gun waved carelessly as Paul’s haunted eyes glowered. “I never wanted him to die! We grew up together!” He swallowed back his emotion and his lips stretched like thin bands. “Anyway, don’t give me that guilt routine, Jessup. I lost everything because of you. Where’s your guilt?”

  A flicker of pain passed over Clint’s eyes, then vanished. “Oh, I had guilt, Paul. But it scarred over, just like my knife wound.”

  A deep laugh rolled from Paul’s throat. “You want to talk about scars, man? I have scars you can’t even see, and they all date back to that night.”

  Sherry was trembling, but Clint’s hands were steady as they held her behind him, telling her not to panic, telling her to trust him. “It could have gone the other way. I saw you as a mixed-up kid who’d gotten in over his head. A jury probably would have seen the same thing, until you tried to shut me up.”

  “It never would have gone to a jury,” Paul snapped, shaking his head adamantly. “I’d have been dead before they had even set a court date. All it would have taken was for Givanti to know I’d screwed up.”

  “Well, he did find out, and you’re still here, aren’t you?”

  Paul steadied his gun, though his hands trembled over it. “Only because he didn’t know about it until you came to court. You might say I’ve kept a low profile the last few months. No one knew except my brother and Zeke.”

  “Your … your brother?” Sherry’s hoarse exclamation came unbidden. Paul’s utterance of it suddenly made the death so much more tragic.

  “Yeah, my brother.” Paul’s lips quivered, and his eyes misted, though he blinked to cover the crack in his hard shell. He swallowed and lowered his gun distractedly. “And you got him too.” He looked at the ceiling and raked his free hand through his unkempt hair. “He should have killed you, instead of the other way around. And I should have killed you in that ambulance, instead of Rivers. But nothing went right!” He caught himself, and wiped back the moisture blurring his eyes. “Ironic that Rivers was the only one of you I didn’t want. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. He was supposed to be here.”

  It took a moment for Paul’s words to penetrate, but when they did, Clint’s face drained of all its color.

  “What?” Clint’s question came on an astonished whisper.

  Paul nodded his head and slumped his shoulders. “That’s right. How do you think I knew that you’d be in ambulances going that route, or that you were hiding here? If you’d done everything the way he said you were going to, you’d be dead now.”

  Clint clutched Sherry’s hand, trying to steady himself against the sudden dawning of cold betrayal. “He helped you?” />
  “Just to the point of telling me where you could be found. He didn’t know what I was gonna do, but I doubt if he cared much. I made my intentions pretty clear.”

  Clint’s face was white, and his dark eyes focused on the shadows. “That’s why he got out of the car. He thought if you saw that he was there you’d wait.”

  “I couldn’t wait!” Paul said through his teeth. “I’d waited for eight months.”

  Fear slipped as shock seeped in, and Sherry’s wide blue eyes filled with fresh horror. “Why would Gary help you?” she asked raggedly. “Why?”

  “Revenge,” Paul said simply, as if it was the most logical emotion in the world. “He hated Clint. He would have killed him himself, but he was too yellow. But he did everything he could to make sure that I did. He had a condition, though. He wanted Sherry left unharmed.”

  “She wouldn’t have been if your brother’s attempt hadn’t failed. She would have been killed with me!” Clint said.

  “So Rivers said.” He wiped at the perspiration on his brow with the back of the hand holding the gun. “And I told him that if he wanted her alive, he’d have to protect her himself. I didn’t have time to be all that discriminating when my chance came.”

  Clint’s hands tightened around Sherry’s, and she felt the power borne of rage coiled up inside him, waiting for the moment to vent itself.

  “And I tried,” Paul went on. “I should have killed you when you went back to Shreveport, thinking I was dead. I should have blown you away then.”

  “You? You were the one following Sherry? You sent her that letter?”

  “Surprised?” Paul tried to look satisfied, but his expression fell far short. “And I was the one following her, the one your friend managed to lose, until I made contact with Rivers and talked him into helping me. And you thought it was a whole stinkin’ crime ring, didn’t you? That Givanti’s power reached everywhere. But I was the only one who wanted you dead. I was the only one who came after you.” He sneered and nodded toward the water, as if Givanti were standing there. “His little group of wimps even took off the minute the verdict came in. Scattered all over, in case they were next. You think any of them cared anything about revenge? They were too worried about saving their hides. I’m the only one who had anything to gain by watching them bury you.”

  “Like what?” Clint asked. Paul was inching toward them, his gun rising to eye level. “Will it change anything? Haven’t we all been through enough trouble?”

  “You don’t know what trouble is. But you’re about to, old pal. You’re about to find out.”

  Clint stiffened, every muscle in his body rigid. Sherry’s backbone straightened as well, and she held her breath in defiance of that gun. His fingers bit into her skin when she tried to push around him, desperate to protect the man she loved as he had protected her.

  “If you pull that trigger,” Clint said, “you won’t live to see me hit the ground. I don’t have to tell you what kind of security I have out there.”

  “It would be worth it,” Paul said. His eyes glittered under the feeble light, making what he was about to do seem less cruel, less cold. “But it won’t happen that way. I got in here before you even got back today, and I’ll get out. I’m a good swimmer. I’ll be long gone before they get through the door.”

  He cocked the pistol and took another step closer.

  “Don’t!” Sherry jerked free of Clint and stepped around him. “Paul, don’t! Please!”

  “Get out of my way, Sherry,” Paul said. “I have nothing against you, but I’ll blow you away if you don’t move.”

  Clint’s breath was audible now, and his eyes locked with Paul’s as if holding his gaze could make him drop his intention. “Sherry, move!” Clint’s voice was quietly controlled, but she didn’t heed his order. Somehow, she was going to stop this madness, and her only bet was that Paul couldn’t shoot her as easily as he could Clint.

  “Move, I said!” Paul’s arm lashed out and grabbed her wrist. She gasped as he jerked her against him and clamped his free arm over her throat, but the gun remained pointed at Clint’s head.

  Clint’s face went white, and a band of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “Paul, let her go,” he whispered. “Let her go, and you can do whatever you want with me. You don’t need her.”

  “With her, I won’t have to swim a couple of miles,” Paul said, his eyes dancing at the idea. “I could walk right through those jerks who think they’ve protected you so well. Man, the prosecutor’s daughter could do miracles for me. I could get so far out of here they’d never find me.”

  Clint swallowed, and a muscle on his temple twitched. He raised his palms slowly, as if to calm a rabid beast. “Don’t do it, Paul. This is between you and me. You could dive into that water and swim away right now, and no one would ever know you’d been here. You could even take one of the boats. I’d cover for you.”

  “You think I’m a moron?” Paul’s arm clamped tighter around Sherry’s throat, inhibiting her breath, and she closed her eyes. “I didn’t come here to talk to you. I came here to watch you bleed. I came here to see you die.”

  Sherry tried to find her voice. “Paul …”

  His arm tightened so hard around her throat that a wave of dizziness splashed over her. The veins in her neck battled against the arm acting as a tourniquet, but all she saw was the barrel of that pistol as Paul leveled it between Clint’s eyes, and the knuckle of his finger turning white as it began to close over the trigger.

  Sam pulled away from Madeline and turned toward the boat house, furrowed lines shading his eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “They’ve been in there too long,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

  “They’re okay. Don’t worry so much.”

  He took a few steps toward the boat house, then looked back at Madeline. “Weren’t they fighting?”

  “Sounded like it when they went in there.”

  “Then why is it so quiet now?”

  Madeline smiled and wagged her eyebrows. “Maybe they made up. Or killed each other.”

  Sam didn’t acknowledge the reference to their joke the first night they were together. “I’m going to check,” Sam said, starting toward the boat house.

  Madeline grabbed his arm and stopped him with a wink. “The trial’s over, Sam. Now why don’t you try to get your mind off work?”

  “My mind is never entirely off work.” He wrenched his eyes from the boat house and threw up his hands. “Ah, you’re probably right. I’ve gotten too paranoid. The place is crawling with cops. What could possibly happen in there?” “Just a little romance,” she said with utmost confidence. “And absolutely nothing else.”

  Clint’s eyes locked unyieldingly with Paul’s as the cold barrel of the Saturday night special touched his forehead. “It won’t solve anything, Paul,” he whispered.

  “It’ll solve everything.”

  “For a minute, maybe. But it won’t bring your brother or your friend back. Your brother wouldn’t even be dead if he hadn’t tried to kill me. I cared about you, Paul. That was my worst mistake. I thought I could help you.”

  “Help me?” Paul gave a dry, brittle laugh. “Get off the self-righteous act. Man, you loved it. You stumbled on something way above your mundane world, and you saw it as a chance for a cheap thrill.”

  “You think I put my life on hold for a cheap thrill?” Clint uttered in disgust. “Is that why you got involved?”

  Paul looked at the water, rippling in the distance with mocking peace that would never be his again. “Man, I didn’t have an old man to put me through college, or a genius IQ that got me scholarships. I found ways to do pretty well, but you disapproved, so you shot it all down. And you’re going to pay.” The words were uttered matter-of-factly, as if their events had come to a logical, inflexible end.

  Clint disregarded the gun and looked into the pained depths of his enemy’s pale eyes. “Don’t give me the poor kid routine. I’ve been the
re, pal. If anybody knows about struggle, I do. Nobody helped me, either. But you knew you could have come to me when things got bad.”

  “Oh, come off it, man. You were so wrapped up in that fairy-tale wedding of yours, you wouldn’t have given my problems a second thought.”

  “Obviously I did,” Clint ground out through stiff lips. “Look what it cost me.”

  “Your life, man!” Paul said, clamping his arm tighter around Sherry’s neck. “And your lady, and everything you ever cared about. Say your prayers! This’ll be your last chance.”

  His knuckle was turning white again, about to squeeze the trigger, and something inside Sherry snapped. Clamping her hands together, she summoned all her might and swung her arms up, knocking Paul’s stiff aim skyward.

  Instantly, Clint’s hands clamped over Paul’s wrist, wrestling for the gun above their heads, and Paul lost his hold on Sherry. A cry tore from her throat as strength foiled intention, and she scrambled for the door in horror when she saw both hands clamped over the pistol, muscles straining, cords throbbing, fingers clawing. The gun was descending, regaining its aim on Clint, pointing just over his shoulder, turning toward his head …

  She heard herself scream, and as if in slow motion, she turned back and started toward them in a desperate attempt to stop them.

  But suddenly the gun went off, and she was hurled back against the wall in a blinding burst of pain, and she heard Clint scream, “She-e-r-r-y!” And she felt herself falling … falling … falling into an abyss of herself, until there was nothing left but blackness and the cruel, cold chill of loss.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She-e-e-r-r-y!” Clint’s voice rang out like death, skipping over the water and reaching the ears of everyone within a mile. Sherry lay motionless on the floor, a widening ring of blood painting her arm.

  The door burst open, and Sam shouted, “Police! Freeze!”

  The gun suddenly came free of Paul’s hand. Clutching it, Clint grabbed the man’s collar and slammed him against the wall, the pistol shaking in his hand. “I’ll kill you!”