Accused (Troubled Boys, Strong Men Book 1)

by Wendy Byrne

  “Bitch,” he muttered as he stomped back to the car.

  “News flash, Archie, it’s not always about you. Just in case you’re interested, however, you son is in the hospital.”

  She walked into the house more exhausted than ever. While it felt good to discharge some of her frustration, the reprieve last only a few moments. Instead of giving in, she changed into her running gear and hit the trails. It had been weeks since she’d run them with Travis.

  The exertion felt good even though she was already physically exhausted. She wanted her mind to be exhausted as well. Being on alert for snakes and other critters kept her thoughts occupied. Maybe there was half a chance she’d get a couple hours sleep tonight.

  ***

  So close but yet so far. Opportunity was one thing, but patience was something completely different. Even though there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d get caught, he never did like to get his hands dirty. He was much too good for that.

  He’d pulled over about a half mile from her home and looked through his binoculars and then spotted her visitor. Interesting. He couldn’t help wondering what that was about. It would have been fun to set up the ex. Then he and the son could be in prison together.

  He laughed. Talk about father son bonding time.

  Curiosity had him wondering what the guy was doing in that beat up car. Slumming? Based on what he knew, highly unlikely. Then again, the guy’s need to remain incognito might have something to do with the seed he’d planted about the kid.

  Definitely a stroke of genius on his part. It truly was a shame when gossip mags got a whiff of Hollywood scandal.

  The ploy to turn up the heat hadn’t worked as he’d planned. Then again, there was always Plan B. He always had a Plan B for every occasion. And had several partners in crime to help him carry it out.

  ***

  When his door opened a while later, Travis suppressed the groan. He was tired and cranky and didn’t want to be bothered by visitors. This concussion thing was kicking his ass big time. He couldn’t manage to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.

  “Not now, Dr. Stern. I’m really wiped.”

  Instead of responding, someone grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear. “It’s me. I was—”

  “Lexie? Thank God you’re alive.” And thank God he hadn’t killed her like everyone seemed to believe. “Wait. How did you get in here? I heard there was a guard at the door.”

  “Yeah, but he’s hot for one of the nurses and snuck off to get some coffee with her. It’s like three a.m. He’s probably thinking you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Yeah, he’d be right about that. Besides the fact I can’t see worth shit. I can’t stay awake.”

  “But I need you to help me, Travis.” She grasped his arm and started to yank back the sheet.

  He grabbed the sheet and pulled it over his body. He wasn’t hot for her but it still wasn’t like he wanted Lexie to see him in a hospital gown.

  “I won’t get two feet. Hell, I need a nurse to help me take a piss. Besides, you have to go to the police and tell them I didn’t kill your stepfather.”

  “I can’t Travis…you don’t understand…if I do that I’ll be dead.”

  She sounded so shaky he tried to pry open his eyes to confirm it was really her. The faint outline of her face came into a blurry kind of focus. He was somehow relieved and scared at the same time. Last time he was around her, things had gone south pretty fast.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. Hell, I don’t even understand. I just know it’s not safe for either of us.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “We were going to run away Memorial Day weekend before your mom kidnapped you and took you to New York. How’s this any different?”

  “Now I’d be running away as a murderer.” If he could focus and had a little more energy, he’d shake her. “Don’t you get it? This is my life we’re talking about.”

  “It’s my life at stake too.”

  A vision of a frightened Lexie skittered along his foggy brain. Normally Lexie didn’t back down from anyone, but a memory of her pleading for mercy rattled through. Was it real or another side effect of the concussion?

  “Detective Brock seems like a good guy. Why don’t you talk to him?”

  “He’s still a cop.”

  “Yeah, but…” Lexie had good reasons to hate cops as she’d been arrested a couple of times—most times because she was being stupid. “Okay, I get that. But call my mom. She’s working with my coach and this great lawyer. I’d give you his number but I don’t have it since I can’t exactly call him since…gee…that would because…I’m in jail for killing your stepfather. Are you not getting that?”

  “I feel bad about that, Travis, but you don’t understand.”

  “You’re right, the whole thing is bullshit and you know it. What happened that night, Lexie?”

  The room was so silent, he thought she might have left instead of answering. A kind of panic raised the hair on his arms. When she touched him seconds later, he nearly bounced off the bed.

  “That cop outside your door is going to be back here any minute. You’ve only got a few minutes if we want to get out of here.”

  “Call my mother. She’ll help you.” As much as he hated this place and hated prison, he wasn’t willing to take the risk.

  “Your mother doesn’t like me.”

  “She’ll help you if it means getting me out of here.” Travis felt the energy seep out of him. “You’ve got to tell me what happened.”

  “I don’t know exactly. I was pretty high...” He heard the door ease open. “Oh man, he’s coming back. I gotta go.”

  “Wait, you’ve got to go to my house and find that list—” When he didn’t hear anything at all, he knew she’d already gone. Why he’d thought of it at that moment, he didn’t know. He had to hope that stupid little list he and Lexie had made up months ago didn’t ever get found.

  ***

  Lexie couldn’t worry about what Travis was about to say. That cop was winding up his flirt time and she didn’t have even a second to spare. Her disguise might fool somebody from far away, but fat chance they’d buy it close up.

  Even though it took everything in her not to run, she forced herself to walk. Unwilling to call attention to herself even as terror griped her body, she strode down the hall, head down, eyes averted. Any minute now she expected to be tackled and hauled into the police station or worse.

  She’d taken a huge risk coming here, only to be screwed over by Travis. If she went down in a hail of gunfire, she’d haunt him forever. Throwing the doctor’s coat she’d ganked into the trash receptacle, she ran out the side exit.

  Her breath rattled inside her chest as she tore through the parking lot. Someone had been following her the last couple of days. While she was pretty sure she’d lost them, she was fresh out of options.

  Travis looked like crap. He couldn’t help her even if he wanted to. But it was pretty clear he didn’t want to anyway.

  Not that she blamed him. She’d got him into this mess. He didn’t understand she couldn’t get him out without a whole lot of help. But who could she trust?

  Should she call Mrs. Beckett? Man, she hated to do that. The woman flat out hated her. Then again, maybe she was Lexie’s only hope for staying alive.

  Travis had said some nonsense about his mom working with a cool lawyer and his coach. She wasn’t sure if Travis was delusional; he seemed really doped up. But she was pretty much out of options and fucked anyway.

  She’d stolen that beater car a couple of days ago. Right now the thing was running on fumes. Finding money was going to be a problem. In the past she would have hung out on street corners and begged. She hated to do that alone because all these weirdo old men hit on her. Gross. Besides that, she was much too afraid she might be recognized.

  If she was recognized, there was no way in hell she’d ever survive. Coming up with another
option was the only answer.

  ***

  Jillian felt a need to escape from the mounting pressure and knew how to relieve it. When her parents were drunk, she’d developed a great coping mechanism which she’d continued in her marriage and later when Travis had first gotten into trouble. She retreated to her art.

  There was something about channeling her creative muse that freed her from worries. While in the creative process, she could get lost for hours, sometimes days at a time. Archie never had understood how she could block out everything and engross herself in her art.

  Channeling her energy into something positive would make her feel better. She went into the house, changed into her painting gear, grabbed her iPod and bounded outside and upstairs into her studio in the barn loft.

  More of an abstract artist, she selected colors from her paints and blended them to the right shade. Then she put the brush to the canvas.

  Music floated around her as raw instinct took over and she became lost in the process. The brush flew over the canvas.

  At times like this she felt impervious to the world around her.

  Gone were thoughts of her parents’ transgressions, Archie’s bullshit, Travis’ vulnerability, her own self-doubt. There was only the painting itself, something completely and utterly under her control.

  Her hips swayed in response to the sultry tune by Dinah Washington which sedated her worries by the promise of love and forgiveness. She kept thoughts of Archie’s bullshit and Travis’ vulnerability from nipping at her heels and bringing her back to that bad space. She ignored her parent’s transgressions as well as the ramifications of their thoughtless actions from bringing on the resultant guilt.

  During these times, she could push back feelings of insecurity, as well as the nagging doubts of her abilities as both a mother and artist. She could put aside the constant guilt and the accompanying could of, would of, should ofs that plagued her conscious mind. Now immersed in her subconscious where thoughts of forgiveness frittered away like paper in the wind, she could indulge herself for this particular moment in time and feel free.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Travis couldn’t decide whether to tell his mother about Lexie, assuming she really had shown up in the middle of the night and he hadn’t been hallucinating. After the last twenty-four hours, he couldn’t be too sure about anything.

  He figured his eyesight was getting much better when the nurse came through the door and he noticed how hot she was. Suddenly, he felt weird about the stupid hospital gown he wore and the fact that, even though he needed to pee, he didn’t want her to help him. Where was that crabby old nurse—at least that’s how she sounded—when he needed her?

  “Good morning, Travis. How are you feeling?”

  The nurse had her long blonde hair braided. Even though she wore those weird hospital scrubs, she looked sexy. He wondered how old she was.

  “Like crap, but at least I can see a little.” He turned his head to watch her as she moved toward the head of his bed.

  “That’s good.” She fiddled with the IV thing. “Do you want to go to the bathroom?”

  Okay, yesterday when he couldn’t see a thing, he had no choice, but now that he had marginal eyesight, he’d go it alone, especially with her around. “I’m sure I can get there on my own.”

  “Well, let me help you get out of bed, and we’ll see how you do from there.” Without giving him an option, she pulled back the sheets and lifted his skinny legs off the bed and onto the floor. “Use the pole for support and I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.”

  For a second or two stars floated before his eyes. It was bad enough his ass was hanging out; he didn’t intend on embarrassing himself any further by fainting. He drew in a breath and tried to keep steady. In a couple of days he’d gone from in top shape ready for football to a weakling.

  She laid a hand against his shoulder. “Dizzy?”

  “Just a little.”

  He bucked up, went into the bathroom and did his business. Afterward, he splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth and did what he could with his hair. When he came out she was refilling his water.

  “Any more aches or pains? You took quite a blow to the ribs.”

  Travis didn’t want to be a wimp and tell her how every inch of his body ached. “Doing good.” He gritted his teeth and slid back into bed.

  “Are your parents coming today?”

  “You mean my mom?” Fat chance his dad would ever show up. No doubt he was too busy traipsing around the world to give a flying fuck what happened to his son.

  “Don’t you remember? Your dad was with her yesterday.”

  Oh God, he’d thought that was some kind of weird trip when his mother told him she’d told the nurse that coach was his dad. He tapped his head with the palm of his hand. “Brain isn’t quite working yet.”

  “Give it a few more days,” she smiled and waved as she left the room.

  He couldn’t help wondering how different his life would be if Coach really were his father.

  ***

  While his assistants were running practice drills, Sam sat in his office. He didn’t like getting shot at and he really didn’t like the fact Jillian had been there when it happened. For Carlos to be so bold he had to be pretty damn confident.

  Cole couldn’t find out much about the kid, only that he was a recent arrival on the gang scene. Nobody knew—or they weren’t saying—where he came from. He showed up in town about six months ago. He was seen a couple of times with Eric Tallman but that didn’t necessarily mean much.

  If he were paranoid, he’d have to wonder if those cops the other day had purposely interfered with Cole and him being able to intercept Jeremy. But why would they protect a street thug? It didn’t make any sense.

  He went with his first instinct and made the call. “Detective Brock, this is Sam Carter. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Just having my morning coffee. What can I do for you?”

  “What do you know about Carlos Sutton? He lives in the Keller Housing Project and took some pot shots at me and the people I was with yesterday.”

  “A resident phoned in the incident. Nobody was hurt, I take it.”

  “No, but what’s the kid’s deal? Where did he come from?”

  “Good question. It was like the kid dropped out of the sky about eight months ago. We suspect he’s behind a lot of the recent trouble in the neighborhood but somehow manages to avoid any direct link back to him. Sooner or later we’ll be able to nab him.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you could do it sooner rather than later.”

  He chuckled. “Me too, but that’s not usually how it works.”

  “How about Jeremy Isles? What do you know about him?”

  “He’s a wannabe and usually ends up being a patsy for the big guys. To tell you the truth, I feel sorry for the kid. Bad home life, dropped out of school. He doesn’t have a chance.”

  Sam definitely knew the feeling.

  ***

  Jillian felt the dull ache settling into her bones. Opening her eyes, she took in her surroundings and shifted on the cot. The soothing music of Coltrane played in the background and the scent of oil paints hung in the air. For a few seconds, she allowed the quietness of the moment to seep inside her as she considered last night’s creativity.

  By three in the morning, she’d exhausted herself so thoroughly that she curled up on the make-shift bed rather than make the short trek to her room. Besides, the house reminded her of Travis. It seemed like a good idea at the time but now her joints were protesting. Must be old age settling in.

  She stood and stretched, unkinking her body as much as she could. Sunlight and fresh air streamed through the open window. The studio was everything she’d envisioned as the perfect artist’s retreat. It wasn’t the fancy place she’d had when she’d lived with Archie, but the rustic charm of the wood barn, together with the interesting angle of the roof, abundant sunlight and the fact that the place had her stamp all o
ver it made it special for her.

  She sometimes lit the chimney stove she’d had installed in the corner for warmth. Last night the weather had been temperate enough to go without. Instead, she’d pulled on an old NYU sweatshirt and went to work.

  She surveyed what she’d done the night before and smiled. Channeling her frustration into art had been more therapeutic than spending six sessions with someone like Dr. Stern. The decision to sleep on that lumpy old cot was the only thing she regretted this morning.

  While she had no clue as to time, she guessed from the sunlight that it must be around ten. If she wanted to visit with Travis, she needed to get moving.

  As she gathered her things, she peeked out the window to enjoy the beautiful day and spotted an unfamiliar car pulling into the driveway. She moved to the side of the oversized window to avoid being seen as she watched.

  Someone she didn’t recognize got out of a car and looked around before ringing the front door. From this distance, she couldn’t tell if the person were male or female. Tall and lanky, the person wore a baseball cap pulled low on their forehead, obviously to conceal their identity.

  When there was no answer at the door, the stranger peered inside the window. Since she’d parked inside the garage last night to avoid a repeat performance from Archie, the person had no way of knowing if she was home or not. A prickly sensation wormed up her back as the person got more aggressive, pounding on the front door. Jillian glanced around for her cell phone only to remember she’d left it in the house.

  She watched in horror as the person walked around to the back of the house. Rarely did she lock her back patio doors, which meant the person would have full access to her house. Trapped without a cell and without her keys, she watched helplessly as the individual appeared inside her front window.