Once she played the audio file, there was no going back. Macon would kill her.
Who was she kidding? He was going to kill her anyway.
And Leann.
Above her makeshift gag, her sister’s eyes begged her to help her, to save her. Brainy Bailey. If you’re so smart, think of something. Do something.
Right.
Bailey licked dry lips. “This is the interview.” She clicked to start it, praying the computer could perform two functions at once.
Macon listened just long enough to identify both voices before he ordered, “Delete it.”
“It’s not that bad,” Bailey said. Time, she thought. Keep him talking. “It might actually help you. Billy Ray never gave Paul a name. I don’t think he even knew you were the father of Tanya’s child.”
“Until Ellis told him.” Macon shook his head. “Twenty years that dumb fuck kept his mouth shut. And your boss couldn’t leave it alone.”
Bailey’s heart hammered. “So you killed Billy Ray before he could talk.”
“I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t dirty my hands with him. Dawler trash.” He smiled, a small, mean smile that made her shudder. “I had someone else do it.”
Bailey swallowed. “Who? How?”
“Some other dumb fuck doing eight-to-ten for armed robbery. A client of my father’s, with a pregnant girlfriend. I told him I’d take care of them if he’d take care of Billy Ray.”
She was horrified. “You killed his girlfriend?”
Macon looked amused. “No, I gave her money. It was only my pregnant girlfriend I found it necessary to dispose of.”
Tanya. Poor Tanya.
“Did you kill her?” Bailey asked.
“I didn’t have to. I provided the alcohol and the . . . inspiration, would you say? Billy Ray really did the rest.”
“He murdered his sister. He murdered his mother and his grandmother. For you.”
“For himself. I had nothing to do with Tammy and Shirley’s deaths.” Macon shrugged. “Although I can’t say I was sorry they were gone.”
Bailey racked her brain for something else to keep him talking. “Did you kill Helen?”
Macon appeared genuinely surprised by the question. “Hell, no. The old bitch was worth more to me alive than dead.” He smiled. “I can’t bill every client one hundred and fifty dollars an hour for a lunchtime fuck.”
Leann made a small, choking noise.
Bailey felt sick. “Then, why? If you didn’t kill them, if you didn’t kill Helen . . . What did it matter what Billy Ray said or what Paul wrote? You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake. All you were guilty of was getting some underaged girl pregnant and supplying alcohol to a minor. Even if the publicity surrounding the book forced a case to court, a jury would never convict you. You’d never serve time.”
“You’re supposed to be so smart. It was never about going to jail. It was about being trapped in this bumfuck town with no way out. That little bitch threatened to go to my father, did you know that? I was graduating in another year. I was already looking at colleges. And she was babbling about love and the baby and our future. As if I would actually contemplate a future with the town slut and her bastard. I wasn’t going to stay here and go to community college and listen to my father prate about responsibility and obligation for the rest of my life. I had the chance to be somebody. You of all people should understand that. I have plans. I wasn’t going to let my life be ruined by some two-bit whore. Or some two-bit writer.”
“So you killed him. You killed Paul to protect your reputation.”
“That’s right. And now I’ll kill you. I’ll even have to kill your pretty sister. Poor Leann.” He stroked her cheek and then her breast. She whimpered and strained away. Tears streaked her face above the gag.
Bailey clenched her hands in her lap.
“I’ll try to make it up to you. Would you like that? One last fuck before you die.” He raised his head and smiled at Bailey. “I’ll kill you first. Unless you want to watch.”
Bailey’s stomach twisted into knots. She lifted her chin. “I’ll pass, thanks. Whatever you have probably isn’t worth looking at, anyway.”
His face changed, the smooth surface cracking to reveal the teeming ugliness underneath. He strode toward her. “I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
She sat frightened, frozen, on the end of the bed. Cold sweat slithered down her back and glued her thighs together.
He reached her and grabbed her hair.
She raised her hand and sprayed the mace directly into his face.
“Aaargh!” He howled and spun away, clutching the gun, clawing at his eyes.
Bolting from the bed, Bailey pushed past him and threw open the heavy metal security door, adrenaline pumping through her system, every muscle tensing, every instinct shrieking at her to run.
Leann.
She couldn’t leave Leann.
She stumbled back into the room, dropped to her knees, and fumbled with the elastic binding her sister’s legs to the chair. Frustration robbed her of breath. Of strength. She couldn’t do it. She would never get her untied in time.
Macon struggled to his feet, rubbing his face and cursing.
Grabbing the chair, Bailey tipped it on two legs and backed toward the door, dragging her sister after her across the worn carpet. Pain stabbed her side. She gasped and tugged.
“You bitch!” Macon roared. “You fucking bitches! I’ll fucking kill you!”
Bailey bumped into something solid. She cried out in despair.
Warm arms swept her out of the way.
And a cold, familiar voice rang over her head. Steve’s voice. “Police! Freeze! Drop your weapon.”
He was here. She was safe. She sagged in relief.
“Fucking bitches!” Macon sobbed, pointing his wavering gun in the direction of Steve’s voice.
The gunshot cracked, explosive, echoing in the small room. Bailey screamed. Her heart shattered. Oh, God, was he hit? Was Steve hit?
She opened her eyes and saw the blood bloom on Macon’s shoulder like a flower. His arm fell uselessly to his side. His gun tumbled to the floor. He crumpled, sobbing and choking.
Steve stood over him like the angel of death, his gun pointed straight at the lawyer’s head. “Don’t move,” he said, still in that cold, deadly voice. His cop voice. “Or I’ll shoot.”
On her knees in the doorway, Bailey heard the rising wail of sirens. It was over.
Police rushed the door. Bodies pushed past her. Uniforms, brown, black, blue. She blinked. She recognized Wayne Lewis, pink-eared with excitement, and the tall black sergeant, what was his name? Law enforcement personnel crowded the room.
Officer Marge Conner bent and touched her arm. “Honey? You all right?”
Bailey worked enough moisture into her mouth to answer. “My sister . . .”
Conner followed the direction of her gaze to Leann, still strapped into the chair. “I got her.”
Steve turned and saw her on her knees. Leaving the knot of officers around Macon, he pulled her to her feet, supporting her, his face hard and his eyes anxious. He stroked the hair back from her face, his hands trembling.
“Are you all right?” he demanded. “Did he hurt you?”
Mutely, she shook her head, and then winced when he pulled her against him and held her close. That was okay. She needed him to hold her. She rested her head against his broad chest, absorbing his strength, listening to the staccato rhythm of his heart. He’d been frightened. For her. Ignoring the pain of her ribs, she tightened her arms around him.
“I know my rights,” Macon’s voice rose sharply. “I want an attorney.”
Bailey shuddered.
Steve stiffened protectively. “He can hire a hundred attorneys. He won’t get out of this one, I swear.”
“I know.” Raising her head, she smiled at him. “I recorded him.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “You what?”
“The laptop you brought me has a built-in microphone
. I got almost everything. His confession, his threats against me and Leann . . . I recorded it all.”
He stared at her a long time before an answering smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Think you’re pretty smart, huh?”
She grinned. “Well . . . yes.”
“So do I.”
He pulled her close again. Knees shaking, ribs aching, she leaned against his chest. It was all over.
And it was just beginning.
EPILOGUE
THERE was nothing clearer or more beautiful than the December sky at night. Peace wrapped the house. The sky pulsed with stars.
Bailey stood on the porch of Steve’s mother’s house and tipped her head back against his broad shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his arms. Above them, the thin crescent moon hung on the bare winter branches of the oak in the front yard.
Earlier that evening, they had attended Christmas Eve mass at Saint Mildred’s with Gabrielle. The candlelit church was filled with half-remembered faces. The traditional carols and beautiful words of the liturgy had seemed familiar and strange, comforting and challenging, all at once.
Not unlike Bailey’s relationship with Steve’s daughter, actually.
Or her life these past six months.
“Watching for Santa?” Steve murmured in her ear.
She smiled and turned in his arms. “Could be. I have been a very good girl this year.”
“The DA would certainly agree with you.”
“I’m just glad he isn’t going to charge me with killing Helen Ellis.”
Steve shook his head. “Never happen. He knows you’re innocent.”
“You mean, you convinced him.”
“You did. You and your tape against Reynolds. You’re the DA’s star witness, sugar.”
“Leann is.”
“Yeah, you just saved her life.”
“After I endangered it in the first place. You’re the one who came to the rescue.” She batted her eyelashes. “My hero.”
Steve grunted. “Save it for your books,” he said. But he was smiling.
“My books.” She savored the words. “I can hardly believe Paragon wants to buy a sequel.”
“You said it yourself, honey,” Steve drawled.
She looked at him in quick question.
“You’re good.”
She laughed and linked her arms around his neck. “Yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘I finally brought a nice Southern boy home to meet my mother.’ ”
His mouth quirked. “That’s good?”
She nodded. “Do I get my present now?”
“You can have anything you want,” he promised. His eyes were lazy and warm. Her breath quickened in anticipation. “What did you have in mind?”
“Come inside by the fire,” she invited, “and I’ll show you.”
A garland wrapped the staircase banister in the hall. Clusters of candles and bowls of potpourri scented the house with cinnamon and vanilla. Stockings were hung by the chimney with care. There was even a plate of cookies by the tree.
“Just in case Santa’s hungry,” Gabrielle had said earlier, with a sidelong look at her father.
Yearning caught Bailey unaware, like the residual ache along her ribs. She wanted this. Wanted them. She wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted any longer.
But what they needed counted, too.
“And what do you want for Christmas?” she asked brightly.
Steve raised his eyebrows at her tone. Tugging her down beside him on the couch, he twined his fingers with hers. “Besides you?”
She ignored the thrum of pleasure his words gave her. “Besides me.”
“Well.” His thumb rubbed the back of her hand. “I intended to tell you—I still have a job, if I want one. Our new police chief made an official offer. Once my probation period is up, he wants me on the force.”
After Macon Reynolds’s arrest, Chief Clegg had quietly resigned. Steve had explained it to Bailey. Twenty years ago, Walt Clegg had been a client of Billy Ray and Tanya’s mother, Tammy. Arriving for a late-night appointment, Clegg had stumbled upon the murder scene. Rather than confess the reason for his presence at the house, he had retreated from the scene and placed an anonymous call reporting the crime. Clegg’s resignation allowed him to keep his pension and his reputation. And Sergeant Darian Jackson, after three months as acting chief, had been hired to take his place.
“That’s wonderful,” Bailey said, ignoring the slight pang she felt at his news. Steve deserved this job. If it was what he wanted. . . . “You must be very happy.”
He looked at her, his face serious. “I haven’t said yes yet.”
Her mouth went dry. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Why not?”
“I’ve had another offer.”
She moistened her lips. “Another . . .”
“My old captain called from D.C.,” he explained. “There’s an opening in Homicide. They want me back.”
“Oh,” Bailey said faintly. “Wow.”
She sat there, absorbing the news. Good news, she thought. Steve was too good of a cop to devote his days to chasing vandals at the high school and writing barking dog citations. She didn’t worry his job would take him away from her. After the past five months, there was no question in her mind she would continue to see him. But how often? And would she visit D.C. as his girlfriend? Or as something more?
Was it too soon to expect something more?
Steve wasn’t like Paul, she reminded herself. He wouldn’t ask her to leave her life behind and offer her nothing in return.
And she had changed, too. It wasn’t as if she was sitting around waiting for a marriage proposal. She had a book contract now, and a deadline. Not to mention her family’s support.
You can have anything you want, Steve had said.
Maybe, she thought. But her dreams this year wouldn’t quite fit into a Christmas stocking.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He reached for the plate of cookies. She smiled. Typical guy move, going for the food when the talk turned emotional.
“That depends,” he said.
She nestled into the space created by his outstretched arm. “On what?”
He shifted her to reach into his pocket and then handed her the cookie plate. Tucked between a gingerbread man and a coconut macaroon sat a black velvet ring box. “On you.”
Bailey’s vision blurred. She blinked.
The box was still there.
“Here.” He opened it, revealing a delicate gold basket setting supporting a flashing diamond. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. “The setting was my grandmother’s. Do you like it?”
Emotion flooded her chest and filled her eyes. “I love it.” The words escaped on a sob.
I love you.
Steve cupped her face and kissed her, with sweetness and heat. They kissed for a very long time while the fire burned and her future glowed as bright and weighted with promise as the Christmas tree.
“So,” he drawled at last. “Are you going to wear it?”
Bailey drew back a little and scowled at him. “Oh, no, you don’t. You have to say it. You have to say the words.”
He smiled crookedly and gave her everything she wanted. “I love you, Bailey. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. For richer or poorer, in sickness and health, the whole damn deal. Gabrielle loves you. My mother loves you. I love you.” He exhaled. “Did I say that?”
She smiled at him through her tears, her heart more full than she would have believed possible. “You mentioned it, yes.”
“Good. So.” He took her hands. His were warm and strong and not particularly steady. “Will you marry me?”
The resolution in his gaze, the slight trembling of his hands, shook her heart and steadied her nerves.
“Yes,” she said. “Absolutely. I love you, too.”
He slid the ring onto her finger. It fit. Naturally. Steve was a detail man. With a sigh, she settled her head
on his shoulder, feeling his heart beat under her palm.
In the hall, the clock chimed midnight.
Bailey closed her eyes, smiling. Home at last.
Home Before Midnight Page 32
