by Debra Webb
“The poor thing came to me, desperate for counseling. I was one of the last people who did anything nice for her son. She had no one else to talk to. I only allowed her to regain her confidence. I encouraged her to tell me what she wanted to do to the people who had hurt her and her son. She was desperate to make them feel the way she had felt. To torture their children the way they’d tortured her sweet, mentally deficient boy. Who knew she’d follow through?”
“You’re a sick piece of shit, Weller.”
“Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?” he snapped. “I have my doubts about the good lieutenant’s ability to sort out all the details.”
Bobbie smiled at the idea that she’d gotten under his skin. “So tell it already.”
“Lucille found herself incapable of overcoming one simple stumbling block—those infernal second thoughts about killing the children. After all, her son had survived, despite being more damaged than he’d been before. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. At the time her son was in no condition to help her and she simply couldn’t finish what she’d started. So she rushed to her secret lover. While he was comforting her with his penis, his wife brought the children here, one by one, and held their heads under the water until they stopped wiggling.”
Amelia gasped. Bobbie held on to her, keeping her close behind her when her knees tried to buckle. Rage blasted Bobbie. She wanted so badly to end this son of a bitch’s existence.
“The kindly veterinarian spent the rest of his pathetic life trying to make up for what his negligence had allowed to happen to the poor children.”
“There’s just one fatal flaw in your story, Weller. Treat Bonner is dead,” Bobbie argued. “His remains were found yesterday.”
“I’m sure Savannah’s finest are aware by now that the remains they discovered are unequivocally not the boy’s.”
Weller was a lot of things but he rarely overplayed his hand. If he said the bones weren’t Bonner’s, then he damned well knew that to be the case.
“If Treat is alive, why did she keep him chained in the basement? What kind of mother does that?”
“You see,” Weller explained, “the beating and then the lack of oxygen from almost drowning did even more damage to the poor boy. He could no longer control his violent outbursts. Lucille was, in truth, terrified of him. But he was her child, she loved him. It was all quite tragic.”
Weller dared to move closer. Bobbie took a step back, ushering Amelia along with her.
“Where is my son?” the older woman cried. “You said she could tell me where he is.”
“As I told you,” Weller said, “Bobbie knows your son very well. For that reason, I had to bring her here to meet you.”
“You said he lied,” Amelia accused, struggling to draw away from Bobbie.
Movement in her peripheral vision snapped Bobbie’s attention to the right.
Kessler.
“I thought you’d never catch up.” Weller turned to the agent. “It’s your move, Janet. I’ve set everything up nicely for you.”
Kessler took a bead on Bobbie. “You’ve been a pain in my ass, Detective.”
Bobbie pulled Amelia behind her once more. “The pleasure was all mine.”
“What’re you waiting for, Janet?” Weller snarled. “Finish this. Let’s see if the lovely detective is willing to sacrifice herself this fine day.”
Kessler shifted her aim to him. “You son of a bitch,” she growled. “Did you think I’d come here and do your bidding after what you’ve done? You almost cost me everything.”
Weller laughed. “Since I gave it to you, I certainly had the right to take it back. You would still be sucking hind tit, as they say, had I not secured your current position for you. Eliminating the competition gave you the edge you needed. You and Rodney owe me a great deal. I made both your careers and asked so little in return.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Kessler took the shot, the blast echoed in the air.
Weller stumbled back.
Bobbie pushed Amelia toward the woods to her left. “Run.” She lunged forward, ushering the older woman away from the threat.
A bullet whizzed past Bobbie’s head. Shit!
Bobbie pushed harder, urging Amelia forward. They had to reach the cover of the trees.
Another shot rang in the air.
Amelia’s body jerked and she tumbled to the ground.
Bobbie grabbed her under the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. “We have to run!”
Amelia stumbled forward.
Kessler was coming.
They reached the tree line.
Bobbie looked back. Didn’t see Kessler. She zigzagged, taking Amelia with her. Another backward glance.
The ground disappeared from under her feet.
Bobbie swallowed her scream as she went down, Amelia held tight to her side.
The cold water swallowed them.
They were sinking, sinking, sinking.
Bobbie’s feet hit the river bottom. She bent her knees and pushed upward with all her might. Up...up...up!
Suddenly their faces broke the surface of the water. Bobbie gasped for air. Amelia coughed and gagged.
Holding tight on to Amelia and treading water for both of them, Bobbie looked back to where the ground had run out. Nothing. She turned to Amelia. “Where are you hit?”
Amelia blinked. Her body was shaking hard in the icy water. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. Save yourself...” Suddenly she went limp and sank, her weight tugging Bobbie down with her.
As their heads disappeared under the surface, Bobbie watched the bright red blood float up around them.
Forty
Cold, dark fear had started to thicken in Nick’s veins. Bobbie was in trouble. He could feel it. They’d found nothing at the Potter woman’s shop. No one on the block had seen Potter or Bobbie. Durham had issued an APB on Bobbie and her Challenger. Every cop in the city was looking for her.
It wasn’t enough.
Durham was on the phone again. Nick walked back into the shop and climbed the stairs to Potter’s apartment. He moved through the small space. “Where would you go, Amelia Potter?”
He and Durham had been through the place once already. This time he paused at the mantel and studied the framed photos there. Voices whispered through him. Potter’s voice was among them. Nick frowned. They had never met before their brief encounter on the street. He stared at the photo of a younger Potter and her little boy. Smiling. Cuddling. Searching for seashells in the sand.
An ache started deep in Nick’s gut as the photo came to life in his mind. He could see the boy running toward the water that rushed across the sand...he could feel the warmth of the sun on his face and the sand between his toes. Wait for Mommy!
“Shade!”
Nick shook off the haunting images and turned away from the photos. He rushed to the stairs and down. Durham stood in the entrance to the shop. “Have they been found?”
“We just got a report of shots fired near the river off Greenwich Road. Not far from where the children’s remains were found.”
Gunshots. His soul aching, Nick raced after Durham. They loaded into his SUV and rocketed away from the curb.
Not once in his adult life had Nick ever prayed. He no longer believed in God. The only thing he believed in was himself.
And Bobbie. He believed in Bobbie.
He didn’t want Weller to take her from him. The bastard had taken everything else that mattered in Nick’s life.
He closed his eyes and prayed for her safety. He prayed for the other woman, too.
“Yeah.”
Nick opened his eyes at the sound of Durham’s voice. He’d answered a call. Nick hoped it was Bobbie. The trees whizzed past as Durham sped along the street.
/>
“Okay, patch her through.” Durham handed his phone to Nick. “Put it on Speaker. Some lady called in and said she needs to speak with me.” Their eyes met for a second. “It’s not Bobbie or Potter.”
“Hello?” The aged voice coming across the line cracked with uncertainty.
“This is Lieutenant Troy Durham, ma’am.”
“This is Camille Balfour. I had a vision about Mia.”
Nick’s hopes sank.
“Ma’am, who is Mia?” Durham asked.
“Why Amelia Potter, of course.” She cleared her throat. “Now you listen up, Lieutenant. Mia is with the dark-haired woman. One of them is badly hurt. They need help right now. Right now, do you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am. Do you know where they are?”
“They’re in the water by the cemetery,” she said. “It’s cold. So cold.”
“Which cemetery?”
“Bonaventure. Hurry, please hurry. There isn’t much time.”
The call ended.
Nick’s body felt ice-cold. The caller was right. Bobbie was in trouble. He could feel the danger around her.
“Yeah.”
Durham had another call. Nick stared at the man’s profile and prayed this was better news. Bobbie was strong. She would not go down easy.
“Text it to me. Thanks, Ellis.”
Nick waited for him to explain the call. He thought he might lose his mind before Durham spoke.
“That was Agent Ellis. He had an age progression done on Treat Bonner and Noah Potter.”
Nick had no idea how that was relevant at the moment. They needed to get to Bobbie. Durham hit an intersection. Traffic forced him to stop.
Another blast of tension ricocheted through Nick. Hurry!
“Holy shit.”
Nick turned back to Durham. He was staring at the screen on his phone. “What?”
Durham handed him the phone. “That’s the photo of the Potter boy—of what he would look like now.”
Nick stared at the screen.
“It’s you, man,” Durham said, “it’s you.”
Forty-One
Randolph stood very still.
He could hear the bitch stumbling around in the darkness. The sun had set and the meager moonlight couldn’t penetrate the trees.
But Randolph needed very little light. He’d always had the gift of seeing better than most in the darkness. That skill hadn’t diminished with age.
He lifted his face and drew in deeply.
A smile slid across his face. He could smell her fear. She was so very close. It reminded him of the days when old man Thompson would take him to the meatpacking house. He closed his eyes and savored the memory. As soon as he stepped out onto the killing floor he could smell the fear in the animals there. Even now his pulse sped up.
“Goddamn it!” Kessler snarled.
Randolph opened his eyes. She was to his right.
“Fucking cell phone.”
He heard the phone hit the ground.
Agent Kessler was no longer trying to find Bobbie and Amelia. She foolishly assumed they would die in the cold water and that he was already dead. Such an amateurish mistake. Now she was simply trying to find her way back to her car. Too bad she was going the wrong way. Extreme stress often muddled the critical thinking process of even the most highly trained soldier. FBI agents were not immune to the clawing panic of imminent failure.
He moved closer to his prey. His wound was no longer bleeding so freely. Not such a bad injury. It had passed through skin and muscle, leaving nothing but an annoying tear in his flesh. Nothing he couldn’t bear until there was time to attend to it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she muttered.
Randolph caught a glimpse of her blond hair. The flowery scent of her perfume had faded and comingled with the sweat and musk of fear.
Closer. He could hear her warm breath in the cold air. So very close.
He reached out. His forearm was around her and pressing against her throat before she felt his presence.
He jerked her back against his body and she twisted, trying to get her weapon pointed at him.
He flung her to the ground. The wind burst from her lungs as he fell atop her.
“Time to die, you wretched bitch,” he growled.
The weapon discharged. Hot iron tore into his belly. He laughed as the pain roared through him. He snatched the weapon from her hand and threw it. “You’ve always been full of surprises, Janet. I’ve appreciated your ambition and your resourcefulness. You should have let me go without a fight. You and Rodney should have been happy with all that I’d given you.”
“Fuck you.” She clawed at his face and tried to kick her legs.
He closed his hand over her face and forced her chin upward, slowly, slowly until her neck snapped. Her body stilled beneath him.
Randolph pushed up onto his hands and knees.
The world spun, almost toppling him over.
Forcing back the pain, he managed to get to his feet.
If he was going to die he damned sure wasn’t doing so next to that whore.
Wherever he died, he could just imagine how thrilled Nicholas would be.
All those years ago, he hadn’t been able to resist. He had been so immensely fascinated by Amelia Potter, he simply hadn’t been able to allow Lucille, the cow, to destroy the boy.
He’d taken the child for himself...something to keep his barren wife entertained for a while.
He should have known all those years ago that the child would be the death of him.
Forty-Two
Bobbie dragged Amelia onto the riverbank. Her body wouldn’t stop shuddering. It was so damned dark Bobbie couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. She shook the other woman.
“Amelia.” Her lips would hardly work. “Stay with me.” She put her face close to the other woman’s nose. She was breathing. Barely.
It was too dark to see where the blood had been coming from.
She had to get up and find help. She would carry or drag Amelia with her. They hadn’t gone far. The car had to be close. Her head was still spinning with the idea that Weller was not Nick’s father. What else could he have meant when he told Amelia over and over that Bobbie knew her son well. At some point in the water, Bobbie had realized why... Nick was Amelia’s son.
Weller had wanted Bobbie to have to choose...her life or Nick’s mother’s.
Bastard. Well, she had shown him. They had both gotten out of the damned water alive.
Bobbie just had to keep Amelia alive until she reached help.
Light passed through the woods.
Bobbie ducked down. She pulled Amelia’s body close to hers.
What if it was Weller or Kessler? If the world was lucky Kessler had managed a lethal shot.
Bobbie tried with all her might to stop her teeth from chattering.
Listen. She had to listen.
“We’ve got a body over here!” a voice shouted. “Female.”
Bobbie shook herself and listened again to make sure she hadn’t imagined it.
More shouting. More lights.
Cops.
“Help!” The word ripped out of Bobbie’s throat like a wad of barbed wire. “Over here!”
She could hear the rushing footfalls in the underbrush.
“Here!” a voice shouted.
A flashlight passed over her face. Bobbie put up a hand to protect her eyes.
The flashlight hit the ground. Steady hands were suddenly on her, pulling her into strong arms.
Nick.
“Are you hurt?”
Bobbie tried to shake her head but her muscles weren’t working so well. “Amelia Potter. Kessler shot her.”
Lights and people were suddenly all around them. Paramedics swarmed around Amelia. Nick pulled Bobbie away from the fray.
“Are you certain you’re unharmed?”
Bobbie nodded. “You should make sure Amelia is okay.” Bobbie drew in a big breath. “I think Weller stole you when you were three years old. I think you’re Noah Potter.”
“I know.” The dismay on Nick’s face made her knees weak.
“Got another body over here! Wait...this one’s alive.”
“It’s Weller,” another voice shouted.
Nick turned toward the shouted voices.
The gurney carrying Amelia rushed past.
Bobbie tugged Nick’s sleeve. “We should go, too.”
He nodded.
Bobbie expected to walk beside him to the nearest official vehicle, but he scooped her up and carried her against his chest. She rested her head there. She was tired. So damned tired.
Whatever happened tomorrow, they had survived today.
Forty-Three
Memorial Health University Medical Center
10:00 p.m.
Amelia Potter would be okay. The surgeon had assured Bobbie that she would fully recover, but she was fairly certain a deep breath wouldn’t be possible until she heard Amelia’s voice. Special Agent Ellis had taken Bobbie downtown to get dry clothes and for a debriefing, then he’d come back for Nick. One of them had needed to be here for Amelia.
Amelia was his mother. The reality hadn’t entirely sunk in but Bobbie was getting there. Weller had taken Amelia’s son and raised him as his own—which meant the woman who’d brought Nick up had known. She had lied to him over and over. Everything that he knew as a child...as an adult...was a lie.
Nick had kept his feelings to himself as Bobbie recounted all that Weller had said before Kessler shot him. The FBI hadn’t allowed anyone to see Weller since he came out of surgery. On some level Bobbie wanted to see him. She wanted to know why he had taken Nick. Was his wife unable to have a child? Was it just because he was intrigued by Amelia Potter’s special gift?
Kessler was dead. Bobbie would be lying if she didn’t admit that a part of her wished Weller had died, too. As much as those questions about Weller’s decision to steal Nick from his mother nagged at her, she could only imagine the shock and dismay Nick had experienced. On the other hand, Nick surely felt a tremendous relief knowing that he was not genetically connected to Randolph Weller.
