Fatal Intent (Desert Heat Book 3)

by Jeffries, Jamie

  “Do you need me to pick up the boys from school?” she asked, with a look at Alex.

  Dylan’s head was still buried in Alex’s neck and he didn’t seem to be ready to answer, so Alex answered for him. “That would be a big help, thank you. I’m not sure Dylan’s ready to face them. Dylan? Honey?”

  He lifted his head and gave Wanda a watery smile. “Yes, please and thank you, but wait until school’s out. I don’t want to make a spectacle of them by pulling them out of class. I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be there to pick them up.”

  “I can take them home and feed them if you like.” Wanda was still holding the casserole, so Alex rose to take it from her and put it in the kitchen. It looked delicious. She heard Dylan’s answer as she walked away.

  “No. Thanks, Wanda, but I’d better tell them right away. Thanks for bringing… whatever that was.”

  “You’re welcome. If there’s anything else I can do… ” Wanda trailed off.

  Dylan was standing when Alex returned, giving Wanda a hug. It was a good sign. He was returning to himself, though Alex was sure it wasn’t the end of his grief.

  ~~~

  Alex stayed with Dylan until just before the boys came home, when he told her he didn’t want to put her through breaking the news to them.

  “To be honest, I don’t think it will affect Davi much. Juan maybe. He remembers more about before she got sick. But you’ve done enough, Alex, I can handle this.”

  She didn’t think he could, actually, but as he looked nervously at the door, Alex realized he was asking to be alone. She stuffed down a small hurt. Dylan wasn’t himself, and she shouldn’t take it personally. She nodded.

  “Okay, honey, but call me if you need me, okay?”

  With his assurance that he would echoing in her ears, she left and drove home, where she found her dad in the kitchen looking absently into the refrigerator.

  “How long have you been standing there with the fridge door open?” she asked, and then laughed when he jumped and slammed the door shut.

  “Don’t scare me like that.” He grinned at her.

  “There isn’t any fish, if that’s what you were looking for.”

  “Ha. That will be the day hell freezes over. How’s Dylan?” he asked. He opened the fridge door again and began pawing through items on the shelves.

  “He’s sad. Dad, what are you doing?”

  “Looking for something to eat.”

  “Sit down. I’ll get you a snack, and then I’ll fix dinner.” Alex bumped her dad with her hip until he gave up and sat down at the table. “Dylan talked to the priest. I guess the services will be Monday. We won’t be able to run an announcement, but it will be in time to get the obituary in the paper for next Wednesday.”

  Alex wondered when she’d started thinking about everything in life based on whether it was conveniently scheduled for her dad’s weekly newspaper. She wished she could take the last sentence back. She also wished her dad would give in and let her put an online version up. This kind of thing happened too often. If they’d had that, she could run the announcement of the funeral. Since they didn’t, word-of-mouth would have to suffice. Maria had kept to herself anyway, even before she got sick.

  “You’re going, of course,” Dad answered.

  “Yeah.” In Alex’s short nineteen and a half years, she’d attended very few funerals. Only two she could remember, one for a classmate who died in a car accident, and then one for the mayor’s husband, Hector, last fall.

  Dylan hadn’t held a funeral for his stepfather last summer, just had him buried with no ceremony. She couldn’t blame him. Attending his mom’s funeral was not optional, though. She had to be there for him and for the little boys. She supposed there wouldn’t be many mourners, other than Dylan and his brothers, herself and probably Wanda.

  “You’re right,” her dad said, startling her. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. “I’ll go, and I’ll see if Jen will. Maybe Rick Englebright,” he added, referring to a local attorney who’d been a help to both Alex and Dylan in months past.

  Alex set a small plate of crackers and cottage cheese surrounded by fresh vegetables cut into bite-sized pieces in front of her dad, who wrinkled his nose at it. “It’s good for you. Hey, did you bring in the mail?”

  Dad, whose mouth was stuffed with cottage cheese and celery, shook his head.

  “I’ll get it.” She went through to the living room and outside to the mailbox at the curb. In it was a heavy cream-colored envelope from the National Scholastic Press Association. Alex’s heart started beating a little faster as she clutched it to her chest and ran inside. “Dad! I’ve got the word on my Pacemaker contest entry.”

  Her dad sprayed cracker crumbs all over the table as he answered. “Yeah? Well, what does it say?”

  “Give me a second!” Alex stood with the envelope held in front of her, trying to catch her breath, which didn’t want to cooperate. Finally, with shaking hands, she tore open the envelope and reached inside.

  “Dear Ms. Ward,” she read. “We are pleased to inform you… oh my God, Dad! I’ve won first prize!” Alex went skipping through the house, with her dad in hot pursuit wanting to read the letter for himself. He caught her when she doubled back down the hall and took the letter from her.

  “We are pleased to inform you that your article titled ‘Left for Dead’ has won first prize in our annual Pacemaker award. In addition to the gold medal, which will be conferred upon you at our announcement ceremony, the award comes with a cash prize of $5000. Please inform us of your intentions to attend the ceremony, to be held in Phoenix, Arizona, on April fourth of this year.” Alex’s dad, Paul, practically crowed the last few words as Alex danced around him trying to snatch the letter back.

  “Well, isn’t that the pip?” he asked, finally handing the letter back to Alex and smiling at her proudly. “Are you going to attend the ceremony?”

  “Hell, yes!” she answered, earning a frown from her dad. “Oh, grow up, Daddy. It’s just a word.”

  Her dad sighed, then brightened as he asked, “So, what are you going to do with the money? Fix your car?”

  Alex snorted. “It would take more than five-thousand to fix that car. No, I think I’m going to use it to move to Casa Grande for the rest of the semester. It will be more than enough.”

  She glanced at her dad to find him staring at her, a disbelieving expression on his face. “Move to Casa Grande? Why?”

  Alex sighed. They’d had this conversation more than once. She wanted to be away from Dodge and closer to school, where she was majoring in Mass Communications. The hour-and-a-half commute left her with little opportunity to take part in campus life, and she hadn’t managed to make many friends at school, because she lived so far away. Not to mention, it was wearing the car out faster than she could keep up with repairs. At the rate she was going, she’d have to replace it before she was done with school and earning enough to do so. “Dad, you know why.”

  “Kiddo, is everything okay between you and Dylan?”

  The change in tactics meant he was really having trouble with her decision. She sighed. “Yes, Dad, everything is okay between Dylan and me. He knows I’ve just been waiting for this opportunity. It isn’t like I’m moving to Australia.”

  “What will he do about the boys, if you aren’t here to help?”

  And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? She and Dylan were in love, or she thought they were. At nineteen, she wasn’t entirely certain it was love, although their physical relationship was intense. More than once, they had argued over her desire to leave town and finish school in Phoenix, especially after his bid to adopt his brothers had been successful. She was part of his support network. The network included Wanda, a distant relative of Dylan's.

  Sofia, a Native girl who’d moved in with him with her own son for a little while to be nanny to the boys, had moved out shortly afterward. All too soon, the distance from her home in Sells had proved to be t
oo great for her, and she’d gone home, leaving a gap that Dylan had a hard time filling without Alex, and Alex’s feelings were mixed.

  At times, she resented the boys for complicating her relationship with Dylan. Not only did they take a lot of Dylan’s time, but their very existence made Alex wonder if she wasn’t just a convenience for him. Someone easy to be with who could also be an on-call babysitter. At the same time, she loved them for the sweet boys they were and her heart went out to them, since they were all but motherless. Completely motherless now, she reminded herself.

  “I don’t know, Dad. I guess he’ll have to expand his network of friends. We’ve talked about it. He knows I have to do this, and he’s told me he’s willing to wait for me. I’m going, and there’s nothing you or he can do about it.”

  With the words out, Alex didn’t feel any better. Her excitement was dampened by the knowledge that she might be running out on Dylan at the worst possible time.

  THREE

  Dylan hadn’t been inside the church since he was a young boy, but he sent his brothers with Ange on Sundays while he sat with his mom. He felt strange, following their lead as the congregation rose, sat, knelt and rose again during the funeral mass. Alex sat in the same pew, the boys between them, and did her best to follow as well. He was aware there were other people there, not many. It was surreal, hearing the intonations of the priest and knowing they were for his mother, and yet, so far, her name hadn’t even been spoken.

  He risked a look at the casket, the best he could afford, sitting in the front of the chapel. A handful of fellow rangers had accompanied it in as pallbearers, and he was truly grateful he’d made some good friends in the short time he’d been back. He didn’t know who else he could have called on for this favor. Nevertheless, at the moment, he couldn’t even remember their names, except for Rick Anson, with whom he was often partnered on the job.

  Davi fidgeting in his seat distracted him, and then Alex put a hand on Davi’s leg to quiet him. What would he do without Alex? His heart swelled with love for her, as he once again turned his attention to the priest. Now he was reading the obituary.

  “Our sister Maria Chaves entered this life in an unnamed village of the Tohono O’odham Nation, forty-five years ago on January 15, 1970. In 1988, she married Jaime Lopez in Nevada, and then returned to her village to wait for him to return from war. Alas, that was not to be, as he fell to a terrorist bomb in Beirut, Lebanon. Maria is survived by her sons Dylan Chaves and Juan and David Mendez. Maria’s life was cut short by cancer, and she went home to Our Lord on Thursday, March 26, 2015.”

  What a pitiful account of a life.

  Dylan knew there was far more to it. His mom’s alcoholism, which prompted her to leave the reservation and settle in Dodge, illegally as it turned out. Rufio’s abandonment of her when his sons were toddlers and the extended months of near-vegetative state after the cancer invaded her brain. He hadn’t put any of that into the obituary, because he was the only one who cared. No one else needed to glimpse inside that sad life, if they didn’t already know of it.

  At last, the Mass was over and the mourners followed the hearse to the city cemetery, where Maria would be interred. After a short graveside service, only a handful went back to the church for a luncheon provided by the never-tiring ladies who did such things. Alex excused herself to get to work, since she’d missed school on Thursday and couldn’t afford to miss again tomorrow. Dylan understood. He and the boys were just going to go home and rest anyway, after the long weekend of planning the services.

  “Can I see you tonight? Will you come over?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, I, uh, I have something to tell you. Didn’t want to bother you with it before.” She seemed nervous. Dylan wondered if it was bad news, but didn’t focus on it. He’d find out soon enough.

  After Alex left, he had his hands full with Davi, who couldn’t grasp the solemn nature of the day. He was running around the room, which also doubled as a gymnasium, pretending to shoot baskets and in general making a nuisance of himself.

  At least he kept his clothes on.

  Dylan’s subconscious brought up a mental picture of his brother being brought home in disgrace only a few weeks before, his Sunday best trousers bunched oddly and his tie off. Ange informed him then that if he couldn’t convince Davi to stop stripping in public, she wouldn’t be able to take him anymore. He chuckled, earning an odd look from Ange now. He’d tell her later. Now wasn’t the time.

  Hours later, Alex arrived as he was feeding the boys the last of the food that well-wishers from the church had brought over. His mood lightened when Davi jumped from the table and ran to her. It was lucky his brothers weren’t older, or they’d be trying to beat his time with her.

  “Hi, babe,” he said. “Want some dinner?”

  “Nah, thanks. I just ate. Had to feed Dad. Can I help you clean up in the kitchen?” Alex corralled Davi and made him sit down to finish his dinner, and then took a chair herself, seeing they weren’t finished.

  “How are you doing? And them?” she said, indicating the boys with a nod of her head.

  “Hanging in. Just want this day to be over, frankly,” he said.

  “Well, I got some good news, for me at least. Want to hear it?” Her smile was too bright. Something was up, and that qualifier gave him a little pang. Was she about to deliver news that wasn’t good for him?

  “Sure, babe. Davi, if you’re finished, scrape your plate into the trash and put it in the sink. Juan, you may be excused.” His brothers taken care of for the moment, Dylan turned back to Alex.

  “So, what’s this good news?” He had another qualm as a shadow of uncertainty passed over her features, but then she smiled again. Maybe it would be okay.

  “You know I entered my story about my kidnapping in the NSPA Pacemaker Award competition, right?” She wiggled in obvious anticipation of his answer.

  “Yeah.” He could feel what was coming, but he didn’t want to steal her thunder. “And?”

  “I won!” she cried, clapping her hands like a little girl. “I won first place, Dylan! Isn’t that cool?”

  He felt his face split into a broad grin. “Babe, really! That’s very cool! Also rad and dope,” he added, with a goofy leer.

  She took a swipe at him. “You goof. The award ceremony is this Saturday. Are you off? Can you go with me? The boys, too. We’ll make it a fun day and take them to the zoo or something afterward.”

  Dylan stopped and mentally reviewed his schedule. As far as he knew, he was off on Saturday. Unless the personal leave he’d taken last week and this for the funeral had changed it. He was going back to work tomorrow, so he’d find out then.

  “As far as I know, I’m off. Can I confirm tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be gone all day. Tuesday, remember? You can text me.”

  “Okay, I will. Alex, I get the feeling there’s something else. Something you’re reluctant to tell me. What is it?”

  “Oh, um. Well, the award comes with a cash prize. I’m going to move to Casa Grande for the rest of the semester.” Alex twisted her hands together. This wasn’t the way she’d have chosen to tell him, or the time. When confronted head on with his question, she had no choice. Now she could see that it would have been better to tell him a white lie, that there was nothing else right now. His face had crumpled.

  “Oh, honey, it’s not the end of the world! We’ve talked about this! I’ll be nearby. Please tell me you’re okay with it.”

  “I guess I have to be,” he choked. Then he grabbed her and hung on for dear life.

  ~~~

  Dylan arrived at work at the usual time the next morning, to discover there’d been a shake-up over the few days he was gone. His former supervisor had taken a sudden leave of absence among rumors of a serious illness, and a new senior ranger was in his place. A woman, around fifty years of age if he had to guess. He liked her immediately when she took his hand as he introduced himself and expressed her condolences. She’d done her homework, it seem
ed.

  “Call me Helen,” she said, after the introductions were complete. “And do you go by Dylan, or Dyl?” Only Ange ever called him Dyl, and he often thought she meant it as a play on words, like dill like a pickle. Or dull, maybe.

  “I answer to either,” he said. “But if you call me Dyl, I reserve the right to call you Hel.” His grin came easily. If Helen were thirty years younger, she might be able to give Alex a run for her money.

  “Dylan it is,” Helen said, just as quickly and with a big grin of her own. “Now, tell me, do you have anything to handle in the next few days or weeks? Your mother’s estate?” she’d sobered enough to be correct when she asked that.

  “I don’t think so. She didn’t have much. I guess I’m going to have to go through her trailer, clear it out and figure out what to do with it. It isn’t big enough for my boys and me.” He assumed she knew about his brothers, since she knew about his mother. But it appeared he was wrong. Her eyebrows rose as her mouth parted.

  “Your boys? I understood you were single. Not that it matters,” she hastened to add.

  “I am. The boys are mine by adoption. My little brothers. We knew Mom wouldn’t live to raise them.” His words, a mixture of pride in his family and sadness over his mom’s passing, seemed to soften Helen’s expression.

  “Well, so you’re a single father. I’ll remember that. We’ll work things out so you can be there for them when they need you. Any special requests for your schedule? I’ll be reorganizing it to accommodate everyone’s needs as much as possible,” she said. Dylan shook his head in amazement. Not six months before, he’d stood in this same office and been told that any more unexpected absences would result in his dismissal. He said as much.

  Helen’s expression became guarded. “Well, that’s as may be. I have a different philosophy.”

  All Dylan could do was say thank you. After settling that he was indeed off on Saturday and accepting Helen’s congratulations to Alex in her behalf, he went out to the bullpen and found Rick Anson waiting for him.