I sat down on my bed, stiff-backed. To Mom I whispered, “They’ve found something.”
Please, God, let me hear Jerry lied!
“Okay.” My voice sounded small.
“We don’t know everything yet,” the detective said. “But we have traced where he went when he left California. And, more important, we know who he became.”
26
In a whirlwind hour of activity Franklin Borden had bought new pants, a shirt, belt, wallet, new watch, and shoes. He put them on in a store bathroom and stuffed his old clothes in the trash, followed by the paper bag of possessions he’d been carrying around all day.
There. Now he looked like anybody else.
He slipped his cell phone and charger into his pocket.
Next on his list—a haircut at the mall’s drop-in salon.
A half hour later, Franklin emerged looking and feeling like a new man. He checked his watch. He needed to hurry to the airport and plug in his cell phone.
In the cab he couldn’t sit still. His fingers drummed both knees, his head swiveling from one window to the other. Plans bounced around his head like pinballs.
He would get to Rayne and Shaley—today. Didn’t matter if they had a lot of security around them. He’d find a way.
Franklin’s cab pulled up at the airport. He paid the driver and strode for the United counter. There he paid for his ticket. He made it through security and headed for his gate. In a corner he found an outlet, where he plugged in his phone.
Franklin settled into a chair to wait. That’s one thing prison taught a man—how to wait. His watch read 1:45. The flight would leave in two hours.
27
What do you mean, who he became?” I asked Detective Myner.
Mom watched me intently, her pizza forgotten. It occurred to me I should hand her the phone and let her hear the news first. I’d been longing to know about my father for years. She’d been wondering about where he’d gone even before I was even born.
But the phone glued to my fingers.
Detective Myner cleared his throat. “Our tracing began with the man you knew as Jerry Brand. As I told your mom yesterday, while running his fingerprints through our system we discovered he was living under an alias. His real name was Jerry Rostand. Rostand was in an Arizona prison until his release earlier this year. His cellmate was a man named Franklin Borden.”
“Franklin Borden.” I raised my eyebrows at Mom—ever hear of him?
She shook her head.
“Borden is a legal name,” the detective said. “It was granted through the courts some seventeen years ago. This man’s birth name was Gary Donovon.”
Heat rolled through my limbs. I couldn’t move. My father was in prison with Jerry?
All my hopes and prayers that Jerry had lied melted away. My father was in prison. And if he’d been in a cell with Jerry, he’d have known exactly what kind of man Jerry was.
“Shaley, you there?”
“Y-yeah. That’s him. Gary Donovon.”
“What happened to him?” Mom demanded. “Where is he?”
I moved the phone away from my mouth. “In prison.”
Her eyes slipped shut.
I swallowed hard and spoke into the cell again. “What did he do?”
“Armed robbery. He went in eight years ago.”
Armed robbery. I curled my fingers into my palm. At least it wasn’t murder. “What … I mean, how did he … do it?”
“He held up a night clerk at a convenience store.”
“Why? ”
Detective Myner hesitated. “Shaley, I don’t know why criminals do what they do.”
Criminals. The pizza turned sour in my stomach. I shouldn’t have answered this call. I didn’t want truth now. I just wanted to hear the rest of Mom’s story—when Gary Donovon was the victim, not the bad guy.
A new thought blew through my head. “Have you called him in prison? Asked him why he sent Jerry?”
The detective sighed. “Turns out we just missed him. Franklin Borden was released yesterday.”
Tingles pranced around the back of my neck. “Yesterday? Then where is he?”
“We don’t know.” Detective Myner tried to sound factual, but I could hear the concern beneath his words. “He served all his time and got out with no parole, so he was free to go where he wanted. We’ve got officers working on tracking him down. He didn’t seem to have any relatives in the area, so it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. But we’ll keep on it. Soon as I hear anything further, I’ll let you know.”
We missed him by one day? Now what if he couldn’t be found at all? “You mean you have no idea where he is?”
“Afraid not. But we’re working on it.”
Working on it. Great. Just like the Denver police were “working” on finding Cat.
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” In a daze I hit the end button and laid my phone on the bed.
“What’d he say?” Mom gripped the top of her covers.
I told her.
Mom stared at the wall, trying to process it all. A silent minute ticked by. Slowly, a revelation dawned on her face. “Eight years, you said? He went to prison eight years ago?”
I nodded.
Mom’s eyes closed. She turned her head away, chin lowering. Her right hand drifted up to a fist at the base of her neck.
“Mom, what is it?”
Some time passed before she spoke. “Eight years ago, the white roses stopped coming.”
Part 10
Rayne 1992
28
That summer before my junior year of high school was the best and worst of my life. The best, because when I was with Gary, nothing else mattered. I believed we could conquer the world. And I knew we would always stay together. But even as our love grew and white roses continued to arrive at my door, a part of Gary drew away from me. He refused to talk about the “favors” he had to do for Bart and his friends so the Westrock gang would leave Gary’s grandmother and me alone.
“Don’t worry about it,” he’d say whenever I asked. “I have it worked out.”
On the surface, apparently he did. No one bothered me. No one bothered his house. Life went on.
I tried to tell myself nothing was happening. Idle threats from Bart, that’s all Gary had heard. But Gary’s moodiness, the occasional faraway look in his eyes, and mostly his tense muscles whenever a cop passed us on the street screamed the truth.
Still, what I couldn’t see was easy to deny.
Then on August twenty-ninth, a little over one week before school started, the world came crashing down.
It was a Saturday night. Gary had worked all day and was picking me up for an end-of-summer party at Christy’s house at eight o’clock.
The night was hot. I was dressed in jeans, a red sleeveless top, and red heels. Gary kissed me when I answered the door and gave me his wonderful crooked smile. “You look terrific.”
“So do you.”
Gary looked happy, ready to have a good time. For the past few weeks he’d been like that. I figured the troubles with his neighbors really had come to an end.
He grabbed my hand as we walked down the porch steps and sidewalk. The sun had gone down, night settling around us and lights snapping on in my neighbors’ windows. We slipped inside his truck, laughing about some silly thing that had happened at his job.
Two miles from my house, I noticed his eyes flitting nervously to the rearview mirror.
“What’s wrong?” I started to glance over my shoulder.
“Don’t look back. I think somebody’s following us.”
I stiffened. “Who?”
He wouldn’t answer.
We turned a corner. It took all my willpower not to look behind me. “Are they still there?”
“Yeah.” His fingers curled around the steering wheel.
The next ten minutes seemed to take forever. Every turn we made, the car stuck with us.
“What do they want?” I gripped the edge of the seat.
G
ary just shook his head.
We turned off the busy main street into Christy’s residential neighborhood. One block later an engine gunned, and a black car swerved up alongside us. A bald guy in the passenger seat motioned Gary to pull over. I recognized him. One of Bart’s friends.
Gary’s whole body stiffened. I could feel the indecision oozing from him. Refusing to obey would be dangerous. But he didn’t want me anywhere near these guys.
All my weeks of convenient denial melted. Westrock hadn’t been leaving Gary alone at all. He’d just managed to keep it from me.
His jaw set. “Rayne, don’t say a word. Don’t even look at them. Hear me?”
He pulled to the curb. I heard the car park behind us, its engine still running. Footsteps approached—more than one person. My heart rammed against my ribs. I focused on my feet.
Gary got out of his truck and shut the door.
“You were supposed to come over before you left.” The voice filtered through Gary’s closed window. It was mean and hard—one I hadn’t forgotten.
Bart.
“Nobody told me that,” Gary said.
“You got a short memory, Donovon. My boy here told you. Right, Andy?”
“Yeah.”
Silence. I could hear the lie in Andy’s voice. Or was this some set-up of Bart’s?
Barely moving my head, I slid a look toward the window. Gary stood with his back to it, as if shielding me from them. Over his shoulder I could see Bart.
Gary made a sound in his throat. “What do you want?”
Bart spat on the street. “A delivery.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“I’m busy right now. Can we do this later?”
“Since when do you put me off?” Bart shoved his face in Gary’s.
Gary didn’t flinch. “Since I’m not alone. I thought you wanted to keep your business to yourself.”
Bart snorted. “It don’t matter you’re out with your girlfriend. She’s not gonna say anything.” He looked around Gary through the window, raising his voice. “Are you, Rayne?”
The sound of my name from his sneering lips turned me to ice. I focused on my lap, frozen.
“Leave her out of this.” Gary’s voice sharpened.
“She’s not in it. And if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay that way.” Bart gestured to Andy. “Go get the stuff.”
Andy strode to the black car. I heard a door open, then slam. He returned carrying a small paper bag. Bart took it from him and pushed it into Gary’s chest.
“The address and cost is inside. I want the money at my place in half an hour. Not a minute later.” He swiveled and headed for his car, Andy following.
Gary slipped back inside the truck, stone-faced. He opened the paper bag and pulled out a white piece of paper. Stuffing the bag under his seat, he flicked on the overhead light.
Behind us the black car’s engine throbbed. It pulled past the truck, did a U-turn in the middle of the street, and was gone.
I tried to swallow. “Gary—”
“Be quiet.” He focused on the piece of paper.
Air gushed from his mouth. His head tilted back, the paper smacked against the seat. “The drop-off’s fifteen minutes in the other direction from your house.” Panic coated his voice.
“What does that mean? What’s in the bag?”
He ran a hand across his mouth. “I figured I’d take you home first. But I can’t. Not enough time.”
I gawked at him, questions crowding my tongue.
Gary stared out the windshield, emotions moving over his face. Confusion … dread … anger … resolve. Abruptly, he sat up straight and shoved the truck into drive.
I dug my fingers into my jeans. “Where are we going?”
He hunched over the steering wheel, his jaw hard. “I have to deliver this, Rayne.” The words pinched from him. “God forgive me, but I got to take you with me.”
“What if you don’t? What if you just don’t do what they say?”
“You know what’s in that bag, Rayne? Drugs. Want to know how much they’re worth? Two thousand dollars. I have to get that money to Bart in half an hour, or they’ll pay a visit to my grandmother. Understand?”
Two thousand dollars? No, I didn’t understand. How could this possibly be true? He’d warned me months ago, but I’d wished it all away. Things like this just didn’t happen in real life.
Gary turned left onto a busy street.
“What if you’re caught?”
“I won’t be.”
“What if you are?”
“Shut up, Rayne!”
I pressed back in the seat, arms folded. Streetlights and cars surrounded us, but all I could see was a black, dead-end tunnel. If Gary kept doing these deliveries, one day he would be caught. He’d go to jail. I could see it now—he’d never say a word to the cops about Westrock, how they’d made him do this. Because if he did, they’d likely kill Grandma Donovon.
And if he didn’t do these deliveries, he and his grandmother could both be killed.
No wonder the Westrock gang made him do their dirty work. They had nothing to lose if he was caught. And meanwhile they got to carry out their crimes without putting themselves on the line.
I pulled my arms across my chest. “Sorry. I’m just scared.”
Gary hit the steering wheel with a fist. “I didn’t want you ever to be a part of this.”
“I know.”
My eyes closed. What did this make me, an accomplice? If the police caught Gary tonight, would I go to jail too?
We drove the rest of the way in silence. My muscles turned to steel.
Gary turned into a rundown, dangerous neighborhood. Drugs and murders—that’s what this area was known for. Just driving its streets, you were taking your life in your hands. Old cars lined the curb, porches sagging and paint peeling. Not one house had grass in the yard.
I slid lower in the seat. “How does someone who lives here afford two thousand dollars for drugs?”
“They’re dealers. They sell the drugs for profit.”
Gary picked up the piece of paper with trembling hands. The sight of his fear made my own body shake. “Two-oh-six.” He slowed, peering at numbers on mailboxes, then pulled over at a dirty beige house.
He glanced up and down the street before sliding the paper bag from beneath the seat.
“Rayne, listen. I’m locking the doors. The minute I’m out of the truck, you slide behind the wheel. I’m going up to the house, make this deal, and come right back. But if anything happens to me, if you hear anything, I want you to drive away.”
“I can’t—”
“Just do what I say.”
“But—”
Gary opened the door, hit the lock button, and got out. He shut the door and motioned to me furiously. “Move.”
I slid over.
As he walked around the front of the truck, I clutched the wheel, my heart pounding.
Gary reached the sidewalk—and an engine roared some distance behind me. Rap music burst in my ears. Gary swung toward the sound. I swiveled around in the seat.
A white sedan screeched to a stop behind the truck. In the rearview mirror I saw a blur of motion. Two men jumped from the front seat doors, one holding something low at his side. They ran toward Gary. He froze.
The house’s front door smashed open, and another man rushed out. Something black was clutched in his hand. “Hey!” He flew off the porch, veering toward the two men from the car. He raised his arm.
A gun. He had a gun.
Gary pivoted toward the truck. “Open the door!”
My body wouldn’t move. Then my fingers were fumbling for the lock button. Where was it? Where was it? Blood pounded in my ears.
Gary yelled again, his face at the window.
The button clicked.
A blast ripped the night. My eyes snapped to the man who’d run from the house.
His face exploded.
I screamed. Jerked a look
over my shoulder. One of the men from the car was lowering a shotgun.
Gary threw open the passenger door, still gripping the paper bag. He jumped inside. “Go, go!”
In the same second two more men dashed out of the house’s gaping door, weapons raised. Gunfire rat-tatted. The man with the shotgun collapsed to the ground.
“Rayne!” Gary’s face creased with terror. “Get out of here!”
I jammed the truck into drive and hit the accelerator.
29
We careened down the street and around the corner. I screamed the whole time. Twice I almost wrecked the truck.
Gary shoved the paper bag under the seat. The bag with drugs. The bag that had just caused the death of at least two people.
A few blocks away, Gary barked at me to pull to the curb. I jerked from behind the wheel, and he climbed over me to drive.
No one had followed.
Maybe they were all dead. Maybe they shot each other. Panicked as I was, I hoped it was true. I just didn’t want any of them coming after us.
Five minutes passed before I could speak. We were back on a main road, lots of traffic. My heart had slowed to triple time.
“What happened?”
Gary shook his head. “Rival gangs.”
Like one gang wasn’t enough. I wiped my forehead. “What do we do now?”
“Take the stuff back to Bart. At least I didn’t drop it on the street. If I returned without the money, without the drugs …”
A shudder clawed at me. “What’s he going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
When we got to Gary’s house, Bart was standing on the lighted front porch. Waiting.
I gasped. Grandma Donovon! Gary yanked up the paper bag and leapt out of the truck. He strode toward Bart, arms pumping. Bart came down the steps.
“Somebody knew I was coming.”
“Yeah, I got a call.” Bart eyed the bag. “That better be full.”
Gary’s face purpled. He thrust the bag at Bart. “Nothing’s lost. Nearly got killed, but what’s that to you?”
Bart’s eyes narrowed. He pulled his head back like a snake. “Wouldn’t be taking that tone if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me.”
Last Breath Page 10
