Paige passed me hurriedly, pushing a cuffed Frankie Jay in front of her, a gun at his back. “Shannon!” she barked. “Stop!”
Shannon paused on top of Ace, his fist drawn back, the muscles in his arms flexing. He punched again. Ace sobbed.
Behind Paige, I saw Cody and Easton emerging from the house, their wrists tied together with rope. A long, blood-dripping cut ran the length of Cody’s forehead and his face was bruised, but he smiled when he saw me, one hand lifting in a wave.
My knees felt weak. Ace had told the truth about letting Frankie Jay go, and Frankie Jay apparently had taken his anger out on Cody. But he was alive. If Shannon and Paige hadn’t arrived in time, things could have been much, much worse.
Shannon’s hands went around Ace’s throat. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you,” he growled.
Ace choked but didn’t speak, as if understanding that anything he might say would push Shannon too far.
“Shannon!” Paige said again. “Get off him.”
“I said give me a reason!” Shannon gritted. Ace’s face had gone from white to red and was now turning blue.
Cody came toward us, his limp more pronounced than earlier. He cleared his throat noisily. “Hey, can I help do him in? And I bet Autumn would like to take a couple swipes.” I was about to tell Cody to shut his trap when he winked at me.
“Yeah, save some for the rest of us,” I told Shannon.
Paige put her hand on Shannon’s shoulder. “I got him. Let. Go. Now.”
Reluctantly, Shannon released Ace and stood, stepping toward me. Paige rolled Ace over and cuffed him, giving him a shake for good measure.
Shannon held me tightly for a long moment, enough that I didn’t feel I’d come apart when at last he held me back to look into my face. His eyes drank me in, taking in my scrapes and bruises.
“How’d you find us?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as awful as I felt.
Shannon took my hand, and when he answered his voice was tight and low. “I saw a number on my phone I didn’t recognize. The same number had called Paige, but there was no answer when we called back. Just a voice mail box from some doctor. We looked him up and saw what he did and figured it might involve you. When you didn’t pick up your phone, and we couldn’t get a hit on its GPS, we did a triangulation and pinpointed the calls from the doctor’s phone to this area. The site correlated with the GPS signal of a taxicab reported missing.” He paused and then added, “I’m sorry it took so long to find you.”
So was I. “O’Donald’s gone. He’s taken Winston.”
His finger smoothed my cheek, and I marveled that such a simple touch could mean so much—could make me feel so much. And it had nothing to do with imprints.
“He’s behind this, then,” he said. To Paige, he added, “Better call it in.”
She nodded. “I’ll have them put out an APB.”
I knew I’d have to explain everything, but first things first. “Bridger Philpot’s over there behind the lilacs. He’s the one who drove the taxicab here. He needs an ambulance. He’s been trying to get evidence on Tarragon since he faked his death. He’s been shot. He may not make it.”
Paige paled. “I’d better call Claire.”
After that everything seemed to happen at once. While Cody and I detailed our adventures, a half dozen officers arrived, followed closely by three ambulances. Ace and Frankie Jay were arrested, and the EMTs went to work on Ralph and Bridger, and also on the thug lying in the dining room. The thug was pronounced dead, and Ralph was whisked away in one of the ambulances, but Claire arrived before Bridger was stable enough to move. She ran to the gurney, sobbing, and pressed her cheek against his. Bridger curled a hand around her neck and hugged her as if he’d never let go.
“You’re here,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, honey. So sorry. I didn’t realize I’d be away so long. I needed enough evidence to make sure Tarragon couldn’t touch our family.”
“You’re alive! That’s all that matters. You’ve come back to me.” Claire continued to sob as she clung to his hand. I had no doubt about her feelings, and I didn’t think he would either, once he’d recovered enough to understand. Maybe he’d done the right thing. Shannon could bawl him out later for not going to the police, but his actions might have been the only thing that saved his family. I only hoped we had enough evidence to convict everyone, or Claire’s family might still be in danger.
Shannon made me sit on a patio chair and called an EMT over to check me out. As they bandaged my wounds, he paced nearby, his phone plastered to his ear. With poor grace, Cody endured administrations from another EMT for the cut on his forehead, which I suspected Frankie Jay had given him with the gun. If they hadn’t already put Ace in a police car, I would have had another go at him for that.
Easton also lurked nearby, looking miraculously unscathed, and I glared at him. “I’m not going to tell the detectives what you did because you saved me back there with that big thug,” I told him in an undertone, “but if you ever try to force me to do anything again, believe me, I’ll have you in prison so fast that you won’t know what happened.”
“And I’ll just kill you,” Cody growled. “That’s if there’s anything left of you after her boyfriend gets through. He’s that detective over there, if you haven’t figured that out yet.”
Easton paled and hunched his shoulders, cringing away from Cody. “I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
I didn’t know if I believed that, but I did know I wasn’t going to turn my back on him any time soon.
Shannon put his phone in his pocket and hurried over to me. At first I thought he’d overheard the conversation, but he didn’t look twice at Easton. “They’ve found O’Donald. He’s holed up in a hotel downtown, and we think he has Winston with him. We have some uniforms there now, but there’s a complication. JoAnna Hamilton and her cousin, Maribel, just got there and went inside.”
I came to my feet. “There’s no telling what he’ll do to them. He’s not happy about JoAnna hiding Winston’s identity all these years. We have to get there fast.”
“I think you need an X-ray for your ribs,” protested the EMT, a burly man with ebony skin that reminded me of Jake’s sister, Randa. “One might be fractured.”
It didn’t hurt too much when I breathed, and I’d been able to survive my flight down the tree, so even if he was right, I wasn’t going to let it hold me back now. “Later,” I said. Besides, they couldn’t really do anything for cracked ribs except wrap them, and I could do that for a lot less money at home. I also had herbs to help the bruising. Right now what I needed was to see O’Donald put away.
I looked at Shannon and he nodded. “Okay, you can come, but the next thug is mine.” He said it jokingly, but his fury at Ace hadn’t gone away, and he was looking for a fight. I’d feel the same if he’d been hurt. Still, I was glad he respected my need to see the case through.
“I’m going too.” Cody popped to his feet.
“You can’t,” said the brown-haired EMT with a leg brace in his hand. “You have a broken leg, sir. I’m sure of it.”
I stared at Cody. “A broken leg? That fall from the haystack broke your leg and you’ve been walking around on it all day?”
“Naw.” He shook his head. “Frankie Jay had a little fun with me after Ace freed him. But I’m fine.”
The EMT gave Shannon a pleading look.
“Take him to the hospital,” Shannon said. To Cody, he added, “We’ll come over right after we’re finished and let you know what happened.”
Cody scowled, but Shannon was already turning away.
“Please get it fixed,” I told Cody. “It’s all over now. We’re not in danger anymore. Please.”
“Okay, but Autumn,” His hand darted to my shoulder, “When Ace showed up, I . . . well, I didn’t know if you . . . oh, I just want to say that I’m glad you’re okay.”
“So am I.” I meant I was glad that he was okay, but we really didn’t need words. For the first time in my l
ife, I stepped close and hugged him. He hugged me back, and when we pulled away, neither of us let our eyes meet. I hurried after Shannon. As I moved further away from Cody, the connection between us thinned, but I could still feel it.
I could really feel it.
Lifting one gloved hand, I swiped under my eye, hoping no one noticed.
Paige met us inside the house, carrying my bag. “Autumn, isn’t this yours? We found it in a van.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I dug through the bag, and besides the missing gun and cell phone, nothing else had been disturbed. I even had “normal” over-the-counter painkillers inside because of the accident, and I downed two without water for the ache in my back where my left kidney usually minded its own business. That, I would have to get checked out.
“By the way,” I remembered to tell Paige and Shannon. “It was Frankie Jay’s men who were behind that bit with the rug yesterday morning. Ace sicced them on me. He was following us. But he also said that one of the owners from In Loving Memory hired him to do something to throw us off the case.”
“Which one?”
“The tall one whose father started the business. Nye, wasn’t it? The guy who practically threw us out. I bet Ace will testify if it saves him from doing more time.”
Shannon’s nostrils flared. “Oh, he’ll talk. I’ll see to that.” For a moment his voice was bleak, and I remembered the woman officer who’d left the force to work with Ace. Had her death really been an accident? We had to believe that it was, but we would never know for sure.
Paige opened the front door, ushering us through. “I called the precinct and told them to find Tarragon while we deal with O’Donald. With Bridger’s testimony, and hopefully Frankie Jay’s, we should have enough to book him for the murders of Hamilton’s scientists at the very least.”
The sidewalk felt warm on my bare feet, and I realized I hadn’t retrieved the moccasins. Maybe later.
Shannon opened the passenger door of his white Mustang before hurrying around to the driver’s side. Paige slipped into the back, allowing me the front, and I was glad to be near Shannon. Drinking in his presence calmed me.
“Poor Winston.” I felt sorry for him—and for his mother; their nightmare wasn’t yet over. Maybe it was just beginning. O’Donald had powerful attorneys who might be able to free him from any charges, and he wasn’t likely to walk away from his firstborn. For all the terrible things I knew about organized crime, I’d learned they had a strong sense of family, and once a member, you either remained with them or you died. There seemed to be no in between. “I hope you’re able to arrest O’Donald and make it stick. For Winston’s sake.”
Paige sighed. “And Bridger and Claire’s. But even with all the evidence, that will be difficult since O’Donald wasn’t there when we found you. But if Winston will testify, it could happen.”
“If he’s still alive.” Shannon pulled onto the road and began picking up speed. All too suddenly, Ace’s BMW was up ahead, and I remembered the taxi driver.
“Wait, pull over,” I said. “I think there’s a man in the trunk of that car.”
Shannon swerved to the side while Paige stared at me curiously. “Uh, are you developing another gift you want to tell me about?”
“Good grief, no.” I rolled my eyes. “Ace and I drove here from where Easton took me, and I thought I heard something in the back. No one found the taxicab driver, did they? No one mentioned if he was in the cab that Bridger drove here.”
We had no keys, but Shannon forced his way inside the BMW and pulled a release lever near the driver’s seat. Inside the trunk lay the blond driver, curled in a fetal position. Paige checked for a heartbeat.
“He’s alive,” she said, turning on her phone. “But we’ll need an ambulance.” She hesitated a few seconds before adding, “I’ll wait here with him and catch up to you at the hotel. If you decide to go in with guns, please wait for me. I really need to shoot something.”
“Me too.” Shannon’s voice was a growl. “Get evidence here as well. I want to make sure Ace pays for this.”
This time Shannon drove even faster, placing a police light on top of the car and using his siren as we approached a more populated area. We arrived at the hotel in downtown Portland as my painkillers started working. Excellent timing.
The hotel wasn’t cordoned off, but officers guarded the door, and civilians were slowly being ushered outside. I wondered if the gradual pace was to prevent O’Donald from suspecting anything if he should look out the window.
A tall young uniformed officer met us in the lobby, his black skin reflecting the fluorescent lights. “Dwight,” Shannon said with a nod. “Everything still the same?”
Dwight nodded, his bright eyes calm and ready. “They’re in room four thirty-six. Don’t know we’re here yet, though they’ve asked for room service and have to be wondering what’s taking so long. The elevator’s over here.”
“A word, please,” Nicholas Russo, dressed in a dark suit, stepped out from a group of civilians waiting their turn to leave the hotel. His shoulders looked wider than usual, his smile more charming. Not one dark hair was out of place.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped. I couldn’t even turn around without falling across one more person I never wanted to see again.
He held a hand up, though to warn me off or to calm me, I wasn’t sure. “I’m simply protecting my interests. I’ve been hearing a lot of things from my contacts. Is it true Winston Drewmore is O’Donald’s son?”
News traveled fast. “Not if it means you’re going to kill him,” I retorted.
Russo laughed. “I don’t kill people.”
“I know what O’Donald did to your wife, but Winston’s not a part of that. You have to understand.”
The lines of Russo’s face hardened. Why had I ever thought him compelling? “And you have to understand that O’Donald’s son is alive and mine is dead.”
“You have another son now.”
His jaw worked. “O’Donald must pay. He knows the score.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Shannon put his arm around me. “Russo, you foul up my operation here, and I will book you myself.”
Russo didn’t reply, but I felt his eyes gouging at my back as we walked to the elevator, guarded by more police officers who made sure no one went to the upper floor where O’Donald had taken Winston.
“That reminds me,” Dwight said to Shannon. “The captain told me to tell you that Boyd Nye’s prints were found on the Washington bust.”
Shannon smiled grimly “Good. With the new testimony about him that we’ve uncovered, we’ll be able to convict him for sure.”
I thought of the gaunt owner of In Loving Memory and how his son had died so unexpectedly. I wondered if that was what had unhinged him. Maybe he’d decided life was too short to eke out a living struggling to make ends meet day after day. I almost felt sorry for him. At least he hadn’t been behind me getting wrapped in that rug. No, that had been all Ace’s doing—and Frankie Jay’s.
The hallway outside room 436 felt crowded with a dozen officers in full assault gear and one hotel manager who looked calm despite the tension. An officer named Lloyd Warren came toward us, apparently in charge.
“We’ve blocked off the area and cleared out the entire floor. Also the one above and below.” Warren had dark hair and was bulky for an officer—a bulk that formed a solid wall of muscle. He’d only been in Portland less than six months, and I had the feeling he didn’t like me much. “We have the key to get inside.”
“I’ll try to talk to them first.” Shannon motioned to the hotel manager. “What’s the number I’d dial from my phone?” Shannon punched in the numbers and the phone inside the room began ringing.
“This is detective Shannon Martin with the Portland police,” he said as someone picked up. “Is this Frank O’Donald? No? Well, is O’Donald there?” He nodded to show us the answer was positive. “What about Winston Drewmore and the Hamiltons? Is everyone all right?”
Shannon covered the phone. “He didn’t answer. He’s talking to someone else. I’m not sure he’ll—”
Two gunshots thundered through the quiet of the hallway, one after the other, a sharp staccato. Boom, boom!
“In! Now!” Shannon pulled his gun and motioned for Officer Warren to use the hotel master key. “Autumn, get back.”
Please don’t let it be Winston, I thought.
Several officers with shields leapt to the front as Warren flung open the door. Shannon followed them with his pistol and more officers poured in after with their rifles. Yet within a minute, I heard the all-clear and some of the officers began leaving.
I ventured inside and immediately wished I hadn’t. Frank O’Donald sprawled in an easy chair, a bloody mess staining the front of his white dress shirt. A tiny pistol lay on the ground in front of him. JoAnna and Maribel Hamilton sat on a couch opposite the unmoving O’Donald, both staring at him with blank expressions. Winston stood near the couch, disbelief radiating from his eyes.
Today JoAnna wore another flowing dress, a coral one that cast an attractive color on her face. Her makeup was precise, her hair piled on her head. I wondered if she’d already been dressed up before she came, or if she’d taken more than usual care with her toiletry and clothing to impress her old flame. I wondered how it felt, now that age had crept up on her, to understand that she couldn’t recapture those years or their passion. To know that O’Donald hated her for what she’d hidden from him.
Maribel wore a powder blue suit that did nothing for her figure, despite its obvious expense. Her hands were clad in dainty white gloves, and her hair was also swept up on her head, but unlike her cousin’s, it was less carefully done, as though she’d hurried.
They weren’t alone in the room. Crater Face lay on the floor in handcuffs, shock and surprise stamped on his pasty face. An officer poised over him, and other officers, their guns drawn, loomed over the old ladies.
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