Blinded

by Teyla Branton

  “What happened here?” Shannon demanded. The way he spoke told me he’d already asked the question at least once before. He looked at Crater Face. “Did you kill your boss?”

  Crater Face lifted his head, shaking it violently. “I was talking on the phone. I turned and”—he glared at Winston and the old ladies—“one of them. They musta done it.” His neck strained as he looked again at O’Donald. “He can’t be dead.”

  “Oh, he’s dead all right.” Shannon looked at Officer Warren. “Better have your men get this guy out of here. Be sure to get a full statement—including about what went on at that mansion.”

  Crater Face didn’t notice me as officers hauled him to his feet and marched him from the room. I felt a little deflated since there were a few choice things I wanted to say to him now that Shannon and a dozen officers had my back.

  “So.” Shannon turned to face the other three. “Sit down, Winston.”

  Winston obeyed woodenly, sinking to the end of the couch beside JoAnna, his eyes flicking briefly to me, but like the thug, he didn’t register my presence.

  “We know what happened at O’Donald’s rental house,” Shannon said. “What we don’t know is what happened here. Is anyone going to fill me in?” No one answered, though Winston’s gaze wandered first to his mother and then to Maribel, as though searching for an answer.

  He must have pulled the trigger, I thought. But where had he gotten the gun? It wasn’t my .380 or Cody’s .45, but a small .22, a gun a casual user might own. A scientist, a school teacher, or a woman who wanted something small to fit in her purse. Easton Godfrey had carried a similar pistol, but the police had confiscated it from the mansion after Ace had been arrested.

  “I suppose that’s just as well.” Shannon looked up at Officer Warren. “I want to question them individually. Keep them apart on the way to the station.”

  “There’s no need.” JoAnna Hamilton stood, her head lifted regally. “I did it. I shot him. He said he was going to kill Ralph, ruin my business, and take my—Winston.” Even now she couldn’t admit Winston was her son. So many years of pretending couldn’t be undone in an instant.

  “Oh?” Shannon said. “Or maybe you’re protecting your son. Maybe Winston shot him.”

  JoAnna drew in a quick breath. “Certainly not. I brought the gun. It’s mine. You can check the registration.” She spoke smoothly and met his eyes with no indication of falsehood.

  She was lying. She might actually own the .22, but her weapon of choice would have been something bigger. A woman in a man’s world, she was well accustomed to proving herself.

  I approached Winston. “Did you do it? Because after what happened today, I think everyone would understand. He betrayed you.”

  “He didn’t do it,” JoAnna grated. “Winston, don’t say another word. We want—all of us want—an attorney.”

  There it was. With that request, there was nothing more we could do, and if no proof could be found, we might never know the truth of what happened in this room.

  Except, I could help. I’d known ever since I’d first felt that connection with Cody. The connection told me he was family, but it also told me my ability was kicking in again.

  Maybe.

  One by one, I pulled off the fingers of my gloves. Shannon watched me. “Are you sure?” he asked in a voice low enough that none of the other officers would hear.

  I nodded. The worst that could happen was that I’d get dizzy again. But I’d had hours of rest from imprints, and maybe I could do this for JoAnna Hamilton, and for Winston too. They needed to face what had happened today and go on with their lives.

  “We’ll have to wait for fingerprinting then.”

  We didn’t have long to wait because the forensic team had already arrived. Shannon had them dust the gun to find a place for me to touch. The textured grip was cleared and it was all I would need. I touched the plastic gingerly with a knuckle, unsure what to expect. Silence filled the room. I found it interesting that JoAnna Hamilton didn’t seem worried.

  The imprint, when it came, almost made me exclaim aloud, not because it was shocking, but because it materialized at all. It was like taking off a bandage from my eyes and finally being able to see.

  Contentment and anticipation. Yes. This would be a nice little gun to have around. I would teach Winston to shoot the next time he came to visit from Oregon. “Wrap it up,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

  That was it. A fifteen-year-old imprint. Nothing more. No dizziness. I waited to see if anything else came, but the imprint only repeated.

  I lifted my hand and looked at JoAnna. “You never taught Winston to use it, did you? Though that’s what you bought it for.”

  She nodded, her lips tightly clenched.

  “Well?” Shannon asked me.

  I nodded. “I know who used this gun to kill Frank O’Donald.”

  Chapter 23

  I knew who killed O’Donald not because of the imprint but because of the lack of one. Neither Winston nor the women were cold-blooded killers, and such a traumatic event would leave an imprint—one I was grateful not to read. But that meant only one of them could have killed O’Donald without leaving that imprint.

  When Winston had commented earlier on my gloves, he’d mentioned his cousin wearing them. At the time, I thought he’d meant JoAnna, but he’d actually been talking about Maribel, who I’d thought was his grandmother. A slip of the tongue.

  She was wearing gloves again today.

  Maribel folded her hands neatly in her lap. “I raised Winston from a baby. He’s mine. He was always mine. Not JoAnna’s.” Her eyes wandered until they landed on me, looking a little wild.

  “Maribel, shut up,” JoAnna said. “Don’t say anything until you talk to our attorney.”

  “I don’t want an attorney.” Maribel looked up at her cousin. “I told you not to deal with Russo. I told you! I knew from the beginning that Frank would be back and that Russo would find out our secret.” She refocused on Shannon. “Russo was going to kill my boy—it was just a matter of time. Killing Frank O’Donald was the only way to protect Winston. As a mother, I did what had to be done.”

  “Maribel, no.” Winston’s agonized voice confirmed that Maribel was telling the truth. He’d stand by and let his mother take the blame without comment, but not the woman who’d loved and tended him all his life. “Please.”

  Maribel reached over the empty place where JoAnna had been sitting and patted his hand. “It’s okay, dear. I wanted to do it for you. He’s a terrible man, and he would have made you do terrible things.”

  The irony of her comment was not lost on me or Shannon, who shook his head. This was one of the times when his job became more than hard. When morality battled against justice instead of being on the same side.

  Maribel looked at me next. “I was afraid you would learn about my plan, so after you came to visit, I put on gloves whenever I was in the house.” She smiled pleasantly. “It worked, didn’t it? You didn’t find out, and of course, Frank didn’t suspect me. He thought I was harmless. Everyone always does. But I would do anything to protect my baby, to give her a chance.”

  Her? Was Maribel mixing Winston up with the daughter she’d lost? Maybe that part of the story had been true. Regardless, she was crazy, or unbalanced at the very least.

  “Come on,” Shannon said gently, offering his hand to Maribel. “I’ll help you downstairs where Officer Warren here will drive you to the station.”

  “What she needs is a doctor,” JoAnna snapped.

  “Can I go with her?” Winston jumped up from the couch.

  Shannon nodded. “We have a psychologist. He’ll talk to her there.”

  We made a sad little party moving to the elevator. JoAnna’s face was tight and pale now, Winston had tears in his eyes, and the few officers who accompanied us were somber. Shannon frowned as he texted Paige. Only Maribel seemed unconcerned as she hummed a little tune I didn’t recognize.

  Russo was still in the lobby when we
exited the elevator. Shannon tried to hurry Maribel past him, but she paused, lifting her face toward the man. “Frank’s dead,” she told him with a smile. “I got you your revenge. Now you won’t have to take the blood of my son. Promise me you won’t. I did you a favor, and now you owe me one. I want his life.”

  Russo contemplated her for the space of several heartbeats. “All right,” he said finally. “I will consider O’Donald’s debt paid.” His gaze shifted to JoAnna. “Word from the hospital says your brother is in a coma. They’re not sure if or when he’ll awake. His backup programs remain lost, which means years of delay. Under terms of the contract, our association is hereby annulled. If the situation changes, feel free to contact me again for renegotiation.” His gaze shifted to me. “It appears I won’t be needing your services at this time, Miss Rain. Good evening.” Pivoting on his heel, he turned, flanked by his bodyguards, their combined bulk becoming a receding wall in front of us.

  At this time. Alarming words since it meant I’d probably hear from him again.

  JoAnna’s face had become pinched, but her only response was to her cousin. “Maribel, I need to go to the hospital to be with Ralph.”

  Maribel patted her hand. “Of course you do, dear. Don’t worry about me. I have Winston.”

  Shannon and I watched them all drive away. He put an arm around me. “I think we’d better go to the hospital ourselves. I’m sure you want to know how Cody is.”

  What he meant was that he wanted me to get checked out by a doctor, but the growing pain in my kidney meant I wasn’t going to disappoint him. I hoped it was only bruised and that a couple doses of dandelion root would put me back to rights.

  “Aren’t we going to wait for Paige?” I said as we climbed in the car.

  “No. I texted her, and she says since everything is settled here, she’s going to the station to book Tarragon. She would like us to check on Ralph while we’re at the hospital. Apparently, Russo’s information is correct. He still hasn’t come to.”

  “Probably whatever O’Donald gave him. Did they test his blood?”

  “They’re doing that now.”

  Poor JoAnna. Despite her austere demeanor, at some point I’d stopped thinking of her as “Hamilton.” She’d lost so much: her brother was in a coma, her cousin was going to prison or a mental hospital, and her relationship with her son might never be the same. Her business had been set back years and would perhaps fail if the rigged backup couldn’t be retrieved and decoded. Some might say it was punishment for the way she’d lived her life, for the many people she’d lied to and stepped on, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel sorry for her. People did change. Cody had.

  “If only JoAnna had her brother’s backups,” Shannon said, his mind running a similar path. “She’d be a lot better off. She could release the model like they’d planned.”

  I nodded. “I wonder what the version they were going to release is like. The machine they showed me was pretty incredible. I almost didn’t believe it when I saw it had printed my—”

  And just like that I knew where the backup disk was. “Shannon, we have to make a detour to my apartment.”

  “But you need to—”

  “Please. Remember last night when my door was open? Well, I thought I saw Bridger outside, but he never explained why he was there—he couldn’t have been following Winston then. If I’m right about why he was there, we may have something to give to JoAnna and Winston after all.” I mentally kicked myself for not figuring it out earlier.

  “Okay.” His phone rang, and he pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. “It’s your sister.”

  “Better answer, or she’ll just keep calling.”

  “Hi, Tawnia,” he said without taking his eyes from the road. “Sure. Here she is.” He passed the phone to me.

  “Autumn!” came my sister’s voice, high and worried. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. But Cody hurt his leg again.”

  “I know. I’m leaving the hospital with him now. They put his leg in a cast. Apparently it’s pretty bad. What did you guys do? He won’t tell me anything except that you’re okay. You really have to be careful about getting him into these things. He’s not a young man anymore.” Her voice faded as she talked to someone I couldn’t hear. “Yes, you’re going home with me. I won’t take no for an answer.” Then her voice was back to normal. “Autumn, you promise you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Well, besides a few bruises.” I winked at Shannon. “A scratch, really.”

  He laughed. That was our code for a more serious injury.

  “What about imprints?”

  “It’s coming back,” I said, not masking the happiness in my voice. I was actually wearing the gloves again, though, to give myself more time to heal. In retrospect, trying to read an imprint containing an intent to murder might not have been the best idea this soon. I’d been lucky.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Thanks.” I’d like to think I would never again complain about my ability, but I knew there would probably come a time. Human nature and all that.

  “Well, just so you know,” Tawnia said, “I’m taking Cody home—whether he likes it or not.” Her voice faded again on the last phrase. “He had some crazy idea of driving back to Hayesville tonight.”

  I laughed, glad my sister had taken charge of the old man. I wondered if he’d tell her about the baby clothes, or if she’d have to track him down to say thanks after she finally received them.

  “Hey, I gotta go,” I said, as Shannon drew up to my apartment building.

  The stop took only minutes, with Shannon insisting on going inside by himself, gun drawn just in case. I was content to let him play the hero. I grinned when I saw that along with what I’d asked for, he was also bringing me a pair of socks.

  “You never know what kind of imprints might be on the floor at a hospital,” he said.

  We made it to the hospital without incident. It almost felt strange without a van or Russo’s men following our trail. An ER doctor diagnosed me with a slight rib fracture and a bruised kidney. Nothing that wouldn’t heal in a couple weeks, though apparently it was going to keep hurting for a good while.

  “Kind of like those bruises on your face,” the doctor added. “When they’re completely gone, you can assume most of the kidney bruise will be healed as well.” If he thought it odd that I was wearing gloves and socks without shoes, he didn’t comment.

  After a nurse wrapped my ribs and gave me another painkiller, we went to check on Ralph but ran into Claire Philpot and Jazzy Storm on the way. Claire’s face was glowing and she looked ready to fly. “He’s out of surgery. He’s going to make it!” she told us. “Thank you so much, Autumn.”

  I hadn’t done anything, though I suppose if I hadn’t gotten mixed up in the whole mess, neither Shannon nor I would have been at O’Donald’s rental house to save him. “I’m happy for you.”

  “It’s like a movie,” Jazzy exclaimed, twirling a stubby lock of her blue hair. “That Tarragon guy asked him to file a patent for some real high-tech printer, and he got suspicious because they didn’t have anything ready. So he investigated his own clients. Even sent a PI to Japan.”

  “That was the ticket he bought,” Claire picked up the narration. “Apparently Tarragon was going to use Bridger to legitimize their claims for the nanotechnology they planned to steal. When Bridger confronted him, Tarragon threatened our family, and when Bridger tried to save those scientists, Tarragon’s men destroyed the entire boat. The money missing from our accounts—that was so he could live until he could prove their guilt.”

  “Well, he socked it to Tarragon before he disappeared,” Jazzy put in, her eyes alive with excitement. “He hired some kids to set off the alarm at that software company so Tarragon couldn’t break in like he’d planned. Then he took tons of their money and gave it to a relief fund in Japan. Can you believe that?”

  So that’s where the stolen money came in. It all made sense now.

  Clair
e put a calming hand on Jazzy’s shoulder, though she looked less likely than the girl to keep her feet on solid ground. “Bridger wanted to make sure Tarragon wouldn’t try to do it all again once he was out of the picture. But five million to a guy like that . . . It didn’t keep him down for long.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I tried to be angry that Bridger didn’t let me know he was alive, at least in secret, but I’m too happy to have him back.”

  “I think he did the right thing,” Jazzy said, lifting her chin defensively, her eyes locking onto Claire’s. “I mean, they killed the scientists! And they almost killed Bridger and that other scientist today. They’re nothing but cold-blooded murderers. If you’d known, you would never have stayed away from Bridger. You’d have gone straight to the police, and that creep Tarragon would have been out for revenge. He’d have probably sent a hit man or something. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, Claire. Or your kids. Your husband definitely did the right thing.”

  “Maybe.” Claire leaned into the girl. They looked so incongruous—the teen with the blue hair and the professional attorney—but it was obvious they’d found what they needed in each other.

  “We’d better get back to him,” Claire said after a few seconds of silence. “I was just talking to the kids. Come and see us when you can, Autumn. I’m sure Bridger has more to add to his story.”

  After three years away, I didn’t doubt it. “I will,” I said.

  We watched Claire float down the hall. “It’s a good thing we got there in time,” Shannon said, his hand slipping into mine.

  “I know. To lose him again like that—” I let out a rush of breath. “Come on. Let’s go find JoAnna.”

  JoAnna Hamilton was standing in the waiting room talking with none other than Arthur Mott and Harold Fisher, the two nerdy owners of Print Perfect. Both had a soda can in one hand and their smart phones in the other.

  “Guess someone told them she was here,” Shannon whispered. “I think they have a business proposition for her.”

  “Now hardly seems the time.”

  He shrugged. “They’re young.” As if that excused everything.