“This has nothing to do with our divorce,” Matt’s snap yanked her away from the memories. He looked over his shoulder as though expecting someone to be there.
“Well, whatever it has to do with is going to have to wait, preferably for another four years.” She lowered her voice, desperately trying to quell the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach.
He slid his hand down to hers. “If it could, do you really think I’d be here?” He bit out the question.
Their gazes clashed, and she recognized the light of battle in his eyes. “Why did you have to come here?”
“The agency sent me.”
Pulling away, Erin took a step back away from him, her arms wrapping around her waist in a clear defense mechanism.
“Is this man bothering you, Erin?” Jerry slid off the stool and clamped his hands on his hips. Less than an inch taller than she was, he didn’t present much of a challenge even if she wanted him to intervene on her behalf.
So Erin waved him away. “No, I can handle this.”
“Well, you just let me know. I’m right here.”
Matt shot him a glance, no doubt assessing the potential for a threat. He just as easily dismissed him. “Erin. Please.”
She glanced at her watch then the door, wondered if he could catch her if she made a mad dash for the exit. Probably. Matt always kept himself in good shape, and it didn’t look like he’d let himself go at all.
“Just tell me what this is about so I can get back to work.”
“Here?” The frown marring his brow intensified.
“I’m not going anywhere else with you, and you’re not leaving. So what choice do we have?”
She recognized the moment his patience snapped and wished she’d stayed silent, given him the time he’d need in private. But it was too late. She’d thrown down the gauntlet, and Matt never walked away from a challenge.
“Fine, but remember this was your choice.”
Erin had a brief moment to regret her hasty decision before Matt continued.
“I’m here about Stuart.”
The name brought the familiar taste of fear, and Erin’s gaze flickered. Heart racing, she looked down at her hands and noticed she’d torn her thumbnail without even feeling the pain. “I’m not interested in hearing anything else.” She’d given Stuart too much of her past, and since her move back to Charleston, she’d done everything humanely possible to make sure he wasn’t part of her future.
Every notice she’d received from the Department of Corrections, she’d trashed. Before she’d left New York, she’d refused to take his calls or accept his letters. Long after she’d moved, she’d received forwarded mail. It had taken him two years to finally leave her alone. The last thing she wanted was to open that door again.
Erin straightened and adjusted her apron again. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the stockroom.”
Praying Matt wouldn’t follow but knowing he would, she spun on her heel and hurried toward the back of the coffee shop. What could be so important about Stuart that the FBI would send her ex-husband after her? Her brother had a life sentence without parole, had been damned lucky he hadn’t gotten the death penalty. What else was there to talk about?
“Damnit, Erin.” Matt’s voice boomed behind her.
“Whatever it is about Stuart that’s brought you here doesn’t concern me. Any relationship I had with my brother died the night he killed my parents.” Injecting enough ice in her voice to freeze the sands of the Mojave Desert, Erin pretended to take stock of the rows of boxes.
Behind her, the door closed seconds before the overhead light came on. She didn’t turn around, but that didn’t seem to deter her determined ex-husband.
“Really? Is that why you pushed me to help him get into drug rehab, wanted me to talk to the District Attorney about a lesser sentence?”
She whirled, her temper spiking. “I’d just lost all the family I had, Matt. Forgive me for not wanting to lose my brother, too.”
“You had more family. You had me.”
“And you were always there for me, right? Right up to the time you slapped the handcuffs on Stuart.”
“He came to our home and confessed to a crime. What did you want me to do? Let him go?”
She held up one hand, the memories too much. “We don’t need to go over this again, Matt. It’s done. I haven’t seen Stuart since the trial.”
“That might change if he has anything to say about it.” Matt walked closer. “Stuart escaped.”
One hand clutched the edge of a metal shelf as her vision swam. “Escaped? From Attica?” She barely managed to croak out the words, and the strange buzzing sound in her ears had her pressing her spine against the wall for support.
“Yeah, escaped. Less than twenty-four hours ago. The agency believes he’s coming here.”
“He doesn’t know where I am. He’d have no reason to come here.”
“Erin,” Matt talked to her as though speaking to a frightened child. “Stuart found a way out of a maximum security prison. Do you really think he couldn’t find you if he wanted?”
The taste of fear settled in her mouth, and she looked away from the concern on her ex-husband’s face. This couldn’t be happening. “Why would he come after me, though? Being out of prison, wouldn’t he just want to get as far as he could from the law?”
A strong hand curled around her upper arm and brought her whipping around. “Are you even listening to yourself? He butchered your parents, and you expect him to think rationally?”
She tried to shake his hand away, but Matt held fast. “Have you forgotten that he was on meth that night?”
Matt gave a curt laugh. “Unbelievable. All these years, and you still think that’s the only reason he destroyed your family.” He shook his head. “I would have thought by now you would have realized that Stuart is a psychopath.”
Erin didn’t trust Stuart any farther than she could throw him, but psychopath was taking it a bit too far. They’d had the same parents, the same childhood. She would have known if he’d been abnormal. No, the drugs had been calling the shots that night. Not Stuart.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. The drugs were controlling him. I saw how he broke down at the trial, how knowing what he did changed him. You don’t know how sick it made him when the prosecution showed the autopsy photos. That changed Stuart inside.”
“Didn’t change him enough to stop him from killing again.” Matt forged on before she could respond. “You probably haven’t been paying much attention to what’s been going on with your brother since he went to prison, have you? Didn’t bother to read any of the letters the New York Department of Justice sent you, either. Well, let me clue you in. Why do you think he got moved to Attica? It’s not exactly a place for men who like to knit.”
“I never said Stuart was perfect, and I’m sure prison has hardened him. It’s survival of the fittest in there.”
“You think prison made him into the monster he is?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Erin didn’t even know why she was trying to understand Stuart. He certainly hadn’t given a damn about her or her family when he’d started taking the drugs, when he’d lied, cheated, and stolen to get money to support his habit, even knowing what those actions did to the people who loved him. And he certainly hadn’t given a damn when he’d refused to accept the plea bargain the DA offered, in effect, forcing her to testify against him.
“Well, try this. Stuart might have been on meth the night he killed your parents, but he’s killed since then, each time more gruesome than the time before. Should we blame the meth for those deaths, too?”
Matt always did know how to twist words around. And to shake the ground beneath her feet. “Go to hell.” She finally managed to fight her way free from the apron. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here? I doubt the FBI sent you to make sure I knew about my brother’s escape, so the truth, as briefly as possible, would be greatly appreciated. I have a
business to run.”
Matt’s eyes glittered, giving him a menacing look she’d seen before. It usually signaled an argument he had no intention of losing. “Whether or not you want to believe it, Stuart’s going to come looking for you.”
The words sent a cold chill down her spine, but she’d never let him see it. Her palms began to sweat, and nausea welled up in her stomach—a familiar feeling whenever she thought about Stuart.
The last time she’d seen him had been the day he’d been escorted from the court room after his sentencing hearing. His lawyer had contacted her and asked her to speak on Stuart’s behalf. She’d refused. Could that be why Stuart might be looking for her? Had he harbored a grudge because she wouldn’t attest to his character?
“Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, let me ask you one thing. Are you willing to bet your life that you know your brother better than the system now?”
“He’ll be wasting his time if he comes here. I won’t see him even if he does manage to find me.” Determination brought her chin up a notch, but her hands trembled. “I guess I should say thanks for the heads-up. At least now I can be on the lookout for him.” And she’d do that with her dad’s old pistol right beside her. It had been a while since she’d shot it, but it could still do the job if necessary.
“Actually, I’ll be on the lookout for him.” Matt fastened a lower button on his suit coat. “I’ll also be your shadow. So I hope you have a guest room.”
Erin’s mouth worked while her brain tried to formulate the proper response. The idea of Matt in the same house with her caused her to practically hyperventilate. “You’re not-—there’s no way in hell you’re staying with me.”
“The Federal Bureau of Investigations tells me I am.” He flashed his identification, purely as a way to irritate her, she was sure. “So who do you think is going to win this argument?”
Telling him to go to hell again wouldn’t serve much purpose.
It took him longer than he thought to find his aunt’s house, but standing outside the dingy walk-up, Stuart felt the relief of finally arriving. His cellmate’s close presence behind him was the only damper to his enthusiasm. He hadn’t wanted to bring Arlin with him, but since the guy had played a big part in helping him escape, Stuart had allowed him to tag along. He’d figured he might need the extra pair of hands down the road.
They’d laid low for the first twelve or so hours after the escape, taking shelter in an abandoned gas station more than thirty miles away from the prison. Luck had been on their side, and they’d managed to hitch a ride in the back of a pick-up truck with migrant workers. No one had asked any questions, and Stuart didn’t worry about leaving them alive. He doubted the workers would care to identify him. They certainly hadn’t spent much time looking at either him or Arlin.
“What are you waiting for?” Arlin grumbled behind him. “This ain’t exactly an abandoned neighborhood.”
“Yeah, I got it.” Surprised to find his palms sweaty, Stuart wondered if Aunt Felicia would remember him. He hadn’t seen her since his sister’s wedding twelve years ago. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door flew open.
Felicia hadn’t changed much. A diminutive woman with a wealth of curly, white hair stacked atop her head in a wobbly bun, she peered at him through glasses sitting on the edge of her nose. “Who are you?” she barked the question in a stern tone of voice, which reminded Stuart of his younger days.
Aunt Felicia had been a schoolteacher, and the one summer he and Erin had spent with her proved she was a hard taskmaster. The old battle axe didn’t let them get away with anything and seemed to have eyes in the back of her head which came as a rude shock to them. Their own mother wasn’t as suspicious, or perhaps, she simply didn’t give a damn. Stuart always believed the latter.
“Aunt Felicia, you don’t recognize me?” He adjusted the collar on the coat he’d swiped from the back of a chair in the restaurant up the street.
Her nose wrinkled. “Aunt Felicia? I haven’t been called that in years.” She leaned in for a closer look. “Stuart? Is that you?” Arms folded over her small bosom. “You look like hell, boy. What happened to you?”
He managed a reassuring grin though his heart galloped in his chest. Did the old bat not remember where he’d been all this time? “Long story, Aunt Felicia, but can I come in for a few minutes? Maybe we could talk.”
She continued to stare at him for a long second before she bobbed her head. “Well, all right, but wipe your feet, and you,” she jutted her chin toward Arlin, “try not to touch any of my furniture. I just cleaned.”
Stuart covered Arlin’s low growl with a cough. “Thanks. We won’t stay long.” He placed his hand at the small of her back, leading her back into her simple house. “I’m just looking for Erin.”
Felicia looked over her shoulder, the movement deepening the wrinkles in her neck. “Oh, well, she moved, I think. Left the state years ago. Right after her parents died, I believe, but you should know that, shouldn’t you?” She squinted and peered closer into Stuart’s face. “Why are you here?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he edged toward the tattered brown sofa. “Like I said, I’m just looking for Erin. I’d like to try to get back in touch with her. It’s been a while since we talked.” He folded his hands together in front of him like an innocent schoolboy. “We didn’t go our separate ways on a good note.”
Felicia’s brow furrowed. “Yes, I know.” Her face cleared. “Now, wait just a minute! Stuart, weren’t you in prison?”
Damn. He didn’t want to have to hurt her. She wasn’t part of the equation, and the way he saw it, the fewer bodies he left behind, the less chances the police would have of finding him. He’d been counting on her age to make a little forgetful. Apparently Lady Luck had decided to take a leave of absence.
Stuart held his hand back to keep Arlin from moving forward. “Yeah, but I’m on parole. So about Erin—”
“No.” Felicia shook her head so hard her bun wobbled precariously. “They don’t parole murderers. You killed my brother. Your own parents.” Her lips pursed as if she’d just sucked on a particularly sour lemon.
“You escaped! That’s right. The police have been looking for you. It’s all over the news!” Taking a backward step, she waggled one finger in the air. “Don’t you move. I’m going to call the police. You’re going back exactly where you belong.”
She started to turn, and from the corner of his eye, Stuart saw Arlin’s arm drop. Felicia fell to the floor, Arlin looming over her with a heavy statue of a horse in his right hand. “We don’t have time for this,” Arlin snarled each word. “We’ve been out in the open long enough. We need to get off the road before dark. Let’s search the old lady’s house. She’s probably gotten letters or something from your sister.”
Stuart shoved his hands into the pockets of the plain brown work pants he’d taken from the terrified gas station attendant just an hour before. They were too loose, but he just cinched the belt tighter. “No. Felicia and Erin don’t keep in touch. They weren’t any closer than she and me.” He couldn’t take his eyes off his aunt face down on the braided rug. “She might have known where my sister is, but I guess we’ll never know now.”
Arlin stepped over Felicia’s body. “She was going to call the police.”
“You think I would’ve let her do that? Give me a little credit.” Stuart shoved past him and headed down the hallway. "I can’t leave a trail of bodies like breadcrumbs!"
“Yeah, well, remind me to cry later. For now, we need cash and something to eat.”
“We could have done this without killing her.” The death of his aunt shouldn’t unnerve him like this. It wasn’t the first dead body he’d seen at his feet. Wouldn’t be the last. Still, the cold tendrils of unease slithered down his spine.
Arlin snorted. “She wasn’t going to tell us anything.”
Stuart stopped in the hallway and whirled, catching Arlin around the throat to slam him against a wall. “As long as
you’re with me, you follow my rules, and I’m telling you we’re not going to make it easier for the Marshalls to find us by tracking blood down the East Coast. Got it?”
Eyes wide, Arlin coughed, struggling to breathe. “What in the hell’s the matter with you?” Each word came out on a desperate gasp for air.
Releasing him, Stuart took a step back, shaking his head to clear it. He wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with him, but his hands were clammy and the back of his neck was tight, like his skin was shrinking. “We need to get out of here.”
“Man, being on the outside just ain’t agreein’ with you. I ain’t never seen you so jumpy. I thought you was gonna climb out of your skin last night in that station.”
“First night out and all.” Stuart muttered the response, but it didn’t suffice for Arlin.
“It was my first night out, too, but you didn’t see me hemming and hawing like a school boy on his first date.”
Stuart didn’t respond, and the thumping in his chest finally grew loud enough to drown out the sound of Arlin’s voice. He remembered all too well the last time he was this nervous—the night he’d killed his parents.
In a coke-induced haze of anger, he’d executed them both and earned his place in hell. But before he could reach his final destination, he’d had to learn how to survive while inside the bars of his new home. In a six by nine cell, it was kill or be killed, and Stuart had gotten quite good at staying alive.
Then one year later, a guard had mouthed off to him, and the next thing he knew, he was on a bus bound for Attica. He hadn’t even realized he’d killed the guard until EMS had arrived. And that was when he’d known he couldn’t blame the drugs anymore.
Shaking himself out of the past, Stuart cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the hallway. “I’ll check Felicia’s bedroom. You grab what you can from the kitchen and see if she has any money. Be sure to check those canisters on the counter. She used to keep cash in the smallest one.”
Extreme Measures Page 2
