Dead Wrong

by Janice Kay Johnson

  "Not a monster. Scum."

  As long as she hated him, sneered, jeered, she won. Already she'd won, she thought in that detached part of her mind that still functioned. The battle had been so vicious, her body was a petri dish of evidence that would convict Gavin Husby of murder. He wouldn't dare display her after death, and that mattered to him almost as much as the act of raping and killing. He wanted Will to see her, tortured, raped, obscenely dead. How could he be satisfied if he couldn't achieve that perfect conclusion?

  She spat blood in his face. "Still can't get it up?"

  "I'll show you!" he snarled and sprang from her.

  She rested, let her swollen eye close. Any small respite. Darkness called, wanted her. She wanted it, to sink in its embrace, for the pain to go away.

  But she couldn't let him win.

  She pried open her eye and saw him coming back, brandishing the broken handle of some farm tool. A rake or shovel. She'd been prepared for almost anything, but this…Her control shattered and terror flooded her. Despite herself, she scrabbled backward.

  He laughed. "So what's it going to be? Me or my right-hand dick?"

  * * *

  THE PATROL UNIT WAITED on the highway verge. Headlights picked out a dirt road, framed by a sagging Ponderosa pine gate, burned with the words The WG Ranch. Jerry cut the roof lights and turned onto it, the other SUV right behind him. They rattled over a cattleguard, then followed what was little more than a track through empty, winter-sparse land. They must have gone half a mile before they saw a cluster of trees and buildings ahead.

  "There's a light," Jerry murmured.

  "Gaines might have sold the ranch."

  "I don't think it's at the house."

  Another few hundred yards later, he turned off his headlights. Behind him, the second unit went dark, too.

  Moonlight faintly illuminated the landscape. Jerry hit a pothole right away, swore. Sagebrush scraped the side of the Explorer and he growled under his breath.

  Will stared ahead, his eyes adjusting, now able to make out white light leaking from one of the outbuildings. They were a quarter mile or more away when Jerry said, "Time to walk," and braked.

  They closed doors quietly and assembled, listened to a few words from Jerry, then jogged toward the ranch. Jerry puffed and lurched with his stiff-legged gait. Will wanted to hurry, go faster, but Jerry wouldn't be able to.

  They might still be wrong. Some rancher might be out tending a sick cow.

  But Will didn't believe it.

  * * *

  MUST NOT SHOW FEAR. Unless…one chance. One small chance.

  "Please." Tears tried to leak from her eyes. "Don't."

  He straddled her, his penis hardening. "Beg, bitch."

  She wasn't strong enough to kick. Oh, she wanted to be.

  She let a whimper escape her. "Please. Please don't."

  Gavin Husby laughed in triumph and tossed the tool handle aside. It clattered on concrete. He dropped to his knees between her legs as she moaned and lay compliant, defeated.

  He came down at her, bit her breast, pushed his penis against her.

  She made a fist of her hand but for two fingers, held stiff. And when he lifted his head, blood running from his snarling mouth, she drove her hand upward with everything she had left in her, straight into the soft socket of his eye.

  He fell off her, crawled away, curled into a fetal position. She had never heard anyone scream like that.

  Trina laughed, then sobbed.

  As if in a dream, she heard a sharp, startled, "Son of a bitch!" and they were surrounded by her saviors. In her dream, it was Will himself who knelt over her, crying, promising her forever and a wedding day and a move to San Diego and sunshine if she wanted and if only she would live. For him.

  As she fell into darkness, the last thing she heard was the miracle of Will Patton saying, in a broken voice, "I love you, Trina Giallombardo. I love you."

  EPILOGUE

  THEY DROVE to Salem together, Will, Trina and Meg.

  Trina still hurt. She had to move very carefully to avoid jarring her ribs. One arm was in a sling to let her shoulder heal from the dislocation. Her wrist, torn from the handcuff, was still wrapped, the fingers that emerged from the dressing puffy and stiff. Her bruises had gone through every imaginable hue and were now a dirty yellow rimmed with purple. Even after two weeks, her face was still swollen; the cheekbone and her nose had been broken. Her black eyes had been things of beauty. Her words were still a little slurred. And she would always bear scars on her breast.

  But she'd won. Not just with her death, but with life.

  Will loved her. She was actually starting to believe he did. He'd hardly left her side in the hospital. She'd regained consciousness in recovery to hear his voice. Sometimes at night, she would wake up and find him sleeping in a chair at her bedside.

  He'd told her how sorry he was a thousand times. If he'd stayed away from her, this wouldn't have happened. He'd branded her by falling in love with her.

  She admitted that she had believed he didn't want to be seen with her in public and now felt stupid not to have realized why Will didn't want anyone to know they'd become lovers. Somehow, she hadn't imagined herself as a target. She was a cop, after all. And maybe more important, she didn't look like Gillian and Amy and Karin.

  On this trip across the mountains, Meg drove. Will sat beside Trina in the back, holding her hand, his thumb tracing absentminded patterns on her palm, his gaze tender every time he smiled at her.

  At the penitentiary, Meg surrendered her sidearm and they all submitted to a pat-down. They were escorted to a room very like the one where Trina had once interviewed Ricky Mendoza.

  They waited in silence, Trina sitting because she still felt so exhausted. Will's hand rested on her shoulder. Meg paced.

  At a footfall, they all went still.

  Ricky Mendoza appeared in the doorway, his stunned gaze taking them in. Trina heard a shocked murmur from Meg, who'd last seen him as a cocky, handsome young man, not a scarred, wary one.

  He took a few steps into the room. "What happened to you?" he finally blurted, looking at Trina.

  "The man who put you in here did it."

  He stood, apparently stunned, a suddenly frantic gaze shifting from face to face. His voice was hoarse. "What man?"

  "The man who has murdered maybe a dozen women or more," Meg said.

  "He killed her. Gillian."

  "Yes."

  Mendoza groped for a chair, his knuckles white as he gripped the back. Finally, he half fell into it. He leaned his elbows on his knees and bowed his head, lank hair hiding his face. When he looked up, his eyes had a sheen.

  "Everyone knows I didn't do it?"

  Meg smiled at him. "The governor's aide called last night. He's given you a pardon. You're walking out of here, Ricky."

  He cried unashamedly. When he finally wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve and spoke, it was to Will. "I'm sorry. She was a nice lady. A classy lady. I should have sent her back to you that night. I shouldn't have wanted something not meant for me." He swallowed. "I've wanted to say that for a long time."

  Will's eyes were wet, too. "It wasn't your fault. None of this was. I wish we could give you back these years."

  A ragged laugh escaped Ricky Mendoza. "You're giving me back my life. Shit, that's more than I ever thought I'd have."

  Me, too, Trina thought. Me, too.

  "I'll tell you what, though," he said. "I don't think I'll be coming back to Elk Springs."

  They left him expecting official notice and walked back out of the state penitentiary.

  The afternoon crisp and cold, Will and Trina waited while Meg went to get the SUV. Watching her lieutenant walk away across the parking lot, Trina said, "Your mom. Is she okay with this? I mean, us?"

  Will laughed softly. "Are you kidding? She told me I'm the luckiest son of a gun on earth. I already knew that. You, my darling, aren't just beautiful…"

  She couldn't help laughing, too
, even though it hurt. She might be many things, but beautiful wasn't one of them right this minute.

  "Not just smart," he continued, "not just kind, discerning and gutsy. No, what you have is heart." He laid his hand gently beneath her breast, the one that would be scarred. "Just like all the Patton women."

  Her smile wobbled and she went into his arms. Once upon a time, she'd worshipped from afar. Dreamed of who she wasn't and wished she was.

  How rare and amazing was it to get to go to heaven on earth? She was going to be a Patton. Will's wife. Smart, kind, gutsy.

  Maybe even, on a good day, beautiful.

  Everything you love about romance…and more!

  Please turn the page for Signature Select™

  Bonus Features.

  Dead Wrong

  BONUS FEATURES INSIDE

  Getting To Know the Characters: Meet the Patton Family

  The Publishing History of PATTON'S DAUGHTERS

  Interview with an Author's Daughter

  Travel Tales: Road Trip

  Bonus Read: ROLLING OVER IN HIS GRAVE by Janice Kay Johnson

  ED PATTON, Elk Springs police chief, casts a shadow over his daughters' lives and even the lives of their children long after he's gone. A hard man, he possessed a vicious, cold temper and a streak of cruelty that his daughters knew well.

  JOLENE PATTON loved her daughters but wasn't strong enough to stand up for them or for herself to the angry man she'd married. Knowing he'd pursue her forever if she took their children, she fled to save herself, leaving behind the mystery of whether she had truly escaped—or was buried somewhere in Oregon's bleak high country desert.

  Their Children:

  MEG PATTON, the oldest daughter, fled in turn when her father beat and humiliated her boyfriend, Jack Murray, and she knew he couldn't protect her—or the unborn child she carried. She saved herself and Will, but lived with the guilt of abandoning her younger sisters.

  RENEE PATTON, the middle daughter, both defied and feared her father. She's bitter at the desertion by first her mother and then the big sister who'd been her protector. Glad when Ed Patton dies, she can't seem to avoid following his footsteps. She's an Elk Springs police officer, and she continues to live in the Patton family home even though she's afraid to sit in the living room, where she senses her father's ghost.

  ABBY PATTON, baby of the family, learned to use charm to wrap Daddy around her little finger. Despite her skill—or perhaps because of it—she's the most emotionally damaged of the three Patton daughters. The only honest relationship she's had as an adult is with Renee. Whether she's capable of having an equally honest relationship with a man is open to question.

  MICK SARICH has always known Chief Ed Patton was his father. Neither he nor his mother have ever approached the Patton family, though, and now that his mother is dead Mick is focused on wanting to grow up to be a hero just like his father.

  The Men in the Patton Sisters' Lives:

  JACK MURRAY, Meg's high school boyfriend, suffered humiliation at Ed Patton's hands and heartbreak when Meg fled, unable to trust Jack to protect her. He's made himself into a harder man than he would otherwise have been, but his defenses may fall when he finds out he and Meg have a son together.

  DANIEL BARNARD, rancher, has been haunted by the disappearance of his grandfather, who wandered out the door in a snowstorm and was never found. The bones Daniel's dog brings home open a Pandora's box of secrets—and introduce him to Renee Patton.

  SCOTT MCNEIL, manager of the enormous ski resort that has transformed Butte County, has never recovered from the loss of his infant son from SIDS. Rescuing a baby girl from an icy winter night on the mountain changes his life again.

  BEN SHEA, Elk Springs homicide detective, is a tough guy on the surface, but his greatest satisfactions are the home he's remodeling and his garden. Why he falls for a complicated, prickly woman like Abby Patton is a mystery to him.

  The Patton grandchildren:

  WILL PATTON grew up as the only child of a single mom, smart, athletic and loved, although he's consumed with curiosity about his dad. He watches his friends' relationships with their fathers with envy, and imagines having the same kind with his. Unfortunately, his father doesn't know he exists.

  EMILY MCNEIL is saved by her mother's courage and pure luck. Rejected by her grandparents as a child of sin, she's adopted into the Patton clan.

  MATTHEW JEROME / EVAN MCNEIL* is Meg's baby son.

  SARA and RACHEL SHEA are the young daughters of Abby Patton, Butte County fire marshal.

  DILLON and KATHLEEN BARNARD are Renee Patton's children.

  When Janice Kay Johnson first came up with the idea, she thought she'd write one big book featuring the three daughters of Elk Springs police chief Ed Patton. But then she and her editors decided PATTON'S DAUGHTERS would make an excellent trilogy. The three stories, The Woman in Blue, The Baby and the Badge and A Message for Abby, appeared in the Harlequin Superromance line over three months in 1999. Once those stories were published it became clear Jack Murray, whose life was so closely connected to the Pattons, needed a story of his own. And that's how Jack Murray, Sheriff came to be in 2000. Later that year, Janice was asked to participate in a Harlequin Superromance anthology called Born in a Small Town. She decided to go back to Elk Springs to tell the story of Kevin McNeil, brother of Scott, who was the hero of one of the original books (The Baby and the Badge) in "Promise Me Picket Fences." Six years later she returns again with the Signature Select Saga you hold in your hands. In Dead Wrong, Ed Patton's oldest grandson, Will, is the protagonist. From one idea, six books. (Seven, if you count the reissue of the first two PATTON'S DAUGHTERS in a collection called, not surprisingly, Patton's Daughters.)

  CHRONOLOGICAL BOOK LIST

  The Woman in Blue

  (Harlequin Superromance #854)

  The Baby and the Badge

  (Harlequin Superromance #860)

  A Message for Abby

  (Harlequin Superromance #866)

  Jack Murray, Sheriff

  (Harlequin Superromance #913)

  Born in a Small Town

  (Harlequin Superromance #936)

  Patton's Daughters

  (Signature Select Miniseries)*

  Dead Wrong

  (Signature Select Saga)

  Sometimes you learn more about a person through what others have to say. Janice's daughter shares with us what it's like to live with this writer mom!

  Is your mother, novelist Janice Kay Johnson, a romantic?

  You've got to be kidding. Well, okay. She does like some old things, like old roses, quilts, antique furniture. But lace and hearts and flowery fabrics…no. Really. No. I'm pretty sure she'd prefer honesty to lavish compliments. She does like romantic movies, though, and she reads romances.

  Does she enjoy cooking and other domestic pursuits?

  (Daughter falls to the floor laughing.) (Once she recovers she answers.) An even bigger no! Mom's idea of a domestic pursuit is quilting. She hates to clean house, and home-cooked meals on the table at five o'clock? A distant memory. She did what she had to do when my sister and I were little, but once we were capable of cooking ourselves, she figured she'd done her duty. Nope, Mom would really, really like a housekeeper who leaves for the day just as dinner is ready to come out of the oven.

  Describe a typical dinner table conversation at your house.

  All over the map. I occasionally have to squelch her when she gets too enthusiastic about something she's researching. For example, lately it's been serial killers and she started sharing fascinating details about a book on investigating the time of death. When she mentioned maggots, I politely suggested we talk about the movies that had come out that week instead. Mom is always researching something—it could be a historical period, the experience of growing up adopted (for her next trilogy), sexual abuse, private investigators, oddball professions, you name it. She reads widely for pleasure, too, has plenty of hobbies and follows world events and politics, so we actual
ly have pretty lively dinner table conversations—when she cooks, that is.

  What do people think when you tell them your mother is a romance writer?

  When I was about three and someone asked what my mother did, I told them she typed. They would nod politely. Now that I say what she types—mostly they're fascinated. Once in a while you get the slight curl of the lip as they say, "Romance?" Usually, though, people have a pretty good idea how hard it is to write a 320-page novel of any kind, and to have written and published nearly sixty—they're impressed.

  Describe your mother at work.

  I'd like to say she puts on panty hose and a suit, but really she usually wears jeans and a T-shirt, clogs or slippers (sometimes pajamas, if she's in a particularly unambitious mood). Her desk is a mess—piles of books, magazines and papers everywhere. She gets pretty grumpy when she can't find something. Every few months, she takes a day or two to clear the piles and start a new "system" for organization, which fails a week or two later. As an incredibly organized human being, I can safely say I didn't inherit it from her.

  Do you read her books? Enjoy them? Do you ever critique them while she's writing?

  Actually, I do read her books and think she's an amazing writer. I don't read all of them, because I'm twenty-two and she tends to write about women in their thirties and family issues that don't interest me much yet. I don't plan to be the mother of a teenager for a long time! I don't usually read them while she's writing, but she does ask for ideas when she's plotting or runs into a problem, and I suggest titles sometimes, too.

  Do you dream of being a writer?

  It's funny you ask, because, like, everyone in my family writes! My granddad published textbooks and trail guides, my grandmother writes books for kids and mysteries for adults and my father published a really funny young-adult novel. I'm a huge reader, so Mom keeps saying I'll end up as a writer. I was a theater major in college and am interested in film directing, but as it happens, right now I'm writing a script for a romantic comedy, so I guess you never know.