by Sandra Brown
“I realize that now.”
“However, he reveled in the affluence and status you lent him. So much so that he would never have left you, no matter how rocky the marriage became. He would always have held on.”
“So you had to get rid of me.”
“You had obligingly shown me the map with the trail you planned to run on Saturday morning. You went over it with me in great detail.”
“But you were with Jeff.”
“Who never could smoke weed without passing out afterward. I plied him with two scotches, two bottles of red wine, and a high-quality joint to ensure that he wouldn’t awaken until late the following morning.
“I made the long drive, parked at your turnaround spot, which you’d also pointed out to me, walked along the trail until I found a good hiding place, waited until you ran past, then came up behind you with the rock I’d found on the path.”
She smiled sourly. “In hindsight, I should have stayed a wee bit longer to make sure you were dead or soon would be. I was afraid to touch you for fear of leaving trace evidence. I didn’t touch the broken sunglasses that caused such high anxiety.
“Anyhow, I rushed back to my car, which was still the only one there. I met no one on the road coming down the mountain. I made it back to Atlanta in record time and had brunch in bed with Jeff, who was none the wiser. It was just as I outlined it to you this morning, except I was the one who sneaked out, not Jeff.”
“You wanted me dead so you could have him.”
She laughed. “Emory, you’re thinking far too simplistically. I wanted you dead so Jeff would be blamed for it. Being convicted of your murder would cost him his life, one way or another. Two birds, one stone. You see?” She flashed a smile that was overly bright and cheery, a madwoman’s grin of self-congratulation.
Emory concentrated hard on gathering puzzle pieces until they formed a complete picture. “Did you leave the trinket off his ski jacket there?”
“It was found? I wondered. I couldn’t ask.”
Emory didn’t tell her who had found it.
“Everything was going according to plan,” Alice continued. “Jeff quickly came under suspicion. He pretended to be distraught over your disappearance, but very quickly he grew fond of the prospect of being a wealthy widower, which, of course, was to my benefit.
“But I couldn’t figure out why no one could find your body. How hard could it be? I guessed that you’d regained consciousness and staggered off the path and into the wilderness. After three days, I began to relax, believing that if you hadn’t died of the head trauma, surely you had succumbed to hypothermia.
“Then you turned up alive. Saved by Daniel Boone. Unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head at the wonder of it. “Who would have guessed that your splendor extended to rising from the dead? And that was only the first of several jolts. Your cabin-dweller was a fugitive being hunted by the FBI. You and he were in a feud with incestuous hillbillies.
“But,” she said, smiling again, “I saw a way to turn this mess to my advantage. Worse than anything, Jeff hated being seen as a fool, and your escapades were making him out to be a colossal one. He was rapidly unraveling. All I had to do was keep pulling on the thread.
“Last night he tried to convince me that you had become mentally unbalanced. So, as a friend to both of you, I drove up here this morning to lend support. He outlined his ridiculous plot with that pair of brothers. I pretended to be dismayed, when actually I was delighted. Without any help from me, he was digging himself in deeper. Which I would have been happy to sit back and watch him do. But,” she sighed, “at the last minute, he forced my hand.”
Emory’s blood turned cold. “You’re referring to him in the past tense.”
Lost in her own thoughts, Alice continued, speaking in a rueful murmur. “Incomprehensibly, he was going to chase up here and reclaim you. Even after suffering the humiliation heaped on by you, he still chose you over me.”
“My God, Alice, what have you done? You’ll never get away with it, not any of it.”
“Oh, getting away with it has ceased to matter. My goal was to have the two of you dead, and I’m halfway there.” She aimed the pistol down at Emory. “Any final words?”
“Alice, please.”
“No? Okay then.”
The shot rang out, and Alice crumpled to the ground, her right leg giving out from under her.
Hayes emerged from the fog-blanketed trees like a specter, his gun hand extended at arm’s length. “Drop the weapon or you die.”
Emory cried out, “No, no!” But her fear was more for him than Alice.
The bullet had entered the back of Alice’s leg and exited the front just above her knee. Her teeth chattered with pain, but she kept her grip on the pistol, which was aimed at Hayes, who made a huge target.
Emory thought her heart would burst from her chest. “Alice, please, listen to me, listen to him. Toss the pistol away. Don’t make him kill you. Please don’t.”
Alice didn’t seem to hear. She was focused on Hayes. “Emory’s super stud.”
“Drop the pistol.”
“If you’d wanted me dead,” she taunted, “you would have made the first shot count.”
“I don’t want you dead. But I will fucking kill you if I have to.”
“Don’t make him, Alice, please, please,” Emory sobbed. “I beg you. Don’t make him do it. Put the gun down. It’s over.”
“Over for you.” She whipped the pistol toward Emory.
The gunshot wasn’t as loud as it might have been on a clear day when the air was crisp. The fog muffled some of the sound.
But Alice was just as dead.
Hayes was beside Emory in an instant, bending down to lift her up and hug her against him. His hands closed around her head as he searched her face. “Are you all right?”
She was weeping. “I didn’t want you to have to. I didn’t want you to—”
“Shh. Shh. I didn’t.”
He indicated that she look behind her. Sergeant Detective Grange was standing with one hand braced against a tree, bent at the waist, retching violently. Knight stood beside him, his beefy hand on his partner’s shoulder.
* * *
Hayes’s cabin became headquarters for all the law enforcement personnel and emergency responders who arrived on the scene within minutes.
He had carried Emory in his arms the remaining distance and deposited her in one of the olive-green chairs at the dining table. He brought a quilt from the bed and draped it around her. “That’ll help until the ambulance gets here. They’ll have a Mylar blanket.”
“I only want you.” Emory grasped his hand.
He knelt beside her and threaded his fingers through her hair. “What the hell were you doing on that road on foot?”
“Running to warn you.”
He dragged his thumb across her lower lip. “Don’t do it again,” he said huskily.
“Don’t ever make yourself so large a target.”
“Not much I can do about that, Doc.”
They were still staring into each other’s eyes when Jack Connell approached. “Hanging in there?”
Tremulous and tearful, Emory said, “We’re alive.”
“No small miracle,” Connell said. “Knight, Grange, and I came upon your crashed car. My crashed car.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
He made a motion of dismissal. “You weren’t injured in the crash?”
“Nothing serious. But Alice…” Speaking the name caused her voice to crack. “She struck me. Maybe with the butt of the pistol. I’ll need another brain scan.”
“Ambulance should be here in a couple more minutes.” He shuffled his feet and divided an uneasy look between her and Hayes. Hayes, getting the message, mumbled that he’d see if there was anything he could do outside and left through the open door. She was reluctant to let him go but didn’t call him back, intuiting what Jack Connell was about to say.
“Emory, your husband is dead.”
/>
She nodded. “She alluded to it. How?”
“Gunshot. Probably with the same pistol she was going to use on you.”
“Was it Jeff’s pistol?”
“No. One registered to him was found in an inside pocket of his jacket.”
“So she wasn’t lying about that. She told me he had a pistol.”
“He didn’t get to implement his plan, whatever it was, and I guess we’ll never know. He was killed inside the suite. Somehow Alice Butler got out without the deputy seeing her. Maybe the same way you and Hayes split the other night through the adjoining suite.”
He explained that after discovering Jeff’s body, he, Knight, and Grange had left the deputy there to guard the crime scene. “We were afraid for your safety and went looking for you at the motel. When I saw that my car was gone, we figured there was only one place you’d go.”
“My phone must have died before you got that part of the message. I told you I was on my way up here to warn Hayes.” She was watching him through the open doorway. His back was to her. He was talking to Buddy Grange and Sam Knight. “Alice knew.”
“She got here quick. She must’ve come upon the wrecked car and realized you’d set out on foot. She continued driving till she spotted you on the road, then—”
“Came up behind me, like before.”
“Before?”
She related Alice’s confession.
“So it wasn’t Jeff after all,” Jack said.
“Not directly. They both deceived me, and Alice told me he wasn’t all that bereaved when he thought I was dead. I believe that.”
“Hate to say it, but so do I.”
Hayes came through the door and rejoined them. “Ambulance driver is turning around so he can back in.”
Connell said to Emory, “I’ll pass along to Knight and Grange that Alice confessed.” He left them to go outside.
Hayes sat down on his haunches in front of her and took her cold hands between his. “Knight told me about Jeff. You okay?”
“It’ll take some time.”
“You have time.”
Absently she nodded. After a moment, she asked, “What happened at the Floyds’ house?”
“Norman and Will were on the lookout for me in front. Forgot to cover their back. They’re mean, but not too astute.”
“Lisa and Pauline?”
“Safe. I got there before the brothers carried out their wretched threat, which was probably an empty one. They wanted me, not Lisa.”
“Are they in custody?”
“They probably are by now. The mountain is crawling with cops of all varieties. I left Norman and Will easy to find, chained to the tree where they used to keep the dog.”
“Poetic justice.”
“I thought so.”
She touched the fresh bruises on his face.
He gave her a wry smile. “They didn’t go for the idea at first.”
Wanting to smile, needing to weep, she leaned forward and nestled her head against his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She could feel his lips moving against her hair, but she didn’t catch the whispered words.
They stayed that way until two EMTs wheeled in a gurney.
Hayes tilted her head up and kissed her mouth, warmly and sweetly.
Then he stepped away and gave her over to the care of the EMTs, who insisted on strapping her to a board because of the head injury. As they wheeled her through the doorway and out into the yard, she caught sight of Sergeant Grange. She called his name, and he turned. He looked ashen, his shrewd eyes not as bright as usual.
She mouthed to him, Thank you. He acknowledged her gratitude with a quick nod, then cast his eyes down at the ground.
Looking for Hayes, she tried to move her head from side to side, but because of the constraint across her forehead, she couldn’t. When she didn’t see him, she struggled to raise her head, also to no avail. With mounting anxiety, she searched the yard as thoroughly as her peripheral vision would allow.
Finally she spotted Jack Connell. He was watching her, and in an instant she knew the cause of his bleak expression.
She ceased the struggle to raise her head. She wouldn’t find who she had been looking for. The tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes were also futile. That he had vanished should come as no surprise. He had told her he would, and he always did as he said.
Finish Line
All along the twenty-six-mile route through Atlanta, spectators and supporters had cheered on the runners, but those congregated near the finish line were especially enthusiastic.
When Emory ran across it and the announcer boomed her name, introducing her as the organizer of the fund-raising race, she received a roar of approval. She was then thronged by photographers from TV stations and print news agencies, all vying for a sound bite. In her breathless state, she kept them brief.
She received pats on the back and hugs from other runners. One of her patients, a six-year-old boy, shyly approached with his parents and asked for her autograph. A group of war veterans, who’d gone the distance in wheelchairs, lined up to high five and salute her.
Her body was aching. Her right foot was hurting to the point of making her hobble. She was fatigued to near collapse, but she was exhilarated. For so many reasons, finishing this race represented a victory of mind, body, and spirit.
During the past six months, much had changed in her life.
At the conclusion of the police investigation into Alice’s last few hours, a family member had claimed her body and had it transported to their hometown in Tennessee for burial. Emory had had no contact with the family.
She’d had Jeff’s remains cremated and forewent a service of any kind. An outpouring of grief would have been hypocritical. She received only a handful of condolence cards. Her polite acknowledgments were as obligatory as the cards themselves. His belongings were sealed into boxes and delivered to a refuge for the homeless. The only sadness she felt was for Jeff himself. He had lived—and died—joylessly and lovelessly.
She sold their house quickly and moved into a townhouse in a charming gated community in Buckhead.
She and Dr. Neal James had invited a married couple, he an OB-GYN, she an infertility specialist, to join their partnership. They had been excellent additions; the clinic was thriving.
Norman and Will were charged, tried, and convicted of statutory rape. They received the maximum sentence, due in large part to Lisa’s courageous courtroom testimony. She and Pauline had moved into an apartment in Drakeland, paid for by Emory. Too proud to take charity without “chippin’ in,” as Pauline put it, she worked mornings at a nursing home, helping to prepare and serve the noon meal.
Lisa kept her weekend job at Subway. Her sessions with a counselor who specialized in sexual abuse victims were also underwritten by Emory, who considered the payments an investment in the woman Lisa would become.
She remained near the finish line a while longer, extending congratulations to runners as they came in. She promised an interview to the host of a local TV morning talk show. “I’ll have my people call your people,” he said, and she laughed.
And then, “Good race, Doc.”
She turned, and there he was, standing directly behind her.
The carnival atmosphere at the finish line receded, leaving nothing in the spectrum of her senses except his voice, his face, and the remarkable eyes, that were, as always, steady on her.
He was dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a plain white shirt with the cuffs of the sleeves rolled back. He looked wonderfully, ruggedly beautiful, and she wanted to strike him and climb him in equal measure.
They stared at each other for so long, she became aware of attracting the curiosity of onlookers. “Thank you. It was nice of you to stop and say so.” Although her heart was breaking, she turned and started walking away.
He fell into step beside her. “Where’s your car parked?”
“A few blocks from here.”
“My
truck’s closer.”
Without argument, she let him guide her, still not quite believing that this wasn’t a dream.
“Quite a turnout,” he remarked as they threaded their way through one of the designated parking areas.
“Since this is the first race benefitting this particular charity, I’m amazed by the support and the numbers of runners we had sign up. We raised seven hundred fifty thousand dollars in pledges.”
“Seven hundred fifty-two.” She looked up at him. He said, “I didn’t get my pledge in until this morning.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Here we are.”
“You’re back to driving your pickup, I see.”
“Nobody’s after me.”
He helped her up into the passenger seat, then went around and got in.
She said, “As you leave the lot, take a left.”
But he didn’t turn on the ignition. He just sat there, staring through the windshield. She would turn to stone before she asked where he’d been, what he’d been doing, so she waited him out, and after a time he turned his head toward her.
“Rebecca told me she’d written to you.”
“She got my address from Jack Connell. She wanted to thank me for ‘knocking sense into you.’”
He snuffled. “Sounds like her.” He arched his eyebrow. “She reached you through Connell, huh? She mention him in her letter?”
“Several times.”
“Uh-huh. I get it, too. From both of them. I think they have a thing.”
“Really?”
He grumbled a swear word. “That would serve me right, I guess.” He waited a beat before continuing. “Sarah’s school orchestra performed in the city park on St. Patrick’s Day. I went out for the concert.”
“I’m sure she was thrilled.”
“Seemed to be. I stayed a week. Ate a lot of fish.”
“You don’t like fish.”
“Even less now. I got enough omega-3 that week to last me the rest of my life.”
She wasn’t ready to smile yet. Keeping her voice curt, she asked, “So you and Connell stay in touch?”
