Distant Thunder: Midseason Episode 2 (Rising Storm)

by Larissa Ione

  “Money will be of no use to you in jail.” Marylee dug a pen out of her bag and held it out. “And think about your mother. Your father cleaned out the bank accounts and left her with a mortgage and bills. Without the salary I pay her, she and your sister will be celebrating Christmas in a homeless shelter. Or maybe you think your miscreant of a brother can support them?”

  Fury blurred Dakota’s eyes and made her see the other woman through a haze of red. Dakota might not be close with Joanne, but she loved her sister.

  “You...you...God, you’re a horrible person.” She took a deep breath in an attempt to control the near-hysteria in her voice, instinctively knowing that Marylee would see that as weakness. And then, like any good predator, she’d go for the jugular.

  Marylee smiled, and Dakota wanted to slap it right off her narrow, judgey face. “Sign.”

  Shaking with the force of her anger, Dakota clenched her hands into fists. Never in her life had she been as tempted as she was right now to strike someone. “No.”

  A tense moment of silence passed. Another. And another. Finally, Marylee pursed her lips and let out a haughty sound of derision. “Make no mistake, little girl. If you don’t sign those papers, your life, and the lives of your family, will be a living hell.” When Dakota just stood there, refusing to cave in even though at this point, she was truly afraid, Marylee nodded as if making some sort of internal decision. “What if I promise to find your father?”

  Dakota sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

  A victorious glint lit Marylee’s eyes, but Dakota was too busy trying to control her excitement to give it much thought. “I have resources you can’t even begin to imagine. I can find him. Wouldn’t you like that? I’ll bet I can even convince him to come back to Storm.” She paused. “If I can be assured that you won’t cause any more trouble for us.”

  Dakota eyed the stack of documents. “If I sign the papers, you mean.”

  “Obviously.”

  Anger, frustration, and hope formed a whirlwind of emotions that made it hard to think. Marylee was a demon straight out of hell, but if she could bring Hector home, it might be worth making a deal with her. A deal with the devil, she supposed.

  Hating herself for this, Dakota snatched up the pen. “You are despicable.”

  “That’s a big word, Dakota.” Marylee said it the way one might praise a dog for learning to pee outside. “Can you spell it, as well? You poor thing. Destined for a stripper’s pole.”

  Dakota scrawled her name on the first highlighted line. “Now it’s you being ignorant. According to a recent study, most strippers are single mothers and college students from decent families who are working their way through school. They’re hardly welfare cases.” She shot Marylee a snarky smile. “See, I read.”

  Granted, she’d only seen the article because she’d been on the Internet to see what complete strangers were saying about her and the now infamous Founders’ Day video, but hey, anything to knock the old biddy off her high horse.

  “Impressive. Our public school system isn’t a total failure after all.” Marylee sighed and glanced at her watch. “Now, would you hurry up? I have someplace else to be.”

  “You mean you have someone else to harass?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. You’re the first stop on my harassment tour.” She snapped her fingers. “Chop, chop.”

  Dakota ground her molars. Chop, chop? She’d love to chop, chop, but she’d already packed away her kitchen knives. So instead of murder, she signed the stupid papers, thrust them at Marylee, and told her to get her saggy ass out of her apartment.

  The tears erupted the second the door slammed shut. Her knees went rubbery and her muscles went watery, and she had to prop herself up against the wall before she collapsed. Then she collapsed anyway into a sobbing puddle on the floor.

  Wrapping her arms around her knees, she rocked back and forth. Her life was such a mess. Everyone kept saying it was her own fault, and okay, she could have done a few things differently, but if her father hadn’t left and Sebastian hadn’t been such a weasel and Ginny hadn’t...

  She let her thoughts fade away as a massive round of messy, ugly sobs tore from her throat. Never in her life had she felt so alone. She wanted her daddy. She needed her daddy.

  “Please, Daddy,” she cried. “Come home.”

  She hated Marylee Rush with a passion she couldn’t put words to. Marylee would say she couldn’t put words to her hatred because she couldn’t pronounce them. Or spell them. Or read them. Which was fine. The old witch could say whatever she wanted, as long as she found Hector.

  Then everything would get better. It had to. Because it sure as hell couldn’t get worse.

  * * * *

  It had been a week since reporters had descended upon Storm, and for the first time, Ginny Moreno looked out her front window and saw the neighbors’ house across the street. It was no longer blocked by news vans and reporters wanting her to either confirm or deny her relationship with Senator Rush.

  Thank God they’d either gotten bored with the story or had found some new scandal to focus on, although she didn’t doubt that they were still hanging out around the Rush mansion.

  Good. Sebastian deserved the harassment, although she would love it if she didn’t have to see his lying face on TV telling the world that Dakota was a liar and that Ginny was a friend of the family and nothing more. And since no one could unearth any evidence otherwise, things had died down.

  A little. Her phone still rang several times a day as media people tried to get her to give them an interview. It was annoying, but not nearly as annoying as having the media parked right outside the house, effectively keeping her a prisoner. Not that it mattered, she supposed. She didn’t have anywhere to go.

  She thought about Brittany and how she’d decided to take the semester off. At least she had a choice. Ginny was going to have to put it off for much longer. Her priority was her health and her baby, so while she planned to sign up for some online classes and find a part-time job, she was also going to avoid as much stress as possible.

  Sighing, she closed the curtains and headed to the kitchen to make some lunch and plan dinner. With Marisol working full time and Luis at school, Ginny had been doing all the cooking and cleaning, and she found that she actually enjoyed it. Which was weird, since she’d avoided pots, pans, and vacuum cleaners for her entire life until now.

  The doorbell rang just as she reached for the fridge. She was tempted to ignore it, but it was time to get back into the swing of things, and that meant being an adult.

  She opened the door...and promptly changed her mind about the adult thing. She really wanted to slam the door in the woman’s face. Hard.

  “Mrs. Rush,” she said, instead. “I was wondering how long it would take you to show up with your lawyers.”

  Actually, the woman had come by a couple of days ago, but Ginny had been in the shower and Marisol had told Marylee, nicely of course, to take a hike. It had only been a matter of time before she came back. Ginny was just surprised that it had taken this long.

  Marylee smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. “I didn’t bring lawyers. It’s just you and me, dear. May I come in?”

  Ginny wanted so badly to say no, but all that would accomplish would be to delay the inevitable. Besides, better to confront her now than worry about being ambushed in public. She stepped back to let Marylee in.

  Marylee didn’t waste any time. She walked inside like a queen inspecting a peasant’s hovel, her neatly pressed slacks and blouse as starched as her stern expression. She slapped a folder down on the table and turned to Ginny.

  “We need to know what you plan to say to the press.”

  “I’m not going to tell them anything. If I was, I’d have done it by now.”

  Marylee flipped open the folder and slid a stack of papers across the table toward Ginny. “In that case, you’ll have no problem signing documents to that effect.”

  Frowning
, she started to read the documents, but two paragraphs in she realized that she did, indeed, have a problem signing what was essentially a nondisclosure agreement forbidding her from discussing her sex life, her pregnancy, her association with Senator Rush, and the paternity of the baby.

  She shoved the papers back at Marylee. “Sorry, but I can’t agree to any of that.”

  Marylee didn’t seem surprised. Calmly, she reached into her purse and withdrew her checkbook and a pen. “How much?”

  Ginny laughed. “I should have expected this. You seriously think you can buy my silence?”

  “Everyone has a price, dear. Think about the baby. This would go a long way toward raising him or her with the best of everything, including a fabulous college education. All we want in return is your silence.”

  “Oh, that’s all? My silence about the truth?” Ginny laid her hand over her belly as if shielding the baby from this nasty woman’s presence. It was truly horrifying that Marylee was, most likely, the child’s grandmother. “Look, I won’t tell anyone anything. I won’t lie, but I won’t confirm anything, either. I don’t want to be in the spotlight, so you don’t have to worry about me selling my story.” Besides, she didn’t want any part of her child’s life to be a sideshow she’d have to explain someday. “Now, get out.” She scooped up the papers and thrust them at Marylee. “And take your documents and checkbook with you.”

  Marylee’s mouth tightened into a grim line as she gathered her things. “You’re making a huge mistake.”

  “Kicking you out of the house will never be a mistake,” Ginny said, not even trying to conceal the anger in her voice. “No, the mistake I made was sleeping with your son.”

  “I think we can all agree on that.” Marylee looked down her narrow nose at Ginny, her eyes as cold and emotionless as a shark’s. “You know, there’s still time to terminate the pregnancy. We’d have to send you out of state, of course.”

  Ginny’s blood froze in her veins. “Is it that easy for you to casually suggest getting rid of your own grandchild?” Anger rushed in, turning the icy horror to searing fury. “What kind of monster are you?”

  “Did I not just say that everyone has their price?”

  “And your price is whatever it costs to win an election.”

  Marylee cocked her head and smiled. “Huh. Of all the silly little floozies Sebastian has bedded, you’re the only one with half a brain in her head.” She slapped her palm down on the table so suddenly that Ginny jumped. “Now use that brain to come to your senses before it’s too late. Either terminate the pregnancy or sign the agreement.”

  “I will do neither.”

  “Then you had better hope none of this affects my son’s reelection campaign,” she said, in a voice so cold that Ginny actually shivered, “because if it does, I will destroy you, your family, and everyone you have ever cared about.”

  “Wow,” Ginny said, more than a little stunned by the depth of malignancy in this woman’s soul. “If voters only knew how corrupt, immoral, and hypocritical you people are.”

  “Oh, honey,” Marylee said, her voice thick with condescension. “They know. Deep down, they know, because the people who vote for us are the same. They pretend to be outraged by moral corruption while either engaging in it themselves or wishing they could do it. So they look the other way and put people like Sebastian in office because people like Sebastian have the stomach to do the ugly things that must be done to keep this state and this country running. Sacrificing one pregnant whore and her family is a small price to pay to keep this country great. Remember that. This is war, and in every conflict there’s an acceptable rate of collateral damage. And you and the bastard in your belly are acceptable collateral damage.”

  With that, she strode out of the house, and Ginny promptly ran to the bathroom to throw up.

  Chapter Four

  The sounds of Sebastian’s panting and running shoes hitting the treadmill filled his home gym and cleared his head. Sex with a barely legal hottie had always been his first choice when it came to releasing tension, but given the current state of affairs, he was stuck with his second choice: hardcore exercise.

  He took a swig of water as Oliver and his mother entered, closing the door behind them. He slowed the treadmill speed to an easy walk and dabbed at the sweat dripping down his face.

  “Tell me it’s good news,” he said, even though their expressions said he was going to be disappointed. “My campaign manager had nothing but shit for me this morning.” Hell, the only good news he’d had in forever was last week when Marylee told him Dakota had signed the agreement. While Ginny hadn’t, Marylee didn’t expect trouble from her, and neither did Sebastian. Ginny wasn’t stupid, and she’d do what was best for the baby, which meant staying out of the spotlight.

  Oliver shook his head. “Sorry. More shit. I’m sure you campaign manager has already told you that your opponent made a twenty-two point jump in the polls and is making headway in the news. Before this scandal happened, none of the major news outlets would give him the time of day. This morning? The Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio papers are talking about him, and he even got a mention in USA Today.”

  “Mr. Dawson is a small-town grocer with no political experience. He’s not a serious threat,” Marylee said, but Ollie-boy looked less convinced. “All we have to do is get his wife to talk on camera. She’s white trash from some trailer park in Stephenville who had a child out of wedlock before she met Dawson. As soon as she opens her uneducated, redneck mouth, she’ll show Texans why they need to vote for us.” Her lips pursed in distaste. “And why dental care is so important.”

  “I think she got her teeth fixed,” Sebastian offered, but honestly, the woman still looked like she’d been kicked in the face by an inbred mule.

  “Normally, I’d agree that she’ll hurt her husband’s chances,” Oliver said, “but people respond to a story of how some dirt-poor welfare recipient clawed her way out of poverty and off of government dependence to live the American dream.”

  Marylee arched an eyebrow. “The American dream is to frump up a drug-addicted bastard kid with a deadbeat for a father before marrying a balding, middle-class grocer?”

  “Mother,” Sebastian said wearily, “we have no proof that the kid was born addicted to drugs.” Which was too bad.

  She sniffed. “I would think the fact that the hyperactive little brat is cross-eyed and two grades behind other kids his age would be evidence enough.”

  “Also a consideration for your campaign,” Oliver said loudly, clearly annoyed by the conversation, “is the fact that right now the political climate favors outsiders. We’ve got people digging around to find the father of her bastard kid—he’s apparently a meth head with a rap sheet a mile long. But dismantling her and negative campaigning will only do so much to get your numbers back on track. You need the more intelligent voters to see you in a positive light. People who don’t vote the party line would rather vote for a candidate they like than someone who they see as the better of two bad choices.”

  Sweat dripped down Sebastian’s temples as he reached for the towel draped over the treadmill’s handrails. Winning an election against a fucking grocer with no political record and a high-school dropout wife shouldn’t be this difficult.

  “So how do we put me in a positive light?” he asked, a little testily. “We’ve been going to church, donating to rape crisis centers, animal shelters, food pantries...so what the hell else are we supposed to do?”

  Oliver shed his sport jacket and tossed it to a nearby chair. “You have a local military hero in town,” he said. “Be seen with him. Get the mayor to honor him somehow, and you make sure you’re the one in the spotlight. Give a speech or hand the guy the award, whatever. But make it heartfelt and public.”

  Heartfelt and public? He could definitely do that, even if he had to summon a tear or two. He needed to win this election to set the stage for an eventual run at the governor’s office, dammit. In the last year, he’d set the stage—c
ast some votes and greased some wheels that he could only take advantage of if he was the state’s governor.

  He was going to be very, very rich, and with a governorship under his belt, he’d be set for a run at the presidency.

  But that was a long way down the road. First, he had to get reelected to the state senate.

  And Logan Murphy was just the man to help him do it.

  * * * *

  Gripping his cell phone in his shaking hand, Marcus Alvarez stood on his mom’s front porch and tried to keep himself together. He’d just made a life-altering decision. A decision that would have been unthinkable only a couple of months ago.

  He’d just told his boss, the man who had saved Marcus from a path that would have ended in prison or worse, that he wouldn’t be returning to Montana.

  Ian had been devastated, but he’d understood that Marcus was needed here more than he was needed there, so why did Marcus feel like shit about it?

  Because he’s the only man in your life who ever treated you like you mattered. Like you were a cherished son who was worthy of being loved.

  Marcus swallowed hard, his heart aching. He’d come home to Storm to help his family through the crisis of his bastard of a father taking off, but just as it seemed as though things were starting to settle down, Dakota had gone off the rails and left an entire town dealing with the resulting train wreck.

  Part of the wreckage pulled into the driveway, and Marcus waited as Logan climbed out of his Camaro and came up the porch steps in a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved black button-down that matched his hair.

  “Hey, man,” Logan said. “You okay? You look like you just found out your pregnant girlfriend lied to you for months.”

  “Well, unless Brit has been cheating on me, she couldn’t be pregnant.” No, they’d taken things slow. Really slow, which was on him, not her. Ian had drilled a sense of honor into him that he couldn’t shake, and as much as he wanted to get Brit in bed, it had to be the right time and place, and with all the shit going down, there was a shortage of both. “I just told Ian I wasn’t going back.”