Sins of the Father

by Winter Austin

  “Shit, you really have a foul mouth for a woman.”

  “Bite me. How old are you?”

  Cuffing his left wrist, he sighed. In his mind, he’d rehearsed how this encounter with his biological father’s family could go, played out all the possible outcomes. Never had he figured on a confrontation with Nic out the back of a pub where the stench of garbage being baked in the hot summer sun overwhelmed the breathable air.

  “Answer me, Hartmann. How old are you?”

  Over the months, as he’d begun to get closer to her family, Xavier had learned about the death of Nic’s mother and the mental anguish William had gone through until he met Emma. It was during that tumultuous gap that Xavier figured his own mother had met William and had their fling in Germany. Then off Mum went back to Australia, never to contact William about his child. If Nic found out his exact age, then she’d learn just what the old bloke was doing when he should have been with his grieving daughter. Xavier’s body turned cold and rigid.

  She moved to reach for him; his arms came up ready to swat away her attempt, but she stopped and slapped her hand against her thigh. “Damn it, tell me.”

  “I’m thirty-three.”

  The bulbs went off in her eyes; flames of fury came right with them. He looked away, hanging his head. There was no reason for him to feel the shame that should be worn by William Rivers for his affairs, but Xavier couldn’t help himself.

  “Fuck this.” Nic stormed past him, wrapping her fury about her like a heavy cloak, and marched inside the pub.

  Panic strangled Xavier’s throat, but it had no hold on the rest of his body. He bolted after her. Reaching for her arm as it swung back, he missed, and she continued on her path of hellfire toward the place where her family was seated. Both of them emerged at the same time, catching the eye of all in the walled-off party area. Xavier pulled up short, teetering back into the wall.

  Silence fell over the room; even the children seemed to sense their mother’s rage.

  “You self-righteous bastard,” Nic spit.

  Deep frown lines filled William’s face. He handed Liam off to Emma then stood, as tall, erect, and proud as any retired marine brigadier general should. “Nic, would you explain yourself?”

  “Con, gather up the kids. We’re leaving.” She moved toward her son.

  Stepping in her path, her father gripped her shoulder. “What is wrong?”

  Xavier dug his fingers into the wall supporting him. He had to get out of here, but now it felt like he’d lost both legs and his body just refused to work.

  “How could you?” Nic’s words were choked. She jerked sideways and pointed at Xavier. “Look at him.” She turned back to her father. “Then you tell me how you could betray my mother’s death like that.”

  “Nic, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” William said.

  Behind him, Emma stood. It was the expression of resignation that stole Xavier’s breath. Had Emma figured it out at some point and said nothing, to any of them. His gaze darted to each of the faces in the room; they all were starting to realize what Nic had. The weight of their stares pressed down on him until he was suffocating. Xavier quit the room, barreling back to the kitchen.

  From her station at the stove, Farran did a double take as he strode past her. “Xavier, where are you going?”

  “Sorry, Farran, I can’t finish my shift. I’m not feeling well.”

  “Wait.” There was a clatter of metal on metal. “Xavier, I don’t have anyone—”

  The door slapped shut behind him. He stumbled on rough ground, feeling his hip wrench as he adjusted to stop from falling. Balanced once more, he hurried at a more precise pace to his truck. Hopping inside, he yanked the door closed and turned the key in the ignition, revving the engine to make it roar. Shadows danced in his peripheral vision.

  William stood in the doorway, staring at Xavier. Giving the man the bird, he slammed the truck into gear and tore out of the drive.

  Coming here to McIntire County had been a horrible mistake. He should have left it alone as Mum had begged him. Ariel was right. It was time to go home to Australia. Or at the least somewhere far from here.

  To hell with the Rivers clan.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ding. Round two.

  Jolie followed the guard to a private interview room. She wasn’t sure why she was meeting Ian in here, since he wasn’t supposed to be allowed this kind of access to her. And why the fudge was his lawyer occupying a spot against the far wall?

  “What’s going on?” she asked, planting herself halfway across the room, leaving the small table as a potential barrier. “Why am I being summoned?”

  Ian’s lawyer—young, fresh off his bar exam, and the low man on the pay scale—had been saddled with the state-appointed representation because no one else wanted to come within a twenty-mile radius of Ian’s doomed case. Despite his wet-behind-the-ears appearance, the man had done a fair job by her brother.

  The lawyer pushed off the wall, smoothing out his suit. “I don’t know. I just got a call from the warden and was told to be here.”

  The door rattled open, and in shuffled Ian, escorted by two guards. Jolie’s hand itched to reach for her gun, a gun she wasn’t allowed to have back here and had been forced to check in. Watching her brother’s every move, even with the network of cuffs and chains on him, she still dripped with fear. Every time she saw him, her mind conjured the image of him holding a rifle on her and her parents, threatening to kill them all.

  Would this be Xavier’s fate? The trembles faded into a dull ache in her chest. She had to prevent it from happening. Xavier wasn’t a killer, not like Ian.

  Geesh, she’d shared one passionate kiss with the Aussie, and suddenly she was an expert on Xavier Hartmann.

  Enough. For now, she had to tuck away Xavier’s problems and how she was getting him out of them. She could not be distracted in the presence of her brother.

  Once Ian was cuffed to the heavy-duty ring in the floor and the one on the table, the guards backed into position near the door. Their gazes met Jolie’s; she gave them a nod, and with that, they both stepped outside, just a holler away.

  The yellowed bruises and the scabbed cuts were the only signs of Ian’s fight a few days earlier. For once, he was missing that pissed-off-at-the-world glow in his eyes as he stared at her.

  “Why are we here, Ian?” his lawyer asked.

  Ian didn’t break his stare. He jabbed the tabletop and waited.

  Glancing at the lawyer—who shook his head—Jolie swallowed and then did the unthinkable. She pulled out the chair across from her brother and sat down. Hands clasped between her knees, she met his blank stare.

  “You want to know about Grace Maddox?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Tell me what you know so far.”

  Slowly, and careful to tell him only things that were public knowledge, she rattled off the facts. Finished, she pressed into the backrest, her hands gripping her knees and her elbows locked. Ian hadn’t once looked away. The only sign of life was when he clasped his hands over the ring embedded in the table.

  “Another girl is missing. That’s the situation you were talking about. That’s why you want to know if I remember Grace.”

  “And now suddenly you want to talk about her? Why?”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Ian, I can’t tell you jack squat about that. It’s an ongoing case.”

  “Bullshit. You want my help, you’ll tell me what you know.”

  “What are you two talking about?” the lawyer asked, inching closer to the table.

  Jolie narrowed her gaze on her brother. “The first time I asked, you told me to eff off. How will this be any different?”

  “How old is she, this girl who’s missing?” Ian asked.

  There was urgency in his voice. A change Jolie wasn’t expecting. But she wasn’t so gullible to believe he was sincere about it. This was Ian. Her kid brother had always been
about looking out for number one. And getting back at Dad.

  “Would someone tell me what you’re talking about?” the lawyer insisted.

  Jolie pointed at the last chair in the room. “Take a seat. You’ve been granted a ringside view of the match of the century.”

  Ian snorted. “He’s only here so I have a witness to make sure you don’t lie to save Dad’s ass.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  A smirk lifted a corner of his mouth. “Because by now you know that Dad closed that case on some bullshit reason, like Grace ran off and didn’t want to be found. You also know her momma was a slut working down at The Golden Slipper, too.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  Leaning forward, his cuffs and chains clattering, Ian glared at Jolie. “You’re Daddy’s pride and joy. Why wouldn’t you defend him?”

  That’s how little he knew these days. She’d committed the grave sin of threatening to shoot her father. A sin Ian was all too guilty of himself.

  “I know he closed the case. I also know there’s another girl missing, under similar circumstances. And if you have any information that might help me find this girl, I hope you find the decency to tell me what you can.”

  Next to her, the lawyer fidgeted. But neither she nor Ian paid him much attention.

  Returning to his upright posture, Ian sighed. “A twelve-year-old girl just doesn’t up and decide to run off after a softball game in the middle of nowhere. Don’t forget, it was an election year, and Daddy was too busy to be bothered with some missing child.”

  Election year. Like this year. The stiffness in Jolie’s body melted.

  “Do you remember if something like this happened during any other election after Grace disappeared?”

  Ian shook his head. “The next election Dad didn’t run, he retired, and that prick who’s in now took over.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  A dark, ugly look masked her brother’s face. Unbidden, a shiver rode up her spine.

  “Pay close attention to the men Dad surrounds himself with. Watch their movements, their faces, and pay special attention to what they say.”

  The men Ian mentioned could be Pastor Josiah Richards, Donovan Frost, or the mayor’s husband when he was in town. But Dad also appreciated men of character, like Con O’Hanlon or the Eider chief of police. So which men was Ian referring to?

  “Any particular reason why?”

  “You got that damn instinct they claim women have. Use it.” Ian rattled his cuffs. “I’m done. Get the guards,” he told his lawyer.

  As the man rose to do his client’s bidding, Jolie bolted from her seat. Hands braced in the center of the table, she leaned into her brother’s face, staring him in the eyes. He returned her challenge, narrowing his eyes to slits.

  “You dragged me all the way up here for nothing.”

  “I gave you all you need to know. If you’re such a fucking great cop, you’ll figure out the rest.”

  “You’re a piece of shit.” She pushed off the table.

  Ian rewarded her verbal slap with shit-eatin’ grin. “Look who’s using big-girl words. Guess you’re not the little princess Daddy wanted you to be.”

  The guards entered, removing Ian from his anchors and escorting her brother from the room, leaving her alone with his lawyer.

  “You repeat one word of what you heard in here,” she hissed, “I’ll come at you so fast, you’ll wish you’d never heard the name Murdoch in your entire life. Understand?”

  “Completely. But you do realize I’m under attorney-client privilege?”

  “Keep it that way.” Jolie vacated the room and headed down the hall to retrieve her gear.

  Ian had told her nothing she didn’t already know or wouldn’t have figured out eventually. Why waste her time? And when had the little prick turned into such a cryptic speaker?

  Women’s instinct. Intuition. A feeling she would get when something or someone wasn’t who they claimed to be. The clue was in the words.

  • • •

  Jolie had to talk with Linda Maddox again. Not later. Today.

  She put in a call to Jennings, got the woman’s address, and headed straight for Linda’s home, if the tricolored house that wasn’t any larger than a single-wide, with broken shutters and rotting wood, could be called a home. The yard was dotted with patches of weeds and the lawn could use a mowing, not that it was a dire need since the grass was mostly yellowed and brittle looking. The area was called Lilac Court, and through the weeds she spotted the outline of another house.

  Her hand found a home on her gun butt. Lilac Court was rumored to be the birthplace of McIntire County’s meth houses. If a meth cooker even caught a whiff of a cop in the area, they’d turn her into Swiss cheese, so she was told. As far as Jolie could tell, except for Linda’s place, it didn’t look like anyone was living out here.

  The flimsy door shuddered under her fist. She backed off. From her chat with Jennings, Jolie learned that Linda hadn’t shown up to ID her son’s body at the morgue. And the few attempted calls to The Golden Slipper went unanswered. There was a strong possibility that Linda was on a bender and refused to pick up the phone as she mourned her son, but Jolie’s gut told her the woman had gone home.

  She pounded on the door again; the whole thing shook. If given the right incentive, she might be able to push hard enough that it would pop the latch and open on its own. But the crash of something hitting the floor inside and a litany of curses was enough to thwart Jolie’s Plan B. Seconds later, the door opened a crack, and Linda’s puffy face poked into the gap.

  “Haven’t you ruined my life enough today, cop?”

  “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t able to ask you some questions.”

  “I ain’t answerin’ no damn questions.” Linda slapped the door shut.

  “Ms. Maddox, I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

  “Shove off!”

  “You refuse me today, I’ll be back tomorrow, and the next, and the next, until I get what I came for. I’ll even show up at The Golden Slipper, and I’m pretty certain that won’t be good for business.”

  “Where’s your bodyguard?”

  Jolie frowned, glancing over her shoulder. Oh, wait, she meant Xavier. “He’s not here.”

  Two seconds ticked past, then the door wrenched open, and Jolie got a full-frontal view of the woman.

  “Ma’am, please close your robe.”

  Red-rimmed eyes glaring, Linda jerked the robe around her naked body and tied it off. “You have no right to harass me. I’m a grieving woman.” Who smelled like a moonshine still.

  “I’m not harassing you. I just need you to tell me a few things about Anthony and your daughter Grace.”

  Arms wrapped around her, Linda hunched in the doorway. From the looks of things behind the woman—the clothes strewn on the couch, the empty liquor bottles littering every available surface, and the lack of cool air—Jolie was content to stand outside in the heat rather than be trapped inside that pigsty. Especially after she had the misfortune of catching a glimpse of Bud the tattooed freak’s naked backside as he passed by in the background. So not the butt Jolie had ever wanted to see naked. Yeah, Linda was doing her damnedest to grieve for her dead son.

  “Anthony was a good boy. He didn’t deserve to be killed.”

  “Nobody does, but it happens, and we need to find the person responsible.”

  Linda scoffed. “Empty promises. That’s what they said about finding my Grace.” Her eyes narrowed as she squinted at Jolie. “Murdoch. Now I know where I recognize that name. Murdoch was the sheriff. You his daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  With a curled lip, Linda raised a finger and shook it in Jolie’s face. “Your daddy was worthless. Told me Grace ran off. She’d never run off. Grace was going to be a softball star. She had no reason to run.”

  Jolie let the slight about her father slide. No point in poking a beast. “Why was Grace living with her father and Anthony wasn’t?”r />
  Linda licked her cracked lips, averting her eyes. “I married Grace’s daddy when I found out I was pregnant with her. He was a good man, but we had our problems.” She seemed to hunch over more. The weight of her sins bearing down on her, no doubt. “Anthony wasn’t his.”

  “Who was his father?”

  “I don’t know. Those years, I wasn’t doing too good.”

  “Drugs?”

  Swiping a finger under her nose, Linda shifted, giving Jolie her profile. Linda stared into her ratty home, her neck flushing red.

  The file on Grace had stated that her father had kept their tiny home clean and neat. Grace was raised with love and structure. Anthony and Linda had lived in squalor. Mother turning to stripping to make ends meet. It didn’t seem fair that Linda had been treated like trash and kicked to the curb while her ex moved on and enjoyed a more comfortable life. In the end, she’d moved up on the food chain, running the very business she’d shed her clothing at for the pleasure of the men who visited.

  What did she have to show for it now?

  “Linda, did Anthony talk about people he might have been hanging around? Anyone who might sound like they were trouble? Or was he involved in anything that could be considered dangerous?”

  “Not that he told me.” She sighed, toying with a stringy lock of hair. “Anthony wanted better, and I didn’t stop him. I didn’t blame him, either. I never could get out of this hellhole. But he found a way. Somehow.” Shaking her head, she turned back to Jolie, brows furrowed. “Last time we talked, he said he met someone who could change his life.”

  “Did he mention a name?”

  “No. Just talked about how he was going to change his life. Once he was settled, he said, he’d help me out.”

  “Sounds like he was getting a leg up. Maybe coming into money?”

  Linda lifted her gaze to meet Jolie’s. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t talk about it, whatever it was.”

  “Back to Grace. It was never mentioned in the file that you were her mother.”