Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  “We’re going to hash this out once and for all. Okay. I admit checking into your past wasn’t the right thing to do. But it’s done. And the night of your arrest I was doing my job.”

  Melanie stepped back. He invaded her space. He wasn’t about to let her retreat. “You married a prison guard. You’re friends with a warden, so I know your problem isn’t with authority. So I want to know, what’s the real reason you hate my guts?”

  “I don’t hate you.” She turned from him and huddled deeper inside his coat. “Not anymore.”

  The comment was almost a whisper, but at her admission, relief shot through him. Hate was a strong emotion. He could chip away at dislike. “Speak up. I didn’t catch what you said.”

  She faced him, ramrod straight. “I said I don’t hate you. But we could rethink it.”

  “Funny. Talk to me, Melanie. What is it with you?”

  Her breath came out in a crystallized huff. She looked out over the crowded parking lot and her shoulders fell. “Luke doesn’t know.”

  “What doesn’t Luke know?”

  Pain shadowed her face as she lowered her head. “He knows I’m his stepmother and that’s as far as it goes. He doesn’t know about my arrest, Maxwell or the time I spent in prison.”

  Suddenly, the skies parted and a revelation occurred. Where Joe failed miserably in the home and hearth department, Melanie Norris prided herself on being the consummate parent. Luke was all she had in this world. “And you think I’d tell him, is that it?”

  She met Joe’s steady gaze. “I don’t know you well enough to know what you’d do.”

  “Maybe you should get to know me.” Sensing progress between them, Joe moved closer. “For one thing, it’s up to you to tell your son. I give you my word, he’ll never hear it from me.”

  “Thank you.” She all but melted in relief.

  Too bad Joe didn’t have it in him to leave well enough alone. “That doesn’t mean I agree with how you’re handling the situation.”

  “Of course not.” She crossed her arms.

  “That pedestal you’ve put yourself on, it’s gonna hurt like hell when you fall off. Luke needs to know.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It must be awesome to be so all knowing and perfect.”

  Perfect? That term hardly fit him the night he’d gotten between his stepfather and his mother. When the old man went after her, Joe had resorted to using his fists instead of his brains. He’d knocked the vicious drunk into a stupor. In the end, he might have done both Joe and his mother a favor. His stepfather pressed charges. Joe’s mom left an abusive marriage, and a judge ordered Joe to enlist in the army or face jail. Law enforcement came later.

  Emitting a humorless laugh, he said, “I think you and I both can discount the all-knowing and perfect statements.”

  “You want the truth?” She fidgeted with the zipper on his coat. “All right. I’m afraid.”

  He hesitated. “You’re afraid of the unknown. Your son loves you. Nothing will change that.”

  “And if it does?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “If Matt gets angry at you, you have an impenetrable bond. It’s called blood. Plus, he loves and admires you.” Melanie sighed. “Of course, if I tell Luke about my past he’ll still love me. I’ve raised him.”

  “You think he’ll stop admiring you?”

  “As insecure and as vain as that sounds, yes.”

  The parent inside him ached for her. “You really sell yourself short. Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? How many wardens do you think go to such lengths to protect an ex-con?”

  She shook her head. “Simon did that for Carl.”

  “Originally, maybe. But later on... remember, I spent some time with the man. He arranged that move for you. That job of yours?”

  “What about it?”

  “How long did it take the shop owner to hire you?”

  Again, she shook her head. “That’s different. I had a portfolio. I’m highly qualified―”

  “How long?”

  She let out a long-suffering huff. “Aaron hired me on the spot.”

  “Exactly.” As for Joe, he felt a satisfied smile coming on. “The warden, your employer, Matt. I think my son would walk over hot coals for you. And don’t forget Coach Hood.”

  Melanie broke out in laughter. “Now that’s stretching things. You’re saying Coach Hood admires me.”

  “The first day we met, he warned me away from you.”

  “Yep. Sounds like admiration, all right.”

  “Darn straight it was. Rick was afraid we’d like each other...”

  They stood near the gym doors, where an overhead safety light illuminated the area. Whether it was from the cold or something else, Melanie’s cheeks flushed.

  Fighting a husky edge to his voice, Joe said, “As for Luke, that kid adores you. And even if―when―you tell him, he’ll feel the same. Admiration isn’t optional.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. It was the first time Joe had seen that happen. Melanie Norris wasn’t a simpering female. At least around him, she held her emotions firmly in check.

  “Thanks, Joe.” She smiled and searched his face. Then laughing she added, “So which one of us is going to have Coach Hood committed?”

  “I don’t know. Putting him away’s kind of rash, don’t you think?” Joe inched closer. “Before we do something like that maybe we should at least disprove his theory.”

  Her smile faltered, but she stood her ground. When Melanie didn’t lay him out flat, Joe pulled her into his arms. And at a high school basketball game, and under the romantic glow of safety lights, he lowered his head. There, he’d put their relationship on an entirely different level, meeting her first in a tentative, then lingering kiss.

  Chapter Eleven

  After midnight, and days after leaving L.A., Drake’s next order of business brought him to Cañon City. As much as it pissed him off to drive past the lit up concrete buildings and chain-linked fences topped with razor wire, this time he planned to go nowhere near the correctional facility.

  He drove toward the Royal Gorge Bridge, but before traveling that far, he turned south, occasionally stopping to look at his handwritten notes. He’d overheard customers when he bought his cell phone talking about GPS devices, but he’d never considered buying one. Fucking people ought to learn to read a map. Now in the dark, he wished he’d sprung for one.

  He finally got his bearings, circled a tiny house in an older neighborhood and eyed the parked cars in the driveway and along the street.

  Evidently Jesse Ropes hadn’t lied. The corrections officer often boasted to the cons behind bars that he played poker on Tuesday nights with a group of guards from the surrounding prisons. In addition to Ropes’ fat stomach, he had a big mouth. He also bragged that with all of his earnings, it was only a matter of time until he could leave his day job. Many of the prisoners had told him he was full of shit, but Drake had taken it all in. Ropes had a gambling addiction. And when Drake discovered someone had a vice, he used it to his advantage.

  He parked the Jeep behind a copse of cottonwoods and sat alone in the darkness, listening to the empty sounds of the freezing night. It was a weeknight and he wondered how long the guards would play. By one in the morning, he got his answer. The first man sauntered out, followed by another, then more. One dude staggered, and their loud voices pierced the air.

  Good, they’d been drinking. Drake had the advantage of being stone-cold sober. Tugging on gloves and zipping up his winter coat, he stepped from the Jeep and kept to the shadows. Not so much, though, that he couldn’t see that Ropes’ yard was a dump. An engine block sat under a barren tree, and trash had collected under the raised, disintegrating wooden porch. The grass had long ago been choked out by w
eeds. What little survived crackled like straw beneath Drake’s feet. At last Ropes came out of the house with another guy, and they walked out to the drive. Drake moved to the side of the porch.

  “How much you win tonight?” Ropes asked.

  “Me? I’m up five hundred.”

  Ropes shook his head. “I’m down, Gordy. Say, you wouldn’t―”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” the man called Gordy replied. “You gotta know when to say when, Jesse. Maybe you should hang it up before you get in too deep.”

  Ropes laughed. “I can quit anytime I want, man. I’m just in a slump right now. Hell, I’ve won more than I’ve ever lost.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Gordy said. “From what I hear you’re not simply gambling with friends anymore. You’re in with the wrong people, man.”

  To get closer, Drake shifted positions. His coat rustled.

  Ropes’ fat head shot up. “You hear somethin’?”

  Drake went flat against the side of the house.

  “Probably a creditor,” Gordy said, laughing and sliding into his car. “Relax, Jesse, it was the wind. Take my advice, if you can’t walk away, get help.” Gordy started the car and drove off.

  Drake stepped from the shadows. “Good advice. You gonna take it?”

  Ropes jumped back, his eyes narrowing. “Who’s there?”

  Drake climbed onto the porch, directly under the light.

  “Maxwell?” The guard’s eyes grew wide. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Why was that question everyone’s standard greeting where he was concerned? A warped, beat-up wooden rocker sat on the front deck. Drake took a seat. “Did you think I’d forget? I’m one of those creditors come to collect. You got information for me?”

  Understanding dawned on Rope’s ugly snout. He strode closer to the porch. “You want dirt on the girl who committed the crime with you.”

  “Damn, Ropes, you’re a bloody genius.”

  “I would’ve gotten in touch,” he said, shrugging. “I―I just didn’t know how.”

  “Well, isn’t it lucky for you that I happened by.” The little puke had pocketed a thousand bucks of Drake’s money, thinking after he got out of the pen, he’d never hear from him again.

  Pulling his shoulders back and sucking in his gut, Ropes puffed himself out like he had with the prisoners. Joining Drake on the porch, he said, “Look, I asked around. Someone said she’d lived here in Cañon City the whole time.”

  “No shit.” Finally. Drake’s hopes soared.

  “Yeah, but he said she moved a while back. Husband died.”

  Leaning forward in the rocker, Drake clenched his teeth. “So... where’d she go?”

  “No one seems to know.”

  His renewed optimism plummeted. “Did she take her old man’s name?”

  Ropes’ eyes shifted. “What do you plan to do to her if you catch up to her?”

  “What do you think I’m gonna do to her? Take her out to lunch, talk over old times.” Drake stood. As in anytime he conjured up an image of Melanie Daniels, anger took center. He’d had a helluva week, and walking back streets and freezing his ass off were not how he’d planned to spend his time. “What I do with her is none of your business.” He advanced on Ropes, who despite the cold night, dripped with sweat. “I asked you a question, Ropes. “What’s her married name?”

  “I don’t know it, Maxwell,” he said, licking his cowardly lips. “I tried to find out a couple of times from people who knew something about the women’s prison and I got slapped down.”

  “What do you mean slapped down?”

  “I was told to leave it be.”

  “For asking about an ex-con? Give me a break.”

  “Hey, she made friends, all right? Apparently she married someone within the system.”

  “So what’s her freakin’ married name?”

  “I don’t know.” Ropes moved away. “And another thing. I’m not gonna lose my job or my pension trying to find out.”

  “You’re not, huh? How much do you owe these creditors of yours?”

  “None of your damned business. Look, you paid me a thousand bucks. I’ll write you a check.”

  Drake laughed. “Like that’d never bounce. Besides, I’m a businessman now.” He closed in on the little turd. “It’s no longer a grand. With interest, it just went up to fifteen-hundred.”

  “You’re crazy. Look at this place. Do I look like I have that kind of money?”

  “Get it or I’ll ring up the warden. I’ll tell him about your little problem, how you took money from a con. How long will you have a job then?”

  Ropes’ gaze darted toward the front door. He obviously wanted to get inside to call for help or to get his hands on a weapon. Drake stood between the guard and the door. Ropes wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I’m telling you when it comes to Melanie Norris, no one will talk to me.”

  “Norris. I thought you said you didn’t know her name.” Placing a foot on the seat of the rocker, Drake yanked out one of the spindles supporting the back. Gripping it, he waved it back and forth, inches away from the guard’s terrified face. Ropes stumbled backwards. “What else aren’t you telling me, Ropes?”

  “Swear to God, man, that’s all I know,” he blustered. “Her name’s Norris... and she’s got a kid.”

  “A kid now.” Drake grabbed the overgrown piece of shit by the collar, slammed him up against the house and pressed the spindle against his throat. Drake was sick and tired of being fucked around. He needed the guard. Otherwise, he’d end him this moment. Pressing hard enough to make Ropes struggle for breath, Drake said, “I’ve been around liars all my life. And you’re not even close to being good at it. Tell me or I’ll beat it out of you.”

  “You want me to make something up?” Ropes rasped. “Cause that’s what it’ll be. I can’t help you.”

  Drake was losing it. The little cocksucker knew where Melanie was, he could feel it.

  “I’m telling you I learned quick the lady was off limits.”

  “Lady?” Rage and frustration attacked Drake from the inside out. He pressed harder. Ropes’ eyes bulged. “One last chance, Ropes, tell me.”

  He gasped. “Ah, man. If anyone finds out... someone mentioned Pueblo. And... and... she works with flowers. Swear to God, Maxwell, that’s all I know.”

  Drake eased the pressure from Rope’s throat, and that’s when the guard got stupid. He tackled Drake, and the two crashed down the battered steps and into the front yard. With the spindle in his right hand and the guard on top of him, Drake whacked the right side of the bastard’s skull. The guard cried out, his arms flew up and he clutched his head. Drake drove a fist into Rope’s gut, then slammed it beneath his chin.

  Drake was strong; adrenaline made him stronger. The man, well over two hundred pounds landed with a thud, nearly a foot away.

  He lay on his back, groaning. Drake climbed to his feet.

  Ropes opened his eyes and must have sensed what was coming. With Drake standing over him, Ropes gagged, “Help,” apparently no longer able to scream.

  Drake lifted the spindle overhead. He hammered it down time after time after time, until Ropes stopped lifting his hands to defend himself, and blood bubbled from his mouth.

  Then with uncontained fury, Drake threw the broken-off piece of wood as far as he was physically able.

  Dogs started barking and lights switched on. But, with no other choice, he was forced to take a chance. He couldn’t leave Rope’s fat ass outside for immediate discovery.

  Glad he’d worn gloves, Drake yanked the corpse up and over his shoulder. Then he carried the body into a musty living room littered with empty beer bottles and burnt-out cigarette stubs. Rounding the vacated poker tables and chairs, he entered a grimy kitchen.

&
nbsp; And there, he dumped Ropes on his torn-up linoleum.

  Drenched, with blood pounding in his ears, Drake slipped out the back door where the barking increased from random to frenetic. He scanned his inky surroundings, then glanced down at his brand new coat covered with blood. Shit.

  He had no time to worry about the bloodstains now. With sirens joining the mutts in their nonstop racket, he underwent a terrifying case of déjà vu. And like the first time he’d killed a man, Drake ran.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Lt. Crandall, line three,” the department secretary’s voice said over the intercom.

  Joe picked up the phone. “Crandall.”

  “Hi, Joe, it’s me.”

  He flinched. With his job, running a household, the callouts, basketball practices and life, he’d simply hadn’t had time to add argue with ex-wife to the list.

  “Morning, Karen. What can I do for you?”

  “Call me back for one thing.” The statement was a jab, but it was laced with uncharacteristic humor.

  “God, I’m sorry, I’ve been busy.”

  “That’s what Matty said. Listen.” There was a pause in the conversation. “I owe you an apology.”

  Joe glanced out his office window to make sure this wasn’t the Second Coming. “An apology?”

  “Yes. I’ve made no secret that I felt Matt would be better off with me.”

  You sure haven’t.

  “But when I saw his last progress report...” She paused again. “Did you get him a tutor?”

  Damn. The progress reports. He’d meant to keep logging on to the school computers to follow Matt’s grades, but after the first two weeks when he’d shown improvement, Joe’d slacked off. “No,” he said carefully. “No tutor. Matt’s been hitting the books since it’s basketball season and he wants to play.”

  “Well, an A in history and a B in English, Joe, whatever you’re doing, I couldn’t have done better myself.”

  Never had he had such a pleasant conversation with his ex.

  “How’s Trish?” he asked, his gaze drifting to an outdated picture of his little girl.