by B. J Daniels
Sick to his stomach, Cash pressed the barrel into Kerrington’s neck.
“I’ll get the patrol car,” Mathews said, looking up at Cash, a clear warning in his gaze. “Read him his rights.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Cash began.
“You have to believe me. I shoved her. Outside the bar and she fell and hit her head, but she was alive. She was furious because you’d ran into her new car and…because Sandra had told her that she was pregnant and we were getting married. I told her I wouldn’t marry Sandra, but she was so angry. She was hitting me. I pushed her, she fell. I saw that her head was bleeding and I tried to get her to let me look at it but she wouldn’t.” His voice broke. “I went back into the bar but I was worried about her. She was in such a state. I went back outside. She was sitting in her car, leaning over the steering wheel. I thought she was just upset, maybe crying.” Kerrington began to sob. “There was blood all over.” He wrapped his arms around his knees, put his head on the ground next to her grave. “I loved her. I would never kill her.”
Cash finished reading him his rights. He could hear Mathews coming with the patrol car. “If you didn’t kill her, how did you know where she was buried?”
Kerrington wiped a sleeve over his face and raised his head. “I had to do something. I panicked. I shoved her over in the seat and climbed in. When I looked up, I saw the bartender. She’d come outside for a quick smoke. I didn’t know how much she’d seen. I hoped she thought Jasmine was just drunk and that I was driving her home. But I knew she’d seen us fighting before that. Maybe even seen me shove her.”
“Why did you put her car in this barn?” Cash asked, already knowing the answer.
“She’d had that fight with you. You’d dented her car. I thought…” His voice trailed off. “I wasn’t really trying to frame you. After what I did, I couldn’t call the cops and tell them where I’d put it. I guess I hoped the car wouldn’t ever be found.”
“You didn’t want to implicate yourself,” Cash said. “You were worried that there would be evidence in the car that might incriminate you.”
Mathews pulled up, the headlights of the patrol car bobbing across Jasmine’s grave.
“Let’s go,” Cash said and helped Kerrington to his feet before cuffing him and escorting him into the back of the patrol car.
“I called forensics to see about the body,” Mathews said and looked over at him as Cash climbed into the front seat. “I’ve been trying to reach one of my men at your house.”
Cash’s blood turned to ice. Molly. No.
“No one’s answering.” Mathews hit the siren and lights as he sped toward town.
MOLLY STEPPED BACK, the counter cutting into her back as Angel slapped Patty, flattening her on the floor. In that instant, Molly had a flash of memory. There was a coffeemaker on the counter, a bear-sheriff cookie jar, obviously a present, probably from Cash’s little sister Dusty. An old blender. And the small vase Cash had put her wildflowers in that morning when he’d brought her breakfast in bed.
“Molly,” Angel said and grinned. “It is so good to finally see you.” There was just enough sarcasm in his greeting to warn her as he swung with his free hand.
He would have hit Molly if she hadn’t seen it coming and ducked.
She swung down and around, grabbing the heavy glass of the blender as she came up. She swung it like a club. The blender struck Angel’s right hand—the hand with the knife in it—as he dove for her.
He let out a howl. The knife went flying, hit the floor and slid under the stove.
“You bitch,” Angel yelled and lunged for her again.
Molly tried to get in position to swing the blender again, but Angel had moved too quickly. She ducked, flinching in expectation of the pain that would no doubt come from Angel’s fury.
“Angel, wait!”
Vince stepped between them. “It’s all right, Molly.” His voice was soft, reassuring.
She wasn’t fooled. She remembered both men only too well and knew exactly what they were capable of from listening in on their conversations when she was fourteen.
She stood slowly, still gripping the heavy glass blender. Patty was on the floor in the kitchen doorway slumped like a rag doll but conscious. Molly could see that her eyes were open and she was still breathing.
“You can put that down now,” Vince said in that same quiet deep voice. “No one wants to hurt you.”
Molly laughed, a half-hysterical sound. Everyone in this room wanted to kill her. At least Patty would have made it quick.
Vince smiled as if seeing the humor as well.
“You said I could have the bitch,” Angel said. He was hunched against the far end of the counter holding his injured right hand. “I think she broke my friggin’ fingers.”
She could only hope that he wasn’t as expert with a knife in his left hand as he was his right.
“Let’s all just calm down,” Vince said. “Molly, Molly, Molly.” He sighed. “Why would you put the cops on us? You know what we want. Just give it to us and we’ll be on our way.”
He was lying and she suspected everyone in this room knew it, even Patty who’d never laid eyes on either man before.
“I don’t have the diamonds, Vince,” Molly said, knowing he wasn’t going to believe her anymore than Patty had believed she wasn’t Jasmine.
“I told you the bitch would just lie,” Angel snapped.
Vince motioned for Angel to be quiet. “I saw Max whisper something to you, Molly.”
She nodded, adjusting her hold on the blender. Vince didn’t have a weapon. At least not in his hands. Angel had Patty’s pistol still tucked into the waistband of his pants, but he seemed to have forgotten about it in his pain. He kept rubbing his right hand, glaring at her.
“All Max said was ‘I’m sorry, kiddo. I’ll try to make it up to you.’”
Vince stared at her in disbelief. “Are you telling me Max would waste his last words on something so…ridiculous? How could he possibly make it up to you? He had to know he was dying.”
“He said that to me every time one of his schemes failed,” Molly said, unable to hide her own bitterness. Max was her only family and he was dead because he was always trying to find the easy way out.
“You knew him,” Molly said, finding herself getting angry. “You think he ever made my life easy, even once? Max took the diamonds, to hell with him. It’s obviously the way he wanted it.”
“She’s lying,” Angel said. “Let me get the truth out of her.”
Vince just looked at her, then sighed, and she noticed then how much he’d aged. He looked as strong as a bull but his face was gray, his eyes lifeless.
He looked over at Angel and she saw that Vince had given up. He might believe her, but it didn’t make any difference at this point.
“She’s all yours,” he said to Angel and turned, stepping over Patty as he left the room.
“Vince,” Molly called, but knew he wasn’t going to save her. She heard the creak of the door that opened the bar, heard him pour himself a drink and sit down as if the weight of the world were on him.
It didn’t matter if she knew where the diamonds were or not. Vince wouldn’t—or couldn’t—stop Angel now.
Angel grinned, spittle at the corner of his mouth as if salivating at the thought of torturing her to death.
He took Patty’s small pistol from the waist of his pants and tossed it on the kitchen counter with contempt. Then he edged slowly toward her, opening one kitchen drawer after another until he found what he was after.
He drew a large butcher knife from the drawer with his left hand, his grin spreading across his face, making him look crazy. “Lucky for me I’m ambidextrous.”
He lunged at her. She swung the blender, but he was ready, catching it with his right forearm. The heavy glass ricocheted off his arm, hit the edge of the counter and shattered, showering them both with glass as Angel grabbed a handful of her hair with his injured right hand and brought
his knee up, catching her in the thigh.
She cried out and he dropped her to the floor, her leg cramping in pain, and he was on her, the butcher knife at her neck, his voice in her ear.
“Now, first off I want you to apologize for putting the cops on us,” he whispered. “Then I want you to tell me where the diamonds are. And finally, I want to hear you beg for your life. And you will beg, trust me.”
MATHEWS HAD THE PATROL CAR up to over a hundred as they raced toward town, the siren blaring, lights flashing.
With growing fear, Cash tried to reach the officers Mathews had left at the house and got no answer on the two-way radio.
Cash looked over at Mathews as they neared town. Mathews cut the lights and siren, stopping up the street from the house. Cash leapt from the car before it completely stopped, the shotgun in his hands as he ran in a crouch toward the house.
The lights were on inside. No cars out front. No one outside either. Nor did the officers appear as he ran toward the front door. Mathews motioned he was going around the back. Molly would have locked the door, but he tried it anyway before he pulled out his key and quietly put it into the lock.
From inside the house, Cash heard a scream.
His fingers shaking, he turned the knob and burst into the house, the shotgun ready.
The first thing he saw was Patty Franklin curled on the floor in the kitchen doorway. At first he didn’t recognize her. Her mascara had run and there was a bright red mark on the side of her face as if she’d recently been slapped.
But her face came alive when she saw him.
His forward motion propelled Cash on into the house. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large man sitting in the living room. Vince Winslow shot to his feet. He lunged at Cash, but Patty caught his leg, tripping him and biting down hard on his calf. Vince let out a curse and turned to kick Patty.
Cash brought the butt of the shotgun down on Vince’s head. He hit the floor hard, out like a light.
Patty motioned to the kitchen and put a finger across her throat like a knife. Cash went cold. He nodded and stepped into the kitchen.
What he saw almost made him lose control. The short one, Angel Edwards, had Molly on her hands and knees on the floor, a knife to her throat as he leaned over her. There was blood already running down her neck from several cuts. Her eyes were wide. She blinked at him, her expression softening at the sight of him. There was broken glass all around her on the floor. And blood.
“Get off her,” Cash said between gritted teeth.
“I’ll slit her throat before you can pull that trigger,” Angel said, glee in his voice. “You might kill me, but you’ll never be able to save her.”
Angel hadn’t noticed Patty come into the kitchen. Cash had hardly noticed her himself. She moved almost in slow motion, her hands behind her, no expression on her face.
“Now, put down that shotgun,” Angel was saying. “Or I’ll kill her. Now!” he shrieked, jerking back on Molly’s hair.
It happened so fast Cash wasn’t even sure he saw it. Molly let out a cry as Angel jerked her head back. Her hands had been on the floor, but now she came up with a large piece of the broken glass. She drove the glass into Angel’s calf as she screamed, “Shoot him!”
Didn’t she realize he couldn’t fire the shotgun—not with her so close?
But the room boomed with a gunshot, then another, and Cash watched in amazement as Patty rushed Angel, firing a small pistol point blank at his head. Where had she gotten that?
Angel had let go of Molly when she gouged him with the broken glass, but he still had the knife in one hand and a fistful of her hair in the other.
That was until he saw Patty running at him, firing the gun he had so carelessly tossed aside. The caliber was too small to put a man like Angel down.
Patty had been shooting over both Angel’s and Molly’s heads, but when he saw her running at him firing the gun, he let go of Molly’s hair and lunged for Patty.
Molly rolled, flattening herself on the kitchen floor. Cash pulled the trigger, the shotgun bucked in his hands. Angel’s chest bloomed with blood just an instant before he swung the blade of the butcher knife in his hand toward Patty.
Cash reached for her to pull her back but it was too late. Angel drove the knife into her chest, letting go as he fell to the floor.
Patty stumbled, falling to her knees. Molly was on her feet, rushing to her, catching her and lowering her to the floor as Cash saw Angel reach for the pistol Patty had dropped.
Cash stepped down hard on Angel’s hand. He was still alive, staring up at Cash, bloodthirsty to the end.
“I’m not going back to prison,” Angel said.
“You’re right about that,” Cash said and watched Angel die.
Behind him, he heard Mathews come into the room. He was on his two-way radioing for an ambulance and backup.
Cash knelt on the floor next to Molly. She had Patty’s head in her lap and she was crying.
“I’m so sorry,” Molly was whispering. “I’m so sorry.”
Patty’s eyes flickered open. She smiled up at Molly. “You’re not Jasmine.”
Molly shook her head.
“It’s all right. I’ll be seeing her soon.” Patty’s eyes glittered at the thought for a moment, then the light went out and slowly her lids closed and she was gone.
Molly leaned over, crying. Cash put an arm around her, drawing her to him as Mathews took the dead woman from her.
“It’s over, Molly. It’s finally all over. You’re safe.” Cash held her to him, wishing he never had to let her go.
Epilogue
Cash watched Molly peer out the plane window and smiled to himself to see how well she was recovering.
“I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve ever flown,” she said, her excitement contagious. “Thank you for coming with me.”
Past her profile, the Atlantic Ocean shone deep blue as the plane made the final approach to the Miami International Airport.
He’d been in the E.R. waiting room, waiting to hear how Molly was doing from the cuts on her neck, when he’d gotten the call from Frank. Mathews had arrested Vince when he came to and had the coroner pick up Patty and Angel. Vince was back in prison and wouldn’t be getting out any time soon.
Kerrington had been arrested for his part in covering up Jasmine’s death—and the murder of Teresa Clark. Kerrington swore he hadn’t killed the bartender, that Bernard must have done it. Kerrington was in jail in Montana, on no bond, awaiting trial. His wife Sandra had filed for divorce and had moved in with Bernard.
Bernard had confessed, now that Jasmine’s killer had been caught. He had admitted that he had been the man the gas station clerk had seen leave with Jasmine. He hadn’t come forward because of obvious reasons. He’d said he and Jasmine had talked and then she’d gone to meet Kerrington. He’d said that was the last time he’d seen her and that the bartender had been wrong about him being at the Dew Drop Inn the night Jasmine had been killed.
Bernard had seen that Jasmine was properly buried in Atlanta next to her father.
Mathews was still investigating Teresa Clark’s murder, convinced that before it was over, Bernard would be behind bars where he belonged.
Cash had asked for a few weeks off after receiving Frank’s call from the FBI.
“Cash, sorry man, I know it’s late, but I thought you’d want this news ASAP.”
Cash had completely forgotten that Molly’s prints were on file somewhere and he’d asked Frank to track them down. It seemed like a lifetime ago—not just hours.
He had started to tell Frank that it didn’t matter. He didn’t care what she’d done. Or who she was. “Frank, right now isn’t—”
“You aren’t going to believe this. I tracked down those prints you sent me. Her name’s Molly right? It was a kidnapping.”
“She’s wanted for kidnapping?”
“Naw.” Frank had laughed. “She was kidnapped. Almost thirty years ago. Biological father stole
her. Mother never saw her again, later the mother had reason to believe she was dead after the private investigators she’d hired almost caught the father. Found some of the toddler’s clothing with a whole lot of blood on it where the two had been staying. Turned out to be the toddler’s blood type.”
Was that when Molly had gotten the scar on her forehead that she couldn’t remember getting? “Is her mother still alive?” Cash had asked.
“Affirmative. That’s what makes this case so interesting. This isn’t just any kid who was kidnapped. This is the daughter of Rachel Valentine of the Paris Valentines, one of the wealthiest families in Europe.”
There had to be a mistake. Molly was a Valentine?
“It gets better. Guess who the father was.”
“The Great Maximilian Burke.”
“You knew, huh? Well, then you must know about the big diamond heist in Hollywood fifteen years ago. He was shot down by the cops. The diamonds were never recovered. When they took his prints they found out that he was Joe Cooper, the man the FBI had been looking for in the kidnapping of the Valentine baby. But the Valentines paid to keep all that quiet, hoping to find the kid. She would have been fourteen then.”
Cash had a feeling he knew what was coming.
“Someone had seen a girl about the right age with Maximilian right before he died, but she disappeared. No one knew what had happened to her. Might not even have been his daughter. According to the guys who were arrested, she wasn’t his daughter, just some girl he’d picked up to help him with his magic acts,” Frank had said. “Whoever she was, she’d just disappeared.
“The thing is,” Frank had continued, “the agents really want to talk to this woman. The diamonds in that heist were never found and since she was the last person to see Maximilian alive… Tell me you have her in custody.”
“Sorry. Maybe she’ll turn up again,” Cash had said, afraid he really was going to lose her. “Where’d you say her mother lives?”
“Miami. I can’t believe you let her get away,” Frank had said and Cash had looked up and seen the doctor coming down the hall toward him.
