Where the Truth Lives

by Mia Sheridan

  After all these years. He’d caught him.

  Charles made his way to the edge of the bridge, stepping to a break between the concrete guardrail and leaning against a steel beam. Zach slowed, his weapon raised. “There’s nowhere to go, Charles.”

  Charles crossed one foot in front of the other, taking a casual stance, though his body visibly shook with what looked like deep fatigue. His chest was slick with blood from the bullet wound at his shoulder, his right arm and half of his flank red and blistered, the skin peeled back in spots. He’d been burned. Badly. Moonlight washed over him, the black letters of a tattoo standing out stark against his sickly, gray-cast skin.

  Caleb.

  Zach felt a pinch in his chest and shook it off, keeping the serial killer who’d terrorized his wife in his sights. His wife, who still bore the physical and emotional scars of what this man had done to her.

  Charles gave him a small, tired smile. “Lieutenant Copeland.”

  “Get down on your knees. Don’t make me shoot you, because I will not hesitate.”

  Charles squinted at him. “I know you won’t. I’m not going to make you, Zach. Can I call you Zach? I feel like we should be on a first-name basis at this point.” He closed his eyes for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ve had enough of running,” he said. “Always just one step ahead.” He let out another raspy breath, leaning more fully against the beam. “You almost had me in Paris, by the way. If your man had just entered the airport through the other door, he’d have seen me. He was so close.” He smiled again and closed his eyes for a few seconds. More blood bubbled from his wound, streaking down his skin.

  Zach took a few steps forward. “No more running, Charles.”

  “No,” he agreed, sighing. “No more running.”

  Blood whooshed in Zach’s brain. The moment felt surreal. How many times had he hoped for this outcome? How many hundreds of hours had he worked to capture this man? To exact justice? But he had questions. He had so many questions, and he had this feeling that Charles was willing to talk right then, but he might not be later.

  “You knew Gordon Draper was a monster. Why didn’t you let us know? Send the laptop? Let us arrest him?”

  “He killed my mother, Zach. She was a prostitute, and a junkie, but she loved me. She tried. And she failed a lot too. But then she . . . left, and . . . she never came back. They put me in that house and she never came for me. But all this time . . .” He let those words fade away, staring off behind Zach. “A comfy prison cell for the old bastard? Three squares a day? No justice there.” He met Zach’s gaze once again.

  “It’s not your job to exact justice. Your sense of justice is warped,” Zach gritted.

  “I know that. You think I don’t know that?” He smiled. “But Caleb’s isn’t. Nothing about Caleb is warped.”

  Zach released a breath. “No,” he agreed. “Nothing about Caleb is warped. He’s a good man.”

  Charles nodded, swayed, grimaced as he brought his fingers to his wound. “I didn’t expect him to shoot me,” he said with a small, pained laugh. “I didn’t expect that.”

  As Zach watched him, he thought about what Arryn had said. He’d had a tool. More than one. He’d given one to Liza and used one to free himself and then the others. He thought about what he’d said to Josie right before he’d lost consciousness and Axel had dragged him out. It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.

  “You let him capture you. Why?”

  “I didn’t know where he’d taken them,” Charles murmured. “He had your daughter.”

  “So?”

  Charles’s eyes opened, spearing Zach. He was quiet for several moments. “All these years . . . you’ve treated my son like your own. I watched you. Each ceremony . . . right up front, cheering . . . for him. You didn’t have to do that. You might have . . . hated him, not been able to look at him without seeing me, but . . . you didn’t. I couldn’t let your daughter die,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I couldn’t let Josie’s daughter . . . die.”

  Zach swallowed, confusion sweeping through him. Charles freed us, Daddy. Zach held his weapon steady. “I’m grateful.” It doesn’t mean you don’t belong in prison.

  Charles held eye contact. “I think you know I can’t be locked up,” he said, as though he’d read Zach’s thoughts. “Never again.”

  Never again.

  Zach stepped closer, keeping his gun pointed at the man who’d fathered Reed—Caleb—the embodiment of everything his birth father was not. The madman before him who had somehow preserved a remnant of humanity in his soul and saved four lives that day. “I can’t let you go. You have to know that,” he rasped.

  “Yes. I know. I don’t expect you to.”

  From both directions of the bridge, the sirens grew louder, several police cruisers skidding to a stop as officers jumped from the vehicles, blocking the roadway and pointing their weapons in Charles’s direction.

  Charles glanced at them and then back at Zach, his expression unchanging. He stepped to the left and backed up, toward the edge of the bridge.

  Zach stepped forward. “Don’t move,” he demanded.

  But Charles’s face remained impassive, calm even as he took another step back, one foot hanging over empty air.

  He heard the pounding of footsteps as the officers ran toward him from both directions. Zach jerked his hand up, moving it left and then right, holding them back as they skidded to a halt. His heart was in his fucking throat.

  Charles gave him one last weary smile. “Tell Caleb . . .” Charles began, his voice barely emerging as his eyes began to close. “Tell him, he’s my . . . legacy.” And then he stretched his arms wide, his head tipping toward the sky as he took the final step back. Zach threw himself forward, his chest hitting the ground, head hanging over the edge, reaching, trying to grasp hold but not even coming close as Charles plunged to the water below, his body hitting with a hard smack and floating, lifeless, to the surface.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Three Months Later

  He stood alone, hands in his pockets at the edge of the curved path, his form immediately recognizable. Beloved. Her Reed. Several feet away, on a grassy slope, two men with shovels tamped the earth where Cora Hartsman’s bones had just been buried, along with a container of ashes that held the remains of her son.

  Perhaps, if they’d been reunited in life, things would have been much different, not only for them but for so many others. That was the hardest part about their jobs. About life in general. You couldn’t deal in what might have been, only what was.

  Beside her, Ransom walked silently, both their gazes fixed on Reed as he turned their way. His expression registered surprise then something that looked very near embarrassment as they approached. He glanced down, his brow lowering. “I didn’t plan on being here,” he said, as though they required an explanation as to why he’d shown up to watch the burial. Liza’s heart ached for him. He looked so conflicted. He was there to pay respects to the part of his birth father that had exhibited mercy at the end, and he didn’t know how to untangle that from the monster he’d always viewed Charles Hartsman as.

  You are such a good man, Reed Davies. So filled with kindness and decency, and I will love you until the end of all time.

  “Man, no one blames you for wanting closure,” Ransom said. “For Josie, for yourself . . . No one blames you at all.”

  Reed nodded, breath escaping as his expression registered relief. “Thanks.” His gaze turned to Liza and his eyes moved over her, bouncing from one spot to another, assessing her well-being, a tinge of desperation etched into his beautiful features. He did that a lot lately, a product of the shock at realizing how close he’d come to losing her, as the atrocious details of what she’d experienced in that underground cavern came to light. She had suffered some post-traumatic symptoms of her own. It was getting better though. They were all healing. Moving forward.

  Liza stepped to him, taking his hand and squeez
ing it. He released a breath, wrapping one arm around her and kissing her temple. “Thank you for coming.”

  Liza glanced at the grave that held mother and son. “They’re together again,” she said. It felt right to her, and she understood why Reed had made the decision to bring them back together in death, even if he still struggled mightily with his birth father’s role in the case and the clashing emotions it’d brought forth.

  The three of them turned, standing together for several minutes, watching the men with shovels as they completed their work. Liza had respects of her own to pay. The man being buried had solicited her teamwork at the end, and because of him, she was standing there. Alive. The warmth of Reed’s hand wrapped around her own.

  Tell Caleb he’s my legacy. Those had been Charles Hartsman’s dying words, and though the man had brutally victimized so many, though he was cruel and vindictive, he had been right on that score. He had given life to a man who was a force of goodness in the world. From darkness had come light, a luminous ray of strength and virtue that shone brightly on the dim corners of the world, on her.

  “Ready?” Liza asked softly.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  Together, they turned and moved toward the parking lot. Two people stood around a new plot nearby, perhaps the family members of another of Gordon Draper’s victims, the bones of which had finally been released after months in evidence.

  In total, the remains of twenty-eight women had been unearthed from the garden behind his home, the details of the crimes—old and new—rocking Cincinnati to its core. Even many months later, the media was still rabidly discussing the case of The Hollow-Eyed Killer, Gordon Draper’s legacy of evil, and the role Charles Hartsman had played. Seemingly, they couldn’t get enough.

  She and Reed chose not to watch, preferring instead to explore their feelings privately, without the interruption of the outside world who would judge the things they did not know and had never lived. Never survived. Instead, they surrounded themselves with family and friends, drawing near to those who mattered. Liza had bonded with Josie from the moment they’d met, and the older woman was helping her and Arryn navigate the trauma of their shared experience. Reed’s mother doted on her like a daughter, making Liza feel so incredibly loved. Liza had also grown close with Milo and Sabrina, and they got together often, talking about what they’d gone through as only those who had been there—in that room—could truly understand.

  Reed squeezed her hand again and she smiled up at him.

  “See you back at the station?” Ransom asked, turning toward his vehicle, the one he’d picked Liza up in so they could join Reed at the cemetery after Zach had told them where he’d be.

  “Nah,” Reed said. “It’s Saturday. I think I’m going to take the rest of the day off and spend it with my girl. I’ll give Sarge a call.”

  Ransom winked, pulling an energy bar from his pocket and tearing at the wrapper. “About time you took a few hours off.” He stuck the bar in his mouth and opened his car door, smiling. “See you tomorrow,” he said around the food.

  The shrouded sky darkened. A raindrop hit Liza on the nose and she laughed. Reed smiled, leaning in and kissing the place where the raindrop had landed. As Ransom’s car pulled away, a few more raindrops fell and a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. “Storm’s coming,” she murmured.

  He nodded, his eyes locked with hers. He moved closer, lacing their fingers. “What do you say we go home and weather it together?”

  She smiled, their gazes holding. She would weather any storm with him. “I say yes, Detective Davies.” She leaned in and kissed him. “A million times, yes.”

  EPILOGUE

  The afternoon light slanted through the stately arched windows, dust motes dancing in the lemony rays and casting the room in a dreamy glow. Reed slipped his arms around his wife, leaning his head on her shoulder as she gazed at the field beyond where tall grasses and wildflowers swayed gently in the autumn breeze. “You like it,” he said.

  She turned her head, smiling softly. “Can you tell?”

  “Mm,” he hummed, nuzzling her neck and inhaling her delicate scent. “I like it too.”

  She released a breath. “It’s a fixer-upper, Reed. It’s going to take a lot of work.” She looked down and he followed her gaze to the old wood floors, stained and badly scratched. In need of sanding and staining and who knew what else. He didn’t know squat about home renovations. But he’d learn. For her, he’d learn. He’d give her the home she’d never had. A place to live, and love, and find peace in. A sanctuary. A soft place to land.

  A place where they’d laugh, sometimes fight, make up, make love, and bring babies home to . . .

  “I’m not afraid of some hard work,” he said. “And my dad is really handy. He’ll be happy to help out. So will Zach. He and Josie practically remodeled every room in their home.” And they’d both be right up the road now if they purchased this old farmhouse in Oxford. God, Josie would be beside herself when they told her. Liza and Josie were extremely close, and Arryn was a sister to her in every sense of the word. His mother had taken Liza under her wing as well, and it filled Reed’s heart to see all the women he loved and admired most in the world love each other so deeply.

  Ransom was as useless as Reed at home repairs, but he’d be there to bring them lunch while they worked. He was sure about that.

  Liza’s shoulders rose and fell as a breath washed through her. “Josie told me their farmhouse used to be a bed and breakfast called Persimmon Woods,” she mused.

  He smiled. “Yup. What should we name this place?”

  She turned her head slightly, and he caught the glint of a mischievous smile before she looked back out to the field. “Mountain View?” she suggested.

  He laughed softly, nipping at the side of her neck.

  “You do see the mountains, don’t you?” she asked.

  He moved his hands up her ribcage. “Well,” he murmured. “I feel them.” He cupped her breasts. “They’re round and soft—”

  Liza laughed, elbowing him softly. “Oof.” He grinned, his hands falling away.

  They stared out the window, enjoying the peace of the moment before Liza said softly, “The small room upstairs with the built-in shelves will make a perfect nursery.”

  Happiness shimmered through him, knowing she wanted what he did. Children. To build a family. They’d only been married a year, but he saw no reason to wait. If anyone understood the fragile nature of life, they did. It was the reason he hadn’t been able to talk himself out of proposing to her six months after their ordeal with Axel Draper. Six months after Liza had crawled through that tunnel of terror to warn him and help save the others. A lump still formed in his throat when he thought about the heroics she’d exhibited, courage that some of the hardened cops he knew might not have been able to muster. Why in the world would he wait to begin their life together? He loved her fiercely. He wanted to spend his life beside her. He’d asked, and through happy tears, she’d said yes. They’d taken vows in his family’s church in Kentucky that fall and had a small reception in his parents’ backyard, surrounded by everyone they loved. “Yes,” he agreed. “The room will make the perfect nursery. We should work on that.”

  “It wasn’t much work,” she said softly, turning her head, “but . . . success.” Liza brought his hand to her belly, pressing her own on top of his.

  Reed felt a moment of disorientation. He let go of her, turning her in his arms so he could look in her eyes. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded slowly, her gaze searching his. “I took a test this morning.”

  His heart leapt, a mixture of terror and euphoria commingling in his veins. His eyes flew around, snagging on all the mess and chaos around them. “We need to start fixing up this place right away.”

  “We haven’t even purchased it,” Liza said, amusement dancing in her eyes. She raised her hand, cupping his cheek. “We have time, Reed. Last I checked, it takes a while to cook a baby.”

 
; “A baby,” he whispered. God, they were going to have a baby. Happiness spiraled dizzily within and he dropped to one knee, his hands spanning her hips as he kissed her stomach. Liza laughed, running her hands through his hair as he grinned up at her. The light shifted, a golden ray of sunlight casting its radiance on them, freezing the moment in time, making it feel holy. This is my heaven, he thought. Right here, right now, with you.

  Reed stood, gathering her in his arms, kissing her softly, and leaning his forehead on hers. For a while, they stood just like that, soaking in the moment. Then together they walked through the house once more, looking at it with new eyes. Eyes that knew they’d need to prioritize that small room with the built-ins . . . and add a back fence . . . and baby gates for the now-rickety set of steps. Speaking of those steps, he couldn’t have that. They were dangerous and he didn’t want his pregnant wife walking on them. Sweat broke out on his brow. He was tempted to run to the tool shop in town and purchase items so he could start tearing them down immediately in order that they could be rebuilt as quickly as possible. There must be specs regarding railings and riser height. God, he needed to know those things.

  Liza shot him a knowing smile before opening a closet, peering inside, and then standing back as if visually measuring for space. He took in a deep breath as he watched her. I’m going to be a father. Reed swallowed, thinking of the men who’d taught him about fatherhood, and with the thought a measure of calm moved through him. The men who had shown up and led by example, living their lives with honor and integrity, loving their families deeply and unconditionally. If he followed their lead, he was going to be just fine.

  As Liza walked down the hall, opening another closet and looking inside, Reed followed, his thoughts turning to his birth father. It'd been a year and a half since Charles Hartsman had died and he still hadn’t fully wrapped his head around what happened that earth-shattering day. He was still probing it carefully, trying to come to terms with the complex feelings he still had for the man.