Thunder at Dawn

by Jill Gregory

  And left a sinkful of dirty dishes from the night before. And who’d had to clean them up? Not just then, but every day, every night from that moment on, who’d had to do the dishes and listen to Pop grouse, and be the one he smacked around when he got good and mad that nope, there was still no letter from Carolee Bayman, not today. Not ever.

  Hank pushed his way through the crowd in Peephole’s, unzipped his khaki jacket, and found himself an empty stool at the crowded bar.

  “Budweiser,” he snapped as the bartender glanced his way. “No, make that a Scotch. Double.”

  Through the haze of cigarette smoke, he peered at the cute redheaded waitress joking with a bunch of obnoxious fraternity boys.

  She was pretty and had a nice ass. But she was a slut. Look at her, look at the way those geeks were looking at her.

  She’s cheap, she’s nothing, he told himself. Not like Susan. Susan’s beautiful and classy and she’s your wife. You can’t cheat on her. Even if she did get out of line, go a little crazy. You’re still married. It don’t matter what that stupid piece of paper says about divorce. You took vows, and so did she.

  Till death do us part.

  He gulped down the Scotch.

  That’s the way it’s going to be, baby. I told you once, I told you a dozen times. You can’t run away from me. You and me, we’re forever.

  Forever, baby.

  “Refill here?”

  The bartender waited, watching him, the Cutty Sark bottle in his hand.

  “Get that shit away from me.” Hank scowled. “What do I owe you?”

  He didn’t want another drink. He wasn’t going to let that runaway bitch turn him into a goddamned alcoholic. He wanted his wife back. He wanted the woman whose snot-nosed kids he’d taken in out of the goodness of his heart. He wanted her and her brats back where they belonged.

  But that wasn’t going to happen if he didn’t get on the stick. He had to do something more than make those stupid phone calls to the assistant DA bitch.

  It was time to get serious, he thought, slapping some bills on the bar and pushing himself off the stool. Time to show that tight-ass prosecutor how much she’d underestimated him.

  He was smarter than her. Tougher too. Big-time. Hadn’t he played football and kicked ass for four years of high school—not to mention going through basic training in the army, then acing marksmanship before shipping out to Bosnia? And hadn’t he been a damned good cop before getting canned for no good reason?

  He knew how to find anyone, how to watch and wait.

  And then go in loaded for bear.

  Shouldering his way through the packed bar, Bayman stumbled back out to the street. He’d find Susan, all right. He’d give her the surprise of her life. But first he had to sober up. Go on the offensive. The army had taught him that.

  You take the fight to the enemy, right on the front lines.

  And the enemy was Faith Barclay.

  Because whatever Susan thought, whatever she said, all this running away was just a ploy. A stupid female ploy to make him come after her, to prove to her he wanted her back.

  And when he caught up to her, he’d show her just how much he did.

  Chapter 3

  “FAITH BARCLAY! COME ON IN HERE, GIRL—heavens to Betsy, we haven’t seen you in here since Ty’s wedding!”

  Beaming, Bessie Templeton, owner of Bessie’s Diner, thunked down the pot of hot coffee she’d just lifted up and bustled toward the front of the diner even as the little bell that announced a customer rang prettily over the door.

  She threw her arms around Faith and squeezed. Beneath Bessie’s short waves of iron-gray hair, the sharp gray gaze that missed nothing studied the slim young woman with the lavender shadows under her eyes.

  “So how are you doing, honey? Not that I need to ask. You look gorgeous as a ripe peach, first of the season. But tired.” Bessie tilted her head to the side, birdlike. “Ty said you were going through a rough patch. That true?”

  “Don’t listen to Ty, Bessie.” Faith hugged her back with a rueful smile. “He exaggerates. So does my entire family. I’m fine, absolutely fine. At least I will be after you bring me a plateful of your pancakes.”

  “Comin’ right up. Sit wherever you please. Soon as I get a little break, we’re going to have us a chat.”

  Patti hadn’t arrived yet, so Faith chose a booth near the door. The diner smelled of pancakes and coffee and eggs over easy with toast. She wanted to savor the aroma, the feel of the worn booth cushions, the familiar quiet whir of the ceiling fan, but then, before Bessie could even return to pour her coffee, Patti walked in.

  Faith’s mouth dropped open. Beneath her long blue T-shirt and khaki capris, Patti’s belly was gently swollen.

  Her huge brown eyes sparkled like new pennies.

  “You’re pregnant!” Faith sprang from the booth like a jack-in-the-box. “And you didn’t tell me!”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Patti chuckled as her friend embraced her in a gentle hug. “I’m just starting my fifth month. It’s a girl—we did the amnio already. Bob’s painting the nursery next week—pink walls, yellow-and-white-striped borders. What do you think?”

  “I think it sounds fantastic.” Faith grinned at her. Patti, always pretty with her strawberry blond hair and animated features, was positively glowing. “I’m so happy for you,” she murmured, and meant it.

  “Thanks. That makes two of us. Actually three.” They both laughed as Bessie came over and poured decaf for Patti and the real stuff for Faith. She took their orders without bothering to write anything down on a pad and scooted back to the kitchen with the energy of a woman half her age.

  “It took me a while to get pregnant,” Patti confided. “We tried for eight months before things finally clicked. But it was all worth it.”

  She added a dollop of milk to her decaf, then leaned toward Faith, her gaze taking in not only Faith’s pale yellow T-shirt and jeans and her waterfall of curls, but the slight pallor of her skin, the shadows under her eyes. “Now tell me about you,” she demanded. “You look like hell. What did you do—take an oath of office for the DA that required you to swear off sleep?”

  “Ouch. Do I really look that bad?” God love Patti. She was as blunt as always. “Or do you have a camera planted in my apartment?”

  “Faith, this is serious.” Patti looked worried. “I know things have been rough lately—”

  “Oh, no, not you too. What did my family do, put up a sign in the middle of town saying ‘Poor pathetic Faith—be nice to her’?” She shook her head in exasperation.

  “No, of course not, but . . . look, all I want to say is that I’m sorry about Kevin. That things didn’t work out.”

  “Don’t be.” Faith swallowed. “The truth is, the marriage would have been a disaster. I’m glad I found out—that we both found out—before we spent a fortune on a wedding and a honeymoon and . . . had kids.” She paused for a moment, controlling the painful twinge inside her.

  It still shook her to have been so wrong about Kevin, about their entire relationship. She’d thought they’d known each other, that what they had was solid, but it had quivered beneath her feet like quicksand and nearly sucked her under.

  Once, she’d believed they were perfect for each other, but maybe that was it—they’d been too perfect. Too alike. Both of them attorneys—driven, competitive, and jockeying for advancement in their respective careers.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Faith gazed ruefully at her friend. “At the engagement party, you seemed hesitant, as if you didn’t really like him. I could tell.”

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. I thought . . . well, you’d just won a conviction on that big rape case and your picture was plastered all over the press and the DA was singing your praises and we were all so proud of you, but Kevin . . .”

  Patti broke off, choosing her words carefully. “Kevin seemed annoyed with it all. He made some kind of a crack like, now there’ll be no living with her. It was suppo
sed to be funny, but the tone of his voice—it didn’t sound very nice.”

  Faith felt the familiar knot tightening in her chest. Patti was right. Her career had been taking off, and Kevin had been threatened by that. And she’d been too dumb and too blind to see it. At first.

  “It was right around then that things began to change between us,” she told Patti quietly. “A week after the engagement party, Kevin was passed over for a promotion at his law firm, and the law, which had always been something the two of us shared, somehow became . . .” She drew a breath. “A minefield,” she finished. “He was competing with me—he was jealous, I guess . . .” She shook her head, remembering her confusion and hurt at the time. “I was so wrapped up in work and plans for the wedding that I didn’t have a clue that my fiancé was backing off. And those little comments, like the one you heard him make—they hurt me, but I kept trying to laugh them off, to make excuses for him . . .”

  She swallowed. “It wasn’t until the Clement case blew up in my face that I took a good hard look at where we were.”

  Patti grimaced. “I heard about that case, Faith. I’m sorry.”

  Faith nodded and reached for her coffee, her throat suddenly dry. Yes, Patti knew. Of course she knew. Most of the country knew. The story had been picked up on CNN, MSNBC, and AOL. Not to mention all the major newspapers. According to Ty, even the Thunder Creek Daily had run a small article about it, because of the Barclays’ connection to the town.

  She’d successfully prosecuted the final appeal of Jimmy Clement more than two years ago. Clement, who’d been convicted of the rape and murder of a college student named Devon Skye ten years earlier, had spent a decade on death row before his last appeal reached the Supreme Court. At that point, she was assigned by the DA to argue the state’s case.

  And she’d won. Clement’s appeal was denied, the DA’s office chalked up a victory, and Jimmy Clement was duly executed.

  Justice had been done.

  At least that’s what everyone had believed—until six months ago, when a middle-aged bus driver named Lamont Elwood was arrested on kidnapping and rape charges. A search of his home turned up evidence from several old crime scenes—including a bracelet that had belonged to Devon Skye. Traces of Devon’s blood were found on the bracelet, but that wasn’t all. A more intensive search of the shed behind his house turned up photos of Devon before and after her murder, gruesome, sickening photos, along with a lock of her hair, stored in a box with clumps of hair and photos of three other victims of unsolved murders.

  Elwood confessed to Devon Skye’s murder. And to the murders of the three other women. He had knowledge of all the crime scenes, he boasted of having gotten away with his crimes for years, and he laughed when he related how he’d read every newspaper article about Jimmy Clement’s appeal.

  When Faith got the phone call about Elwood’s confession, when she’d heard and seen the evidence with her own eyes, she’d been devastated.

  She’d taken a two-week leave of absence from her job, then gone back to work with a vengeance. And right after that, the nightmares had begun.

  “I can only imagine how awful that was for you, Faith. But it wasn’t your fault. You had no way of knowing,” Patti said firmly.

  Faith’s stomach clenched. No, she’d had no way of knowing, but that didn’t make it any easier. She remembered how she’d been curled up on the sofa in her apartment that first night after receiving the news, sick to her stomach, unable to stop crying. Then Kevin had arrived. She’d been planning to cook dinner for them—lasagna and salad—and he’d picked up wine and tiramisu from Georgio’s for dessert.

  But he’d found her in tears, her face damp, her eyes red. And no lasagna in sight. The thought of food had only made her more nauseous. A man—the wrong man—had died. And she’d prosecuted him. She’d asked for the death penalty.

  She’d been so sure of his guilt. The evidence had been strong. But it was misleading. And an innocent man had died.

  “Kevin tried to console me that night, the night I found out about Clement’s innocence,” she said softly. “For about five minutes. Then, when I couldn’t seem to stop crying, he lashed out. He told me he had a big win in court that day and he was looking forward to celebrating and that I was ruining it for him.”

  “What?” Patti gasped.

  Faith nodded, her neck muscles tight. “He said everything wasn’t just about me.”

  “He actually said that to you?” Anger flared in Patti’s eyes. “The guy is even more of an asshole than I thought.”

  “There was more, but I won’t bore you with the details.” Faith paused, lifting her coffee cup. “I only wish I hadn’t been stupid enough to think I loved a man who was so . . . so . . .”

  “Callous and self-centered? Jealous of your successes?”

  “That about covers it.” She smiled wryly and took a sip of coffee. “Look, Kevin and I are over and done. There’s no point in crying over lost fiancés.” Or lost dreams, she thought bleakly.

  Seeing the flicker of pain in her friend’s eyes, a flicker that was there one instant and carefully erased the next, Patti quickly lifted her own cup. “You’re so right. Let’s make a toast never to talk about it again—unless you want to,” she added.

  “I’ll drink to that.” Faith clinked cups with her. “Now tell me all about you, aside from being pregnant. What was it you wanted to ask me about?”

  Before Patti could reply, a teenage waitress with fuchsia-streaked hair dashed up to their table and nearly dropped plates of pancakes and French toast, jam, syrup, and small dishes of powdered sugar in front of them.

  Patti waited until the girl had rushed back to the kitchen before casting Faith an impish look.

  “I need your help with something, but I don’t want to impose on your vacation. Oh, hell, actually I do—unless you really just want to hang out and veg.”

  “Vegging gets old fast. I like to be busy, and you know it. Come on, Patti, ask away. I won’t be afraid to say no if I don’t want to do it.”

  Patti swallowed a mouthful of golden brown French toast and patted her napkin to her mouth. “We’re having a big shindig here in a couple of weeks. The Autumn Auction and Dinner Dance. It’s a new event, this is only the second year. It’s a charity benefit to raise money for the expanded children’s wing of the hospital. I need you to be my co-chair.”

  “Co-chair?” Faith nearly choked on a bite of pancake. “Me? But I might not even be here—”

  “You will be, Faith. The dance is the first week of September, only two weeks away. I heard you have a leave of absence for a month.”

  “Patti, I’m flattered, but there must be plenty of people who actually live in Thunder Creek who’d love to be involved in this. I’m practically an outsider—”

  “Give me a break. Your family’s owned land in this county since the late 1800s. Their ties to Thunder Creek go back longer than almost anyone else’s. And your brother’s the sheriff. Your cousin lives here—you spent every summer of your life here until you went to college—”

  “But what about Ada Scott or Bessie, or Tammie Morgan, for that matter? It seems to me this kind of an event would be right up Tammie’s—” She broke off. There was a grim look on Patti’s face.

  And suddenly, light dawned. “Don’t tell me. Tammie is involved in this event—she’s already working with you, isn’t she?”

  “She’s my co-chair,” Patti admitted. “Only because the auction and dance are being held on the Morgan property, at their dude ranch, during the two weeks out of the year when it’s closed to guests.” Patti set down her fork. “That’s why I need you. A third co-chair—to break the tie. Tammie and I disagree about everything. I can’t work with her—not unless I have you to mediate and settle all our differences and always side with me,” she added with a burst of laughter.

  Faith rolled her eyes. “That’s all I need. Tammie Morgan.”

  Tammie and Wood Morgan considered themselves the glamorous, sophisticated
power couple of Thunder Creek. They owned several hundred thousand acres of prime grazing land, and had several years ago converted a good portion of their scenic back acres into an upscale dude ranch. Like everything else the Morgans touched, it had turned into a gold mine and a four-star resort. Tammie, who’d had a penchant for self-aggrandizement even in high school, now considered herself the crème de la crème of Thunder Creek society.

  Faith had still been an eighth-grade tomboy when Tammie and Wood Morgan began dating in high school, but even then she’d never much cared for her. And that was before Tammie married into the powerful Wood family. During the last few years, according to everything Faith had heard, Tammie had become more insufferable than ever.

  “You’re on your own,” she told Patti. “I’m trying to get away from politics and power struggles.” She paused as she saw the disappointment in Patti’s face. “Unless you really need me,” she heard herself saying.

  A voice inside of her called her all kinds of names, not the least of which was sucker. “You really don’t think you can handle Tammie all by yourself?”

  “Only if I absolutely have to. Look,” Patti rushed on, suddenly hopeful. “School’s going to start again in a few weeks and I have to start preparing my classroom. I’ve had morning sickness every single day of the past three months, and I get totally exhausted by the middle of the afternoon.”

  Seeing Faith’s sympathetic expression, Patti grinned. She was almost home free. “To top it off, Tammie and I have fought about everything, and we have so much to do my head is spinning. We still need lots more donations for the auction, we can’t agree on the dinner menu, and so far our committee has only sold seventy tickets for the dinner dance, out of a possible two hundred. And you know it’s for a good cause,” she added, but from the resigned expression on Faith’s face, Patti knew she didn’t have to say another word. She’d already won.