Riley padded over to where Alex rocked Hope and poked her thigh with his nose.
Alex took Hope’s clenched fist and, spreading the little fingers wide, put Hope’s hand on Riley’s head. Riley gave one of his giant sighs and laid his nose on Hope’s knee. Hope began to pet Riley’s head.
Beside him Meredith Fallon drew a shaky breath. “I hope she doesn’t pet your dog like she colored or played that organ. Riley will be bald by bedtime.”
“We’ll put Rogaine in his dog chow,” Daniel said.
Meredith snorted a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “She went into the house.”
Daniel sighed. “Yes.”
“And you went with her.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Alex, I’m hungry and I have to get out of this house. When I was running this morning I passed a pizza place next to the post office.”
“Presto Pizza?” Daniel asked, surprised.
“You know it?” Meredith asked and he nodded.
“I lived on their pepperoni slices when I was a kid. I didn’t know it was still there.”
“Then that’s where we’re going. Alex, put on some makeup. We’re eating out.”
Alex lifted her face, frowning. “I don’t think so. We’re going to see Sister Anne.”
“We’ll do that after we eat. Hope needs to get out, too. I’ve been treating her with kid gloves, observing her. You made a breakthrough. I don’t want her sliding backward.”
“We still need to eat, Alex,” Daniel said, earning him an appreciative glance from Meredith. “It won’t take long, then we can go to the shelter. Besides, who knows who’ll show up while we’re eating? The guy that tried to run you down had been watching you. If he wasn’t the same person who took Bailey, he may know who did.”
She nodded. “You’re right. And it’s not only Bailey. There are the other women, too. I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m being selfish. I guess I’m not thinking too straight right now.”
“It’s okay. You’ve had kind of a busy day.” And because she looked like she needed it, he went to her and pulled her into his arms. She rested her cheek against his chest and he realized he’d needed this, too. “Go on, change your clothes.” He looked down at Hope, who was still stroking Riley’s head. Riley gave him a soulful look and Daniel chuckled. “Hurry, before poor Riley needs a toupee.”
Tuesday, January 30, 7:00 p.m.
He gripped the steering wheel, glancing up at his rearview mirror. He licked his lips nervously. It was still there. The car had been tailing him since he’d hit US-19.
Rhett Porter had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away. Get away. He was a marked man. He’d known it as soon as he’d heard his friend say “Nothing” with such contempt. His friend. Ha. One hell of a friend, dropping him like a hot potato as soon as things got rough.
He’d get away. He knew things. Things any upstanding district attorney would want to know. Would pay to know. He’d take his payment in the form of witness protection.
He’d move to the middle of nowhere, lose his drawl. Disappear.
He heard the rev of the engine behind him a moment before he felt the jolt. The steering wheel wrenched from his hands as the tires slipped off the edge of the road. He fought for control, but it was too late. He saw the road drop away. Saw the rush of trees past his windows. Heard the crunch of metal against wood.
Felt the crushing blow to his skull, the piercing pain in his chest, the dizziness as his car began to roll. He smelled the iron odor of blood. His own blood. I’m bleeding.
When the world stopped moving, he looked up, dazed. He was hanging upside down, still strapped to his seat. He heard footsteps, saw knees as someone crouched to look into the wreckage that had been his car. His hope died when eyes he knew and had once trusted stared at him through the splintered glass of his windshield.
Still he tried. “Help me,” he moaned.
The eyes rolled. “You would have to wear a seat belt. You can’t even die right.”
The eyes disappeared. The footsteps retreated, then returned.
“Help me. Please.”
“You’re a fuck-up, Porter.” He pushed the broken glass aside with his elbow, reached in, and took the keys from his ignition. A moment later, the keys were returned. One key, Rhett knew, would be missing. He almost smiled, wishing he could be there to see their stunned reactions when they saw what it unlocked.
Then he smelled gasoline, then the acrid smell of burning tinder and he knew.
I’m going to die. He closed his eyes, cursing the men he’d protected for so long. Thirteen years he’d kept the secret. Now… I’ll see you all in hell.
He stood on the road, fists on his hips, watching the fire licking around the car below. He could feel the heat from where he stood. Someone would come soon. He put the gas can in his trunk and drove away. Bye, Igor. You stupid sonofabitch.
He swallowed as he drove. They had numbered seven once. Now they were three.
He’d been responsible for the elimination of two of them. DJ’s body had never been found. He remembered the sulfur smell of the swamp, the splash as he’d chucked DJ’s body over the side of his boat. He imagined a gator had feasted that night.
DJ had been a liability. The gambling, the liquor, the women. Lots of women. They hadn’t nicknamed Jared O’Brien “Don Juan” for nothing. Jared had gone off on rants when he got drunk. It had been only a matter of time before he exposed them all. It had been Jared or the rest of them. The choice hadn’t been that difficult.
Somehow killing Igor had been a lot harder. When the fire was done with Rhett Porter, there wouldn’t be much of his body left either. So it all amounted to the same difference, except that somewhere a gator was going to bed with an empty stomach.
He thought of the other two that were now gone. Daniel Vartanian had taken down Ahab. Of course they’d never called Simon that to his face. Simon had been a scary SOB, his peg leg just one of many untouchable subjects. He remembered the day they’d buried Simon the first time. The relief they’d all felt, but no one had voiced.
And the other? It had only been a matter of time. He was frankly shocked Po’boy had lived as long as he had, dodging bullets in every godforsaken war zone on the planet. Finally it had been an Iraqi insurgent that had taken Wade out. He’d first felt relief at the news that Dutton’s war hero was coming home in a box. For years Wade Crighton had been an unsnipped thread, the only one of them to leave the town, the only one of them out of the sight and control of the others.
Well, except for Simon, he thought. They’d thought they’d been safe with him dead all those years. He supposed they should thank Daniel Vartanian for killing the scary SOB once and for all, but the thought of thanking Daniel Vartanian for anything made him sick. Simon had been scary, but Daniel was smug and that made him angry.
Now both Simon and Wade were gone, as were Rhett and Jared.
Now they numbered only three. Both Simon and Wade had died beyond his reach, leaving the whereabouts of their keys in question. A week ago he would have thought finding their keys would solve all of his problems. But now the keys were the least of his problems.
Janet and Claudia, both dead, found just like Alicia Tremaine. And I didn’t kill them. Neither had his boss. I was an idiot to ever think that he would. Harvard was sick and twisted, but not stupid.
They’d all been stupid kids, but now they were men. Leaders of the community. They’d managed this uneasy truce among themselves for years, no one wanting to lose the lives they’d built for themselves. The respectability they’d earned.
Somebody else had killed Janet and Claudia, someone who’d mimicked Alicia Tremaine’s death down to the smallest detail. It might have been a copycat.