Broken Heart 05 Over My Dead Body (21 page)

“Why would I kill them?” I asked.

“Maybe someone forced you,” said Brady. His gaze burned with fury. Was that righteous anger at me . . . or for me?

“Or someone is trying to frame me.”

And yet, either way, the question remained: Why? ETAC needed me mobile. I had no known enemies in town. I almost always kept to myself; Brady was the first person who’d visited the farm for any length of time. He had opened the door to hosting the potluck, to connecting with the others who lived and worked here.

I remembered Dr. Merrick in the examination room, her brown eyes filled with worry as she warned me about the unfolding events.

Revenge . . . or justice.

Jacob.

I went cold inside. He’d been watching me, shadowing me for who knows how long. ETAC didn’t come up with this whole blow-up-parakind idea out of the blue. Had he killed Rick? And then gone for Shawn? He’d lured me into the barn, and he’d made the phone call as Brady. Had he been at the garage on Saturday? Heard me talk to Darlene, and later somehow knew I’d called Dunmore?

The three men were drained. Jacob was a vampire. As a human he’d had a difficult time controlling his base urges. He damned sure wouldn’t control his blood hunger.

Shit. I took a sec to gather my composure. Did they somehow suspect that my husband was alive? Worse, did they think that I was in collusion with him? The idea made me sick to my stomach.

Damian and Brady exchanged a look, and Damian shook his head. What the hell did that mean? What were they communicating about? The scenario was going bad, and fast. How the hell could I disable the Invisi-shield tonight if I was under suspicion of murder? If they knew he was lurking around town, did they suspect that ETAC was here, too?

“Why didn’t you tell us that your married name was McCree?” asked Patrick.

Crap. They knew that Sweet was my maiden name. Only Gran could’ve told them, so that meant she was alive. At least, I hoped so. And now, because it appeared I’d lied to protect myself (duh), they’d have less reason to believe I wasn’t running around town, acting like Freddy Krueger.

“Elaine is my husband Jacob’s grandmother,” I admitted. I explained that Elaine’s dead husband was Jessica’s great-uncle, the half brother of Jessica’s grandmother, who’d passed away some time ago.

Jonathon was the result of an affair between his mother and Jessica’s great-great-grandfather. He’d given the property to Jon and Elaine, but neither one had claimed it. Not until the car accident that killed Jon and took Gran’s eyesight. She reverted to her maiden name, which is why no one knew her connection to Jessica’s family.

“Jess doesn’t know, then?” asked Patrick.

I shook my head and looked at the carpet. My stomach roiled. How did I reassure everyone that I wasn’t the problem? How was I supposed to tell them about the real threat?

I thought about Gran, the woman to whom I owed so very much. She never admitted it, but I think the name change helped her keep her distance from her only son: Mack. He’d been a drug addict who often blacked out; he usually didn’t remember that he’d beaten his wife and son.

“Elaine was the only family I had,” I said. My tone was pleading, but I couldn’t stop it from cracking. I felt the ache behind my eyes for tears that would never flow. “I couldn’t make it on my own. It wasn’t just the financial difficulties, but my emotional instability. I needed the support. I went to therapy for almost two years—in Tulsa. Then I was Turned, and, well, I guess I was strong enough by then to stand on my own two feet.”

“You told me that Jacob was dead.” The suspicion in Brady’s voice was a dagger in my soul.

“I shot him in the heart,” I said, knowing my confession would reinforce their suspicions. “So yeah, he’s dead.”

“Why did you shoot him?” asked Gabriel softly.

“Apparently I just like to kill people.” Anger vibrated in my voice. These people were supposed to be my friends. And Brady . . . he was supposed to be even more than my friend. The one I trusted. The one I could depend on.

“The bastard hit her,” said Brady.

Too little, too late. I felt like his support was reluctantly given; his tone revealed frustration and doubt. I don’t know why he even bothered to defend me that tiny bit. As much as I hated to admit it, he was the only one who could help me.

Brady, please!

Stay out of my head, Simone. I mean it.

Stoic, he stood on the other side of the coffee table, his arms crossed. I caught his gaze and rubbed my wrist.

Would he get the implication?

Frowning, he gazed down at his own wrist, which his black glove covered. But at least he was looking at the wrist scarred by the removal of his tattoo. He glanced at me and I tilted my head to the left, lifting my shoulder as if trying to shake loose some of its tension.

He gave a slight nod, then looked away. I could only hope that he meant he understood.

Patsy sat on the couch. She took my hands into hers and stared at me. Her eyes glowed red, drawing me deeper into her gaze. I felt my mind go fuzzy.

“Tell us about the night your husband died.”

I started talking, but it was like someone else revealed what had happened. I felt outside myself, watching at a distance, vaguely interested. I told them everything, from the moment Jacob arrived to the moment I killed him.

“The police were coming,” I said. “I don’t know if they heard the shots. I stole Lyle’s wallet, grabbed Glory, and ran out the back door.”

Our yard was fenced, but Lyle’s was not. I swung Glory over the chain-link and tumbled over myself. Lyle’s home was unlocked.

While the police busted into my house and found the bodies, I took precious moments to wash off the blood from me and Glory. I took the cash from Lyle’s wallet and left it on his dresser. He’d told me about his cookie jar fund, so I went into the kitchen and took all the money from it, too.

Then I wrapped up my silent daughter in one of Lyle’s jackets and snuck out. Had I more presence of mind, I might’ve stayed there and tried to bluff the police. Say it was my house so I could wait and take Lyle’s Cadillac. Later, I realized I’d left a blood trail in the backyard and in Lyle’s house, too. Irrational fear had worked in my favor.

I had $234. I carried Glory all the way to a seedy roadside motel—the kind of place with hourly rates and a clerk who smelled like pot. He didn’t look twice at me.

I soaked our clothes and scrubbed out as much of the blood as possible. Called a cab. Bought bus tickets and got as far as Laughlin.

“How was it that you came to Broken Heart?”

Patsy’s voice was soothing. It seemed to promise relief from my guilt, if I’d only tell her what she wanted to know.

In Laughlin, I met Joe Montresso, who took one look at me and Glory and decided we needed rescuing. We did. He owned a garage in town with his life partner, Avery, who rebuilt motorcycles. They gave me a job, helped with Glory, and let me rent the room above their garage. Joe and Avery taught me all about mechanics, said I had a natural talent for putting things back together. Everything except myself.

Four months passed, then five, and then Elaine’s birthday came around. I took a chance and called her.

Though the Air Force had informed her of Jacob’s death, they had not told her the circumstances. I cried as I admitted everything, and she told me to come to Broken Heart.

I said good-bye to Joe and Avery, packed up Glory, got into the truck Joe had fixed up for us, and drove to Oklahoma.

Patsy knew the rest of the story.

“Did you kill Rick or Shawn?” she asked.

“No.”

“Do you know what happened to Dunmore and Darlene?”

“No.”

“Where did you go after Elaine and George were shot?”

I opened my mouth, but someone grasped my shoulder and startled me. I looked up into the worried face of Brady.

“Enough,” he said to Patsy. “Quit grilling her.”

Patsy’s blond brows rose nearly to her hairline, but she lifted her hands in an okay gesture, and the redness in her eyes faded to their natural blue color.

I shook off Patsy’s glamour, feeling a mixture of gratitude and resentment. At least they knew I wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.

But I didn’t appreciate the mind-fuck.

Brady released me and retreated. Damn. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I didn’t want to be judged by these people. Still, what the hell did I expect? This kind of interrogation and suspicion was my nightmare come to life.

Dr. Merrick had been right. All my choices had led to this moment. To this place.

I was so screwed.

No matter what anyone thought about my guilt or innocence, I was housebound. Patsy said Gran and George had survived the shooting, but she didn’t tell me much else except that I could visit Gran tomorrow night.

Brady made a big deal about telling me the search for Glory was ongoing. I realized I’d been stupid. I should’ve asked about her and played the panicked mom. I knew where she was, and that her very life depended on me, but no one else did. However, there was more on the plate of the queen than what I’d been doing. Or not doing.

Looking exhausted and irritable, Patsy said her good-byes and left with Gabriel.

I sat on the couch with my knees pulled up to my chin and listened to Brady, Patrick, and Damian decide what to do about little ol’ me. My thoughts circled round and round. How could I get to the posts and sabotage the shield? How could I talk to Brady and ask for his help? He was shutting me out in every way, including more mental rebuffs.

Way to be on my side, asshole. He’d said there was nothing I could ever do to make him turn away. Liar. I was really starting to hate anything that produced too much testosterone. So I was overreacting. It’s not like I didn’t have a reason or three.

Raised voices brought me out of my reverie. Brady was arguing with Damian and Patrick.

“You’re too close,” Patrick said. “Having you stay with her is like asking the fox to guard the chickens.”

Wow. Patrick using farm analogies? He’d been living in Oklahoma too long. Brady looked as though he wanted to plant his fist in both Damian and Patrick’s faces. He had no qualms about kicking paranormal ass.

“Add whatever security measures you want,” said Brady. “But I’m staying.”

I wondered why he was even bothering. He could be out of here, no obligation to me, and on to something else. I don’t know if I felt relieved or apprehensive that he was being all dutiful. Maybe a little of both, with some resentment and panic thrown in.

Crap, crap, crap! I already felt the tug of dawn, and damn it, I still had my task to accomplish—and it had to be done an hour before dawn. I wasn’t naive enough to think I could sneak away from a lycan, a vampire, and a military-trained counterterrorist.

But I did have an idea. It was a long shot, one I was willing to take. Otherwise I would have to outwit the Three Stooges.

Hmph. Really. How hard could that be?

“I’m goin’ upstairs,” I said, unfolding myself from the couch. “It’ll be lights-out soon, anyway.”

Three suspicious gazes swung in my direction.

“What are you going to do up there?” asked Damian.

Several rude responses tried to crowd out of my mouth, but I swallowed ’em down. “Pray,” I said. “Maybe God’ll see fit to help me. Maybe He’ll see fit to help us all.”

That declaration stunned them into silence. Trying not to feel too satisfied that I’d gotten them to shut up, I went upstairs to my room and closed the door. I locked it, too. Not that doing so would do any good.

My room used to have double windows, but they were covered over; the walls had been sprayed with a special metallic substance perfected by the Consortium. Basically, it kept the sunlight from getting into my room. I’d always slept safely here, even though I wasn’t friends with the dark.

I turned on the light and got onto my bed, a full-sized white four-poster that looked like it belonged to that girl from Labyrinth. All I needed was piles of stuffed animals and posters of unicorns and rainbows. The bed was whimsical and so not my choice. I guess I’d never thought about redecorating since maybe, somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought I’d get my own house. My own life.

I sat in the middle of the bed and crossed my legs. If I wasn’t already slated for hell, telling that lie about praying might put me on the fast track. Of course, if I was wrestling with my beliefs about a higher power, then I supposed that threw the whole heaven-and-hell theory out of the mix. Not to mention, death wasn’t exactly a problem for most vampires.

I waited for a few minutes, just to make sure no one was going to check on me. No one came. Not even Brady. I tried not to think about him or how I felt about his abandonment.

Then, softly, I called, “Flet. Come to me.”

No annoying gold sparkle arrived. One minute blended into the next. I was getting more and more tired, and I fought the instinct to lie down and close my eyes. Time. Damn it, I still had time.

“Flet,” I said again. Desperation weaved into my words. “Come to me!”

For a breathless moment (well, I guess every moment for me was breathless), I waited, and then . . . gold sparkled in front of me.

Flet.

He put tiny fingers to his lips, then sent a poof of gold magic all around us. We were encased in a big, sparkling bubble.

“They cannot hear us,” said Flet. “And when I go, you must act as though I did not arrive.”

I nodded. What a clever pixie. I’m glad at least one of us was thinking straight.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“I’ve been watchin’ over Glory,” he said, sounding miserable. He heaved a tiny sigh. “I failed to protect her. ’Twas all I could do to hide and follow the men who took her.”

“I didn’t see you there.”

“I’m only visible to those I wish to see me,” he said. “I saw you. And I know what they asked of you.”

“You didn’t leave Glory.” Marvelous little Flet had stayed close to my daughter.

“Not until this moment.”

“Do you know how to get into ETAC?”

He nodded. “They aren’t far, and they are hiding, too. In a shield like the one you are building for Broken Heart.”