Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men) (31 page)

Amy’s stomach filled with acid.
Gray eyes. How common can those be?

“Not one single soul gives a damn, because it’s a migrant worker who’s been victimized. I asked Mariele to make this film. I don’t know what good it will do. I cannot stop thinking of the words of Martin Luther King, Junior. ‘Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter’.”

Livia’s stoic expression crumbled. Her shoulders shook and her sobs tore at Amy’s heartstrings. She had to strain to make out the woman’s next words. “This matters. I can’t sleep nights for wondering how it’s possible it only matters to me. Maybe one day, this... despicable man can be brought to justice. Until then, God have mercy on us all. We deserve our place in Hell. My only hope is that my grandsons will be better men.”

The De Marcos deserve their troubles. Maybe if your forefathers had stepped up to stop their bee man from raping innocents, your mother would still be alive.

The truth of that statement pierced Amy’s heart like a lance. She wished she’d never bumped into the girl at the mall—never gone to the mall at all that day. She wasn’t sure she could bear watching her friends and her lover suffer this blow.

Rubbing tears off her cheeks, Amy called Lila a third time. “Tell Jonah I need to reschedule, okay? Something came up.” She disconnected the call and sat in the dark, listening to the
flap, flap, flap
of the loose end of the film.

She couldn’t fix this with a sponge ball gun.

* * * *

E
ric flung open the Dodge’s door. Striding to the angel, he drove his fists against the wood. “I don’t know what to do!” He wanted Amy with all his heart. But how would she feel a year from now? Five? Logic dictated the downhill slide for his family’s reputation must’ve begun the minute his mother died. He knew there’d been nasty rumors about his father. Plenty of folks thought Rafe had killed his wife. Never mind Rafe’d had four fucking witnesses—his kids. But Livia and Nance remained close, keeping the gossiping wolves at bay.

Until he’d caused his grandparents to turn away.

“I fucked that up!” He pummeled the angel. “Me! I did that.”

Until he’d let his sister get pregnant.

Pain sizzled up the bones in his hands, but Eric kept punching. “Me. Always me. I’m the fuck-up.”

But the angel didn’t tell him how to fix a damn thing. He threw his arms around the totem, staggering under the weight of guilt and remorse and anger. His boots slipped on the ice. He lost his balance, but kept hold of the statue, spinning nearly halfway around the pole before he found his footing.

Movement at the foot of the mountain caught his eye. A strange car was coming down the lane. The dark sedan crept past Colton’s house. The headlights turned into his driveway, illuminating the back of Amy’s bright blue car.

She was home alone. Eric had no illusions about how fucking safe she might be.

He ran for the truck and raced down the mountain road, slinging the Dodge around the curves at break-neck speed, but the trip took long enough for him to picture her dead fifty different ways. His hands slipped on the wheel, but he kept his speed as high as he could, roaring past the farmhouse, finally making a wide turn into his drive, careless of the grass.

Slamming on his brakes, he shoved the transmission into neutral and turned off the ignition. Jumping from the Dodge, he couldn’t help thinking of the man who’d attacked Cynda.
Where’s my shotgun?
Had he warned Amy to keep the doors locked? The strange car was empty. He raced across the yard and leaped the stairs, his heart in his throat.

He yanked the front door open and stepped inside. A dark-haired man he’d never laid eyes on stood in his kitchen. Between him and his gun. “Who the hell are you?”

Amy was on the sofa and when she raised her head, he spied red-rimmed eyes.
What. The Fuck?
Eric’s gut clenched. “Eric, this is—” She gave the man a pleading look.

“Amy, honey, what’s wrong?” Eric shoved past the man.

“Mr. De Marco? I’m Mark Martínez. I’m an investigator for Brice Hammond. I think he gave you my card?”

The warmth gained from the Dodge’s heater seemed to drain from Eric’s body. “What’s happened?”

“Sit by me,” Amy begged, patting the cushion at her side. “Sit by me first.”

He sank onto the couch. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he felt her tremble.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Mr. De Marco, but Amy’s shown me some things that might help us keep John Carpenter behind bars for a long time.”

Relief flooded him. And just as fast, confusion rushed in. What the hell could Amy have shown this man?

“I’m going to have to find a way to substantiate the film, of course. It can’t be admitted as evidence, since we can’t put this girl on the witness stand for John’s lawyer to cross-examine, but I’ll do my best to find a way around that.”

Eric’s head was spinning. He held up a hand. “What the hell are you talking about? What film? What girl? We didn’t find the records Mr. Hammond wants.”

Amy pointed over her shoulder. He stared in confusion at the old Bell and Howell projector. “Your grandmother made a film. And she put it in the one place—hid it inside the one thing—she knew you’d never throw out.” She shook her head. “Let me start at the beginning. Remember the night we ran into each other at the mall? Then I bumped into that Latino girl?”

Eric listened, unable to believe Amy had been busting her ass to find a way to keep John in jail without saying a word to anyone about her efforts. He listened to the two recordings she’d made of the girl, one accidentally that night, one deliberately this afternoon. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that she’d followed this woman. He stared at the photo she’d taken. Flashing back to the night at the mall, he nodded. “That’s the girl I remember.”

Amy turned off the lights and started the projector. She came back to the couch and grabbed his hand. “It’s going to be okay. Somehow, some way, you’ve gotta believe me. It’s going to be okay.” Her hands were warm. Funny, he couldn’t feel the warmth from the fire. Every bit of heat in the room came from her.

He hadn’t allowed himself to cry since that day in the bathroom back in kindergarten, but he wasn’t prepared to see his grandmother. She’d always been holding the camera. His horror mounted as he watched the short movie. Agony ripped though him when her words sank in. He thought he might puke.

“Why isn’t this enough?” he demanded when Amy turned the lights on again. “Why can’t you lock the motherfucker up and throw away the key now? Can’t you see? Can’t you see he’s destroyed my family?”

The investigator held up both palms. “We might find skeletons in that barn. We might not. This is enough for a warrant. One step at a time. First, we dig. Bri—Mr. Hammond is willing to wake up a judge, as soon as he’s seen this. He wants to nail this guy. I’ll need to take the film, of course.”

Solid, respectable little Amy stuck her nose in the air and squared her shoulders in a way that reminded him of his grandmother. “Before you do that, I’m going to play the film one more time and record it with my phone. Because, you know, evidence gets lost.”

Shell-shocked, Eric suffered through the movie a second time. When it finished, Amy walked the investigator to the door. She turned the lock. “While I warm one of those casseroles Cynda made, we’re going to the hot pool. Then we’re going to eat and curl up in bed. I’ll hold you all night,” Amy vowed, “and anything you need to say is safe with me.”

The one thing he needed to tell her was the one thing he couldn’t say.

His grandfather had earned them their second-class status, by refusing to fight for the men and women he employed. Eric tried to imagine Amy’s father doing that—and failed. Tucker had gone to bat for Jonah before he’d even met the kid. He’d never turn his back on someone in Mariele’s situation.

The Chapman side of the family had made De Marco Farms
less than
. 

E
ric rubbed his eyes. The inside of his lids felt like sixty-grit sandpaper.
Dammit.
Easing his arm from under Amy’s head, he wondered anew what it’d be like to live somewhere else while he shoved his legs into his sweat pants. Maybe he needed a guard dog. No, Amy disliked large dogs. An electric fence would do. The knock didn’t sound like Colton’s.

No doubt, Dan had come to reclaim the ring.

He staggered through the house. It was barely light out. Unlocking the door, he took a deep breath. He dreaded having to convince Dan that John Carpenter wasn’t the only person who wasn’t who he appeared to be.

Inhaling, he yanked the door open just as Dan began to pound again. “You’re gonna wake Amy,” he growled.

A morning beard shadowed Dan’s face. His brother’s tone was equally rough. “Lila’s in labor. The rescue squads are all out on calls. Cynda called nine-one-one. We’re gonna meet the ambulance. Lila can lie down in the back of your truck, so I need you to drive.”

Eric blinked. Dan slapped a hard palm against his shoulder. “Move. The baby’s coming, Eric. Colton’s a fucking mess. I saw him born at home. Never wanna go through that again.”

Eric whirled. The clothing he’d taken off the night before lay on the floor beside the couch. He thought about waking Amy, but what good would that do? 

Dan snagged his keys when Eric hurled them. The truck’s exhaust spit a plume of white into the wintry morning by the time he made it through the door. Eric had to squint to see his brother’s dark jacket and jeans through the whirling snow. Cynda backed out of his back seat. He spied something flowery draped over the red upholstery. “Shower curtain,” she explained, slamming the door. “Her waters broke about an hour ago and she’s in hard labor already. This is bad. My mother had preeclampsia. It happens to younger and older mothers, mostly.” Her words crashed together like bumper cars at the fair. “I think Lila has it. My mom lived about three hours after I was born.”

She grabbed his jacket sleeve. Her eyes were wide. “Killing her won’t help a thing, so you drive safe. We’ll follow you with Jonah.” Her fists tightened in the denim sleeve. “This is
not
going to be a replay of the night he lost his mother, so we’re taking him to the hospital with us. Don’t take any shortcuts. I gave the nine-one-one operator your route and a description of your truck. Get on the highway, then cross the interstate. Taking the four-lane into town means an ambulance can meet you sooner. There’s a huge wreck on the interstate, toward Greenville. Going through town’s the best way.”

“Got it.” Eric ran around the front end of the truck, cursing when his boots slipped on the icy driveway.

“Sleet in this mess,” Dan yelled. “Bridges are gonna be like glass. The rigs are both out. We can’t wait.”

Eric grabbed the extra scraper, jabbing at the ice-slicked windshield. “Go, go!” he cried to his brother. “Your truck has me blocked. The defrost will melt the rest before I get to the highway.”

All he could think, while his heart hammered his breastbone, was that he’d been given a second chance to handle something critically important for his family. Dan was giving him a chance to save Lila. To make up for losing Sarah.

I cannot fuck this up.

The world was a whirling curtain of white. If not for the trees, Eric couldn’t have seen the edges of the road. Colton threw the front door open the minute Eric backed down the drive. He jumped out and yanked open the back door, then ran to help Lila across the grass.

“What? No doughnuts?” Lila’s joke fell flat when pain twisted her face.

“Soon as you show me my niece or nephew, I’ll buy you three dozen.” He slipped an arm behind her back. “With salt.”

“Jonah, run get in Dan’s truck,” Colton ordered. The teen plowed through the snow, clutching a piece of luggage. Colton hoisted Lila into the back seat. Eric jumped behind the wheel while Colton rushed to the other side and climbed in beside Lila. Dan waited in the road. Cynda threw the door to Dan’s truck open, motioning for Jonah to hurry.

Pulling out ahead of Dan, Eric kept his foot on the gas and aimed for the place he thought the road might be. His lips moved continuously, praying for the ambulance, for Lila, for his brother’s unborn child.

Was it too soon for the baby to survive? He had no idea. Preemies made it all the time, but they were born in hospitals, not the back seat of a truck. He strained to see the flashing lights of the ambulance through the swirling white as soon as he made the highway, though he knew it was far too soon for them to meet.

Dan’s headlights soon disappeared from his rearview mirror. Lila’s moans became cries, then screams and they came too goddamn close together for Eric’s liking. He risked pushing the needle on the speedometer up another couple of notches. The wipers raked the windshield, but before they could complete their sweep, more snow obscured his vision.

Among the flakes were clear pellets of ice. He watched the tiny balls strike the glass and bounce off with a sense of foreboding. The dual rear tires would keep the truck on the road if he veered off the edge, but nothing would stop them if they hit ice.
Five more miles an hour.
He eased the gas pedal down. More speed meant less visibility. A tradeoff he had to make.

The stench of his sweat seemed sharp inside the closed space. Familiar landmarks were unrecognizable gray forms. His headlights made golden halos that only illuminated more snowflakes. The ticking of his emergency flasher lagged behind his heartbeat. Twice, he had to veer around parked vehicles that loomed out of nowhere, fighting the wheel to keep the big dually moving forward.

Lila let out a long, wordless sound of agony, driving steel talons of fear through his chest.

“Fuck, E, can’t you go any faster?” Colton begged in a harsh whisper. Daring a glance into the rear view, C’s expression was the same one he’d had the night Rafe had taken his fists to Eric. He had the fleeting thought that Colton no longer looked young

He powered the truck around curves, correcting whenever the big vehicle began to lose traction, using the rare traffic sign and the occasional building to guesstimate whether he was on the road or heading for a ditch, while passing miles of open fields. The entire time, he worried about the big hills he’d have to navigate before they hit more level road.