Mint Juleps and Justice (15 page)

He’d sworn if he could just make parole, he wouldn’t kill another woman. He burst into a raucous laugh. “Goto Hell.”

He wasn’t worried about being out of practice anymore either. It was like riding a bike. He’d already proved that today. Sorry, Pizza Boy.

He walked out the back door and around to the front porch. That door was still nailed shut to keep up appearances. He sat on the step and leaned against the post.

She died right here. Mike’s pretty bride. She’d been a spirited one. Had she not tried to fight so hard, it wouldn’t have ended up the way it had. He might even have let her go.

The headlines had been sweeter than he’d ever imagined. Coast to coast they’d named him the Goto Hell killer.

Goto smacked at a mosquito. It was starting to get dark, and those little buggers were buzzing around like crazy. He walked back around the house and went into the living room. He glanced at the wall. With only the glow from the moon he could still make out the papers tacked on the wall.

His notebook was nearly full with notes and options, and he had begun pulling some of his best ideas from the pages of notes and scripting them with care on the opposite wall of the living room. He called that wall the pathway to hell.

He’d sprung for an eight-pack of poster paints at the dollar store. Small containers of paint and brushes lay sprawled across one of the windowsills.

He’d come up with the idea of painting the gates of hell around the front door. Painting an arch that looked just like stone had been a labor of love. The gray stones looked so real that they almost felt cold to the touch.

When he finally brought Brooke here, he’d open that door. Pull the plywood from the other side, and set her right in the middle, like an offering.

GOTO HELL
topped the archway in perfect lettering, red with yellow flame borders, over the arch dripping with fiery red flames that looked so real they seemed to give off heat.

He stood under the archway and pictured his master plan. His best ideas were coming together under that arch. Inspired, that’s how that made him feel. Inspired and powerful. He was the devil. No. He could teach the devil a thing or two.

He’d use Brooke to lure Hartman in, to torture him, to crumble every last bit of hope, before he killed him. It had been a long planning stage, but he’d use that to his advantage.

It was too bad that he might not be able to make good on the promise to himself that if he made parole he wouldn’t kill another woman. But then the devil was known to lie.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

M
ike woke up to a pressing feeling in his chest. He glanced at the clock and swallowed hard. The room seemed to be closing in on him and he tried desperately to regain a sense of where he was and what was happening to him.

His body was sweaty, and he could barely take a breath. The ceiling fan swirled above him, but it wasn’t helping. He laid there as long as he could, but the feeling wasn’t passing. In fact, it was getting worse.

He looked at Brooke lying next to him. She was beautiful under just the soft glow of the moonlight that snuck through the curtains. He slid his arm out from under her, shook it to get the blood flowing again, and then eased his legs from between the sheets. He rolled away from her, careful not to jostle her or the bed. He didn’t know if she was a light sleeper.

Planting both feet on the rug, he reached for his clothes on the chair next to the bed. Stitches slept, curled in a tight ball on the chair. She lifted her chin, but settled right back. Thank god.

He hated to do it, but he had to get out of there, if even for just a minute. The overwhelming guilt and worry consumed him.

He moved down the hall, out to the living room before he dared breathe or make a noise. He slid on his shorts, and sat on the couch, lowering his head to his hands.

He needed to leave. How mad would she be when she realized he’d left? He went to the kitchen and put the coffee filter and coffee in the pot, and pushed the button. Maybe he just needed to relax, to shake it off. He leaned against the cool granite countertop as the coffee began to drip into the pot below, but he couldn’t relax. He grabbed his shirt, and things, and headed for the front door.

He stood on the front porch, but after a moment, there was no going back inside. He pulled the front door closed and locked it behind him.
No turning back now.

He sprinted to his truck, half-tempted to push it to the edge of the driveway, but the master bedroom was in the back so instead he just prayed she wouldn’t hear it. He pulled out to the street, glancing behind him. No lights in the house. He rubbed his chin with his hand.

Lights reflected in his rearview mirror. Someone else must be having a sleepless night too. The person pulled up behind him at the stoplight heading out of the neighborhood. Poor sucker. Mike drove in complete silence.

He’d started it, for god’s sake. He’d made the first move. He’d even
asked
if he could stay. He had feelings for her, there was no doubt in his mind about that, but somehow, lying there in the quiet, all he could think of was what if something happened to her too.

He drove, unsure of his destination until he got there. The truck seemed to navigate itself, passing the old farm and heading to the end of the street where he and Jackie had once lived.

Mike slowed and turned down the overgrown driveway in front of the house where he’d lived with Jackie. He hadn’t been here since…well, years. He continued until his headlights glowed across the front porch of the boarded-up house. A cottage really. Just one bedroom, a living room, kitchen, and bath. All of just over eight hundred square feet. He could still picture it. That night. The night his whole life changed. The night hers ended. Silent tears dripped down his left cheek. They’d only been married a few months. She was so beautiful. Her long hair had shone in the moonlight. It was too late. She was already gone by the time he’d reached her.

Mike leaned across the steering wheel.

“It’s been so long, Jackie, but I can still feel it like it was yesterday.” His breath caught, and he looked up. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I still think I’ll wake up and find out it was all just a dream, but that never happens. I miss you. You know that, right?”

Something caught his eye. Jackie? Did something just move? He focused on the darkness that cloaked the house
.
He wanted so desperately for her to appear. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Mike sat in silence. His mind rolled through old memories of Jackie and new ones with Brooke. He’d fought those feelings for Brooke when they were apart, but every time he saw her there was that connection. He needed her. She made him feel happy again. But now the guilt over what had happened to Jackie that had driven him to a successful career and awards in the Marines was going to ruin any chance with Brooke. Would she forgive him for leaving tonight? He should have told her about Jackie himself. If he had, would he be feeling this now?

“Jackie, I met someone,” he said out loud. “Just like the day I first laid eyes on you, there was something the minute I saw her.”

He pictured Brooke marching up to the house and coming on like she owned the farm that day. He liked that about her. Confident, borderline bossy, but in a cute way. As caring as she was feisty, her quirks like those lucky signs and her love of that little dog just made her more unforgettable. Tough on the outside, but fragile when you got close. A walking contradiction. She was definitely unique. Being near her made him feel something he hadn’t expected—love?

“I think I could fall in love with her.”

Saying it out loud, even if it was just to Jackie’s memory, confirmed what he’d been avoiding. “I am. I already am.” He’d been so busy trying to avoid the attraction that he hadn’t even allowed himself to consider he already had.

Mike took in a deep breath. “Jackie. I hope you forgive me for not being able to protect you, and I hope you understand my feelings for Brooke. I’m alive again for the first time.”

He pushed the shifter into reverse, and turned his truck around. It was time he let go of the past and allow himself to love again. With Brooke was where he needed to be.

The gravel crunched under the weight of his tires. He glanced in the rearview mirror as he pulled back onto the pavement and left the old memories behind. He took a double-glance.

Was someone standing at the back of the house? He pushed his foot on the brake. The red lights illuminated where he’d just been.

He must be losing it, or maybe it was Jackie saying goodbye too. He needed to believe that. He shook the thought off, and headed for home.

How would he ever apologize to Brooke for sneaking out on an otherwise perfect evening? He’d start with the truth.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

W
hen Brooke’s body clock tripped at six in the morning, she wasn’t sure if last night had been one delicious dream or reality. Her body ached in a way that reminded her just how good the evening had been. No. It hadn’t been a dream.

The happy feeling engulfed her mood this morning, but facing him the morning after made her stomach swirl. She lay still for a few minutes before opening her eyes. She took in a breath and tried to regain focus from the fog of the deepest sleep she’d had in months. She rolled over toward Mike, but faced an empty bed. Her heart suddenly felt as empty as the chair that had held his clothes just a few hours ago.

Deflated, she shuffled out to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee met her as she walked down the hall. Maybe there was an explanation.
There I go jumping to conclusions again.
She padded into the kitchen wearing a smile, but he wasn’t in the kitchen either. She reached her hand toward the coffee pot. The carafe was hot. She walked through the living room, then walked to the front window and looked outside. His truck was gone.

He made coffee before he left? “What the hell?” She went back into the kitchen looking for a note, or a sign of some kind, but there wasn’t one.

“What kind of guy does that? Didn’t even say good-bye?” Her jaw set and she bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard she almost drew blood. Anger flooded her good sense. “I knew better than to let my guard down.”

A million thoughts went through her head. Mostly the told-ya-so kind of self-reprimanding ones. She balanced a cup of coffee in one hand as she pushed the door open to let Stitches out to make her morning rounds.

Brooke hoped she’d come back as a dog in her next life. If she did, she’d pee right on Mike’s shoe.

The phone jingled and she snagged it on the second ring. “Hello,” she snapped.

“Sorry.”

His voice made her tense right up like she’d poked her finger in a light socket. “Why are you apologizing? Because you ruined a perfect night? Or because you make a terrible cup of coffee?”

“You’re mad,” he said.

She let out an exasperated huff. “You think?”

“I needed some air.”

“Well, excuse me, but weren’t you the one who came traipsing over uninvited?” He was wounded. She got that, but that didn’t give him a free pass to trample on her heart.

“Guilty.”

“I don’t recall even inviting you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I agree.” She took in a deep breath. She wasn’t going to let anyone treat her this way. Last night had seemed like something special, but he sure fixed that in a hurry. “I thought there was something special going on here, but clearly I was wrong.”

“No, there was, there is. I just needed some space to sort it out. It was unexpected. It has been a long time since…well—I just didn’t expect to feel so many things.”

“Well, you should have thought about that
before
you came over and sparked it all up,” Brooke said, but her anger was met with silence. What? Did he think she was just going to say all’s forgiven? Forget that. She wasn’t about to play this game. “I have to go. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Wait.”

She heard him and even thought to hang up anyway, but pulled the receiver back to her ear. “What?”

“I want to explain.”

“I don’t want to understand. I don’t even want to like you today.”

“Brooke, please, you’re making a big deal—”

“Damn right it’s a big deal. You asked to stay, reeled my ass right in like I was special. You knew how cautious I was after what I went through. You tricked me, and then snuck away before I woke up with not so much as a ‘kiss my ass good-bye.’”

“I made coffee.”

“Well, it sucked.”

“I don’t want this to change anything.”

She rolled her eyes. “Too late for that, buddy.” She clicked the End button. There was something less than satisfying about hanging up a cell phone. She dumped the entire pot of coffee into the sink. “Jerk.” Her teeth gnashed. Jerk wasn’t even bad enough. “Asshole.”

Brooke slammed her way through her morning routine, getting dressed and ready for the day in record time. Even Stitches steered clear of her foul mood. She got to the office early too, running the only red light in town and pushing the speed limit the whole way. Her anger and adrenaline made her act irrational behind the wheel, something she was working on, but then this morning had been anything but normal.

At the office, Brooke whisked right past her coworkers without so much as a hello. She asked her administrative assistant, Victoria, to hold her calls, closing the door behind her.
Screw that open-door policy.
She grabbed the project plans for the Summer Break Livestock Show and began reviewing them.

When she retreated from the office to grab some coffee a couple hours later, she laughed when she saw the eight huge bouquets of flowers on Victoria’s desk. “Goodness, girl. You must have a winner on the hook,” Brooke said. “Sorry if I was short with you earlier.”

“That’s okay. But as for the winner, actually, no I don’t.” Victoria pointed a finger toward her boss. “You do.”

“I do what?”

“Have a winner.”

Brooke looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

Victoria smiled. “The flowers started coming at the top of the hour right after you closed your door. They’ve been arriving every fifteen minutes since.”

“For me?” She looked surprised. “Are you kidding?”

“No, and look—there’s another one now.” She looked at her watch, tapping the face. “Right on schedule.”

Brooke took the basket of wildflowers from the delivery boy while Victoria signed off on the delivery. She pulled the card and read it aloud.

Please forgive me.

I’m wild about you. —Mike

“Wildflowers. Cheesy.” Brooke resisted the urge to smile. It was cute, but it didn’t change what happened.

Victoria nodded. “They all have cards.”

Brooke plucked each card from its bouquet and walked back into her office. The first one was the most honest.

I screwed up. I know it.

I don’t want the past to ruin a future with you.

Please let me explain. —Mike

The rest were silly, but sweet. Each one was as dopey as the last.

Victoria followed her into the office with another one. “He must have done something really bad.”

“At least the florist in town will love me.”

“Oh yeah. You’ll be Teddy Hardy’s favorite new resident after this.” Victoria shoved the bouquet in Brooke’s direction. “I’m running out of room out there. Maybe you should call him.”

“He should be calling me.”

“He has.” Victoria pushed a stack of pink “While You Were Out” slips toward her. “You told me to hold your calls. The calls are coming as frequently as the deliveries.”

Fanning through the stack of messages, Brooke said, “Fine. Put him through next time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Victoria walked back out to the front office.

No sooner had Brooke sat down, than the call rang through. She held her breath. She wanted to stay mad, but the Southern girl in her had thank-you already in the queue. She squashed that thought. It was really hard to be mad surrounded by flowers and silly cards.

“Brooke Justice,” she answered, even though she knew full well who was on the line.

“I am so sorry, Brooke. I screwed up.”

“Yes. You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” She softened once she heard his voice, though.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I got scared.”

“Too late.” But part of her was as scared as he was. “Before I discovered you were gone, I was lying there still as could be trying to be sure I didn’t wake you while I tried to figure out how to handle the morning. It was wonderful, but it was too soon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’ll get over it. I wouldn’t trade your friendship for anything. It was a mistake.”

“No. Brooke, it wasn’t a mistake. That’s just it. That’s not what I want. I freaked out. I don’t know why. You’re not the first woman I’ve been with since my wife died, but you
are
the first one who’s mattered. It was different. I—”

“I’m sorry about your wife.”

“I should have told you about it myself, but it’s been something I’ve kept tucked away for eight years. Last night…my feelings…I just got scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of caring,” he said.

“I was scared too.”

“Can we put this behind us and start over?”

“I can’t. We should probably put some distance between us for a while.”

“I want to see you.”

“That’s not a good idea,” she said as she toyed with a purple hyacinth.

Victoria tapped on her office door lightly and peeked in.

“Mike…hang on a sec.” Brooke pulled the phone to her shoulder and motioned her in. Victoria walked in with another bouquet and quietly placed it on Brooke’s desk with the others. “When are these flowers going to stop? It looks like a hospital in here.”

“I guess I made my point, huh?”

“Yes, I got it. There must be ten or twelve bouquets in here.”

“Just a few more to go.”

“How many did you send?” She took count of the flowers framing the room.

“My lucky number is fifteen. You’re into the luck thing, so I thought I should go with that.”

He was playing dirty now. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Nope. I’m just not taking any chances. I’m sorry about last night. Not about last night, but this morning. Really. You’ve got to forgive me—please. We both have scars to heal. We can do that together. Give it a chance.”

“I just got a huge pot of marigolds.”

“I know they’re your favorite. I remembered. I figured if you were still mad after all those flowers and cards, I’d have to pull out an extra-special something to get your attention.”

“You’ve got it.” She slid a finger in the flap of the card of the last bouquet that had arrived. She read the card to herself. Her nose tickled like it always did right before she cried. She cursed herself for even considering forgiving him.

Your grandpa would have loved me!

You can’t deny Grandpa, can you? —Mike

Mike sounded concerned. “What? Hey? Are you laughing or crying?”

Brooke stuck the card in the corner of her monitor. “I’m laughing. I just got the Grandpa note. How did you get all of this arranged so quickly? Do you have florists on retainer? You must break hearts all the time.”

“No I don’t. I can’t even tell you the last time I ordered flowers. I’ve been a busy guy trying to undo my mess.”

“I see that. I’ll tell you this. I don’t know if my grandpa would have loved you, but Grandma would have been a goner for you. She was a hopeless romantic.”

“Well, there you go. Aren’t you even curious to know why fifteen is my lucky number?”

“Why
is
fifteen your lucky number?” Brooke asked.

“I got your case on the fifteenth of the month…bye.”

She hung up the phone and flipped the calendar. Sure enough, he was right. Was fifteen a lucky number for her now too? It was a one and a five. Sure enough. Good luck.