On a Knife's Edge (29 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

SHASTA
LOCKED HER
car then made her way up the sidewalk to the stationhouse.

Almost two weeks had passed since that horrid night at
Graham’s cabin. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact the man she’d
married, and whom she’d lived with for almost eight years, had been a monster.

No…monster was too gentle a description for Graham. He’d
been an ogre. A fiend.

Tears stung her eyes. How could the man who’d helped raise
Wyatt, who changed his diapers and fed him at three a.m., so nonchalantly plan
to burn him alive? Alive? Even now, the acrid reek of smoke invaded her senses while
her skin pebbled with the memory of the intense heat of the fire. To think of
her baby in the midst of that…

She shivered and pulled open the door, but the stabbing pain
in her side halted her movement. She’d suffered several severely bruised ribs
along with a concussion. But Wyatt—thank God—appeared none the worse for wear.
He didn’t remember anything past the hot chocolate Graham gave him…hot
chocolate that had been laced with a sedative.

She hadn’t yet gathered the courage to explain any of the
events to her son. She simply told Wyatt his daddy went on another business
trip, a plausible excuse. She’d also glossed over the reason why they were
staying with Uncle Dell. The thought of sleeping under the same roof she’d once
shared with Graham turned her stomach. There’d be time enough—later—to tell
Wyatt the brutal truth about that night.

Another shiver hit her. Graham’s shocked expression when he
keeled over dead continued to haunt her. She hadn’t had a choice…she knew that.
It’d been either him or her. But how would she ever be able to tell that to
Wyatt? Tell him how she’d killed his father? Murdered him?

Ignoring those thoughts, she walked inside and paused to
look around. Everything seemed the same, yet so very different.

The number of FBI agents had diminished greatly. Now just a
few sat at various desks doing paperwork while Agent Jarvis sat in Dell’s
office talking with her brother. Shasta waved to Joan, who had a surprised look
on her face, then headed to her desk. She’d only sat down when a voice said
behind her,

“What the hell are you doing here, sis?”

Shasta pivoted around. Her brother stood there, with
Jarvis—and neither of them appeared happy. “I work here, remember?”

Dell frowned. “Has the psychologist cleared you?”

She dropped her purse in the bottom drawer. “For heaven’s
sake…it’s not like I operate heavy machinery. I do filing.”

“Still—”

With her foot, Shasta closed the drawer with a distinct
thunk, cutting off Dell’s protest. She faced her brother. “I can’t stay at your
place all damn day by myself. I’ll go crazy.”

Realization registered on Dell’s face. “Shit…I forgot…Wyatt
went back to school today.”

More tears pressed at Shasta’s eyes, but she held them back
as she straightened the neat pile of papers. “Yes, he did, though it went against
every one of my maternal instincts.” She sighed. “But I suppose I can’t keep
him encased in bubble wrap for the next thirty or forty years.”

Jarvis stepped forward. “Mrs. Dupree—”

Shasta held up her hand. “Please do
not
call me that.
I’m changing my name back to Albright as soon as possible. In the meantime,
call me Shasta.”

The agent gave her a kind smile. “All right, but only if you
call me Emma.”

“Deal.”

Emma’s smile waned. “As I was saying…Shasta…you should have
clearance before returning to work.”

“Really? And do I need clearance before giving my statement?
I may not know a lot about police procedure, but I do know waiting two weeks to
take someone’s statement isn’t normal.”

Dell rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…look, sis…” His voice
trailed off.

“Perhaps we should talk about this some place more private,”
Emma suggested.

With a reluctant nod, Dell led the way to his office. Though
Shasta wanted to object, she followed behind.

Once everyone had settled in their seats, Emma twined her
fingers together and focused her attention on Shasta. “The truth is…we don’t
need your statement.”

Shasta blinked. “Why not? I was there.”

“Yes, but Agent Newman said you were unconscious almost the
entire time.”

Shasta’s mouth fell open. “No I wasn’t. I mean I was for a little
while, but not for almost the entire time.”

Jarvis slowly shook her head, her mouth in a thoughtful
frown. “Well…that’s what the official report says.”

Shasta narrowed her eyes. “If it says that, then how did I
kill Graham?”

Emma glanced briefly at Dell than back to Shasta.

The hairs on Shasta’s neck rose. “What is it?”

Clearing her throat, the agent shifted. “The final report
states…Lynch Callan shot and killed the individual known as Ian Blackwell.”

“
What
?” Shasta nailed her brother with her deadliest
glare. “
What did you do
?”

Dell held his hands up in surrender. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Shasta swung her gaze to Jarvis. “Lynch didn’t
kill Graham.
I did.
”

Emma pursed her lips. “The official account will say that—”

“But that official report is
wrong
.” Shasta sprang
from her chair and plowed her fingers through her hair. She paced the small
office then whirled around to glower at Dell, her fists on her hips. “How could
you do this? The only reason Lynch was even at the cabin was to try and save
your nephew.
He’s innocent
.”

Dell held her gaze. “I told you, I had nothing to do with
this.”

She scoffed. “Like I believe you? This is just like the time
you brought Lynch in for no goddamn reason then put him on display—naked—in the
interrogation room.”

Emma sat taller. “What’s this?”

Disregarding the agent, Shasta planted her hands on Dell’s
desk and drilled him with her stare. “You’ll do anything to hurt Lynch, won’t
you? Anything to send him back to prison.” She straightened. “Well not this
time. I. Will. Stop. You.”

Shasta stalked from the office, grabbed her purse then
marched out of the stationhouse. She didn’t have a clue how she’d keep Dell
from sending Lynch to prison, she only knew she would. She had to. Lynch had
been through enough, because to her family.

He’d go through no more.

~*~

An hour later, Shasta propped her cell between her ear and
shoulder so she could use both hands to fold Wyatt’s laundry.

After storming from Dell’s office, she’d gotten on the phone
to the FBI office in Reno with the sole objective of reaching Agent Jarvis’s
boss. She’d eaten her way up the federal food chain until finally accomplishing
her goal—speaking to Special Agent in Charge Landau. However, the man was less
than helpful.

“I’m not sure what I can do, Mrs. Dupree. The report filed
by Agent Newman plainly states Lynch Callan shot and killed Ian Blackwell.”

“You’re not listening to me, Agent Landau. That report is
wrong.”

“You’re alleging Agent Newman falsified his report? That’s a
serious accusation.”

Shasta stifled her groan. She didn’t want to throw anyone
under the bus, but how much loyalty did Newman really deserve? After all, he
turned on Lynch…the man who’d saved his life.

A knock landed on the front door. “I’m not saying anyone
falsified anything.” She walked from the bedroom she’d been sharing with Wyatt
and into the living room. “But your agent got the events wrong.” She opened the
door. “I was there and…”

Cognizant thought fled her brain. Lynch Callan stood on the
porch.

Wearing a stone gray t-shirt and washed out jeans, but no
cut, he appeared exceedingly…at ease for a man recently accused of killing
someone.

She cast worried look down the street, grabbed his arm and
towed him inside the house, closing the door with a thud. “What the hell are
you doing here?”

A groove appeared between his eyebrows. He nodded to her
hand. “You on the phone?”

She glanced down at the cell. “Crap….ummm, Agent Landau…?”

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Dupree?” The agent sounded
concerned.

“Everything’s fine…I’ll, uh, get back to you.” She
disconnected the call and stared at Lynch. “You know my brother is searching
for you as we speak, right?”

“Shaly—”

“Why did you confess to shooting Graham? Do you
want
to go back to prison?” She snatched her purse off the end table. “Because
that’s exactly where you’ll go if Dell has his way.”

“Shaly…babe…you need to listen—”

She rifled through her wallet, spilling used receipts and
various other pieces of paper onto the coffee table. “I don’t know how much
money I've got…damn…only twenty-seven dollars, but here’s my ATM card. The pin
is 0517.” She extracted a key ring. “And take my car.” She pressed the keys,
debit card and crumbled bills into Lynch’s hands. “You need to go. Dell will
stop at nothing to make sure you end up—”

Lynch tossed the money and keys onto the end table then
gripped her shoulders with a solid shake. “Calm down, Shaly.”

He wanted her to calm down? How? He faced murder
charges—again. Because of her…

He tugged her to the couch. “You need to sit down.”

She pulled away. “No.
You
need to get in my car and
drive. Get as far away from Stardust as you can before they arrest you.”

He hauled down on the sofa cushion next to him. “No one’s
getting arrested.”

“How can you say that? The FBI report says you killed
Graham. I won’t let you take the blame for what I did.”

She stood, but Lynch tightened his hold on her hand. “Shaly,
the report says what it does because I admitted to the killing.”

“You
what
?”

“I confessed.”

Her posture wilted. She was like a boomerang, going from one
emotional extreme to another. Tears gathered then spilled down her cheeks.
“But…why? To somehow protect me? It was self defense. You and Agent Newman both
saw that.”

He held her gaze. “What have you told your son about that
night?”

Her eyebrows rose. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Just answer the question.”

She looked away. “Wyatt’s too young to understand what
happened.”

“What about when he gets older?”

Guilt clogged her throat. “What about it?”

“He could find out the truth, including the fact you shot
his dad.”

“There’s no guarantee he’ll find out anything.”

“There’s no guarantee he won’t either. Jesus, Shaly…this is
biggest news to hit this area since the silver rush. Reporters are swarming the
area. An FBI investigation into human trafficking. The murder of a deputy sheriff
and the local DA. The fire. Shit…the gossip mill will be chewing on this for
years.”

She stared at her clasped hands in her lap. “So?”

“So…it could lead to questions.” Lynch covered her hands
with his. “And if your kid’s anything like you, he’s gonna want answers.”

She looked at him. “That’s why you confessed? To spare Wyatt
learning the truth?”

“No son deserves to learn that kind of truth about his
parents.”

“And you think I’ll allow this?” She shook her head. “You
went to prison once because of me…I
refuse
to let you do that a second
time.”

“No one’s going to prison, Shaly.”

“What makes you so sure?”

One side of Lynch’s mouth ticked up. “For one, I've got a
kickass lawyer. For another, I've got the backing of several noted FBI agents,
as well as the sheriff of Grant County.”

“Wait…Dell’s supporting you?”

“Yeah. It was his suggestion I come talk to you. So you see,
I’m in no danger of going back to the joint.” He traced a finger along her jaw
line. “But even if that wasn’t the case, I still wouldn’t let you take the fall
for killing Blackwell.”

Tears again blurred her vision. “Why?” Her voice hitched.

He cradled her face with his palms. “Because I love you. I’d
do whatever was necessary to protect you. And your son.”

A sob caught in her throat. Lynch enclosed her in a loose
hug and rocked her gently as her tears dampened his shirt.

He loved her so much that he’d sacrifice himself not just
for her, but for Wyatt. Without hesitation. Without question. Without any
regard for his own safety. And how did she repay that unconditional love? By
keeping his son a secret.

Did she dare tell him now? The words tickled her tongue. But
how would he react? Would his love for her turn to hate? Could she chance that?
A part of her died the day he went to prison. She’d never survive if he
rejected her outright.

Lynch eased her away. “What the hell…?”

Her heart froze in mid-beat. Too late she realized what had
fallen from her wallet. Seemed Fate had decided for her.

He picked the frayed photo off the coffee table. “This is me
right after I was born. Why did my mom give it to you?” He turned the picture
over, and his body went rigid. “Wyatt Albright…Dupree?”

Shasta didn’t know how long they sat there with her hands
clasped tightly together in her lap not looking at Lynch. But she felt his gaze
boring a hole in her head.

“You want to explain this, Shaly?”

She closed her eyes at the severity in his voice. The anger.
Inhaling a breath, she prayed for the strength to endure what the next few
minutes would bring.

She met Lynch’s glare. “What’s to explain? You read the
name. That’s a picture of Wyatt.”

His stare sharpened. “You’re not going to even try denying
it?”

“I can’t deny the obvious. You’re Wyatt’s father.”

Hurt flicked across his expression. He flopped against the
sofa cushion and gazed at the photo. “When—” He coughed. “When’d you find out?”

“Just before Labor Day that summer. I wasn’t sure how you’d
react so I waited to tell you.”