Ruthless (30 page)

“How’s Lily?” he asked, as he cleared the plates.

She’d totally forgotten to tell him the latest news. “She’s good. We found out this afternoon she has something called Wilson’s disease. Totally treatable. The little bit of damage that was done to her liver will reverse with proper treatment. It’s something to do with the way her body doesn’t metabolize copper.”

“So she’ll be okay?”

Jess nodded. “It’s a hereditary condition. The kids and I have to be tested to make sure we don’t have it. Untreated, it can do serious damage.”

Worry lined his brow. “Have you had any symptoms?”

Not unless a missing period was one of them. “Nope. But neither did Lil until recently. I’ll get the test just to be sure.”

“Harold called while you were in the tub. Nothing new on the search for the Higginbotham girl or the APBs on Cagle and Spears.”

Jess shook her head in frustration. “We need to find Cagle’s daughter.” Without a married name or address it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. “Kennamer and Gifford,” Jess went on, “know nothing about Cagle’s daughter. If he owns other property where he might be hiding out, they hadn’t heard about it.” She heaved a weary breath. “It’s like he just went back to the moon.”

“Maybe he got desperate and scared and decided to run,” Dan offered. “But if that’s the case, then why did he start this and urge you to find him?”

“Unless we find him alive we may never know.” She chewed her lip. “That’s why he couldn’t resist,” she said, the note he’d sent with Sierra Campbell suddenly connecting. “Whatever his reason for sending these gifts to me, he started the process and the temptation got to him.” Her hand went to her throat. “He said he couldn’t help himself. Now he’s out there with that little girl and he’s lost control.” She closed her eyes and tried to slow the new rush of fear and frustration.

Don’t let him kill that little girl
, she prayed.

“Time for you to go to bed.”

Before she could protest Dan scooped her into his arms. She tried not to melt against him, but she had no strength to resist. She loved the way he smelled. Loved the feel of his strong arms around her as he carried her to the guest room. He set her on the bed and disappeared.

She needed to brush her teeth and borrow a nightshirt, but she was just too tired to care. The thought was scarcely finished when he returned with everything she needed, including Neosporin and Band-Aids.

He patched her up, his fingers gentle but swift on her skin. As tired as she was, she found herself smiling at him
as he knelt before her. Sometimes it felt good to be taken care of.

When he was done he kissed the top of her head, said good night, and started to leave. Jess caught him by the hand and pulled him back to her.

“I need your arms around me tonight.”

He didn’t ask any question, just swept her into his arms once more and carried her to his bed. He laid her gently there and undressed before crawling in next to her. The feel of his strong arms around her were a healing balm to the pain and misery of the monsters she had faced today.

But even his strong arms couldn’t keep the images of Fergus Cagle’s basement from following her to sleep.

11:55 p.m.

H
e had prayed.

Over and over he had prayed for the urges to stop… for the need to be taken from him. In twenty years it had not. The Lord had turned away from him, leaving him to drown in the evil he could not escape.

How could a man escape himself?

After years of trying to calm the urge with the sweetness of so many little girls, his girl had come home to him.

His sweet
Lucy
. And the Lord had shown him favor once more.

Tears streamed down his cheeks. His life had been whole again. The urge had subsided. No more searching for treasures to replace the one he had lost.

She was home.

But now he would lose all that made him whole… again.

This was
her
fault.

Fury pelted him.

If Jess Harris had stayed away this would not have happened.

Now everyone would know the truth.

He was a bad, bad man. Just like that bitch of a wife who’d left him had said.

I don’t want you touching my children! You’re a bad man, Fergus. I saw you looking at her the way no father should look at his daughter.

He should have killed that bitch. Then his Lucy would never have been taken from him.

God help him now she knew what a bad, bad, bad man he was.

They all knew.

He couldn’t protect them.

All those precious treasures he had collected and cherished even in death were lost to him… and now the most perfect one of all would leave him again. She would take her children—his grandchildren—with her. They would all hate and despise him.

He was a monster.

His body burned and ached from the obedience belt and the slashes he had made to his thighs with his pocket knife. He had cut himself and pummeled himself in an attempt to stop the urges and he had failed.

Fergus held the gun to his head and struggled to pull the trigger.

“Do it!” he screamed.

His hand shook with the effort of jamming the gun into his temple. His finger refused to curl and tighten against the trigger.

He couldn’t do it. He’d tried so many times and failed.

Instead of slamming that tire iron into Bullock’s skull he should have begged the man to slam it into his, then he wouldn’t have to do the rest.

Dear God,
he prayed,
strike me dead here and now.

But God had forsaken him for good this time.

He had to finish this. His hand fell into his lap, the gun useless. Everything was lost to him. Now his sole purpose must be protecting his daughter and his precious grandchildren.

Fergus wiped the tears from his face and readied the gun for the final act he must stage before stuffing it back into his waistband. He knew what he had to do. It was the only way out.

He checked on his Lucy and his precious grandchildren. They stared at him, unable to speak or move, but he smiled, his lips trembling. They would be fine. They didn’t know it yet. Their memories of him would be ruined, but there was no help for that.

No one could know the rest.

The truth would go to hell with him.

The truth was supposed to set him free. But it wouldn’t. It would cost him everything.

He closed the door and moved on to the kitchen. This old place had a root cellar and that worked well enough. It wasn’t much to look at, like his basement at home, but it served the purpose. In the small kitchen he grabbed the lantern and a storybook.

On the back porch he reached down and pulled open the door that was built into the wood floor. The hinges complained. Down the few steps and into the dank, dark place where the child he had collected whimpered and sobbed.

He lit the lantern. The little girl drew into the corner, her little body shivering with fear. He’d tried to feed her but she refused to eat.

Not much he could do about that. Children were obstinate at times.

“I’m going to read you a story, Lucy.”

She cried harder as if she didn’t want to hear the story. She’d told him that Lucy wasn’t her name and he’d explained that he always called his treasures Lucy. He couldn’t change now after all these years. He was too old to change.

He read the story: “Cinderella.” One of Lucy’s favorites. His, too. He liked that the true beauty of Cinderella was revealed once the rags and fireplace soot and ash were gone. True beauty was often buried deep beneath the surface.

True beauty was often greatly misunderstood.

By the time he finished the story the treasure had fallen asleep. Her calm, even breathing told him that she wasn’t pretending in hopes he’d go away.

It was good that she was asleep. Tomorrow was a big day. She would need all her strength for what was to come.

Tomorrow she was going to the burying tree to meet Jess Harris.

Then it would be done and they could all live happily ever after.

Southpointe Circle, Saturday, August 21, 8:15 a.m.

L
ori parked in front of Sherry’s house. Chet wouldn’t like that she had come here to confront his ex, but it was time they settled this thing between them—woman to woman. Sherry had a new husband. She had no right to begrudge Chet his own happiness. She certainly had no right to use Chester as a pawn.

Palms sweating and pulse thumping hard, Lori walked right up and pressed the doorbell.

She could hear voices inside and tiny feet running. Chester stuck his face to the sidelight and Lori smiled at him. He waved and did that little-boy shimmy he did when he was excited. He started shouting for his mom and then he disappeared.

Lori imagined Sherry was ordering him to his room, maybe off to the den with his stepfather.

Finally the door opened and Sherry looked from Lori to the street. “Where’s Chet?”

So much for hello. “He’s at work already. I’m headed that way myself. I thought if you had a moment we could talk. You know Chet’s birthday is tomorrow.”

Instantly going on the defensive, Sherry folded her arms over her robe-clad chest. “I know when his birthday is. Sundays are his day with Chester so there shouldn’t be an issue. What do you want to talk about? I thought you were embroiled in some big case.”

“We are.” Lori struggled to hang onto her patience. “I don’t have a lot of time, so if you have a moment…”

“You don’t look like you’re headed to work.” She surveyed Lori’s jeans, Magic City tee, and sneakers with something akin to disdain.

“It’s Saturday,” Lori defended. “We opted for casual day.”

“If you have something to say, we can talk out here.”

Lori stepped back as the woman joined her on the stoop. “That works.” What else could she say?

“What is it you want to talk about? If you’re annoyed about the other night, that’s tough. My son comes first. If he has a fever he’s not leaving the house.”

“I understand.” Lori wasn’t a mother, but the concept of keeping a sick child home was simply good common sense—if the child was actually sick. “That makes perfect sense. I would do the same thing.”

Sherry stared at her for a long, awkward moment. “Why are you here then?”

Lori had known the woman didn’t like her, but she hadn’t expected her to be so blatant about it. She’d actually seemed pretty nice the first few times they’d met. Had the idea that Lori and Chet were getting serious somehow started her thinking she’d made a mistake leaving him?

Well, Lori had news for her.
Too late, baby.

“It feels like you and I are getting off on the wrong foot.” Lori had gone over what she intended to say a dozen times and somehow it still felt wrong and stupid. “I really want our friendship to work.” She prompted a smile she hoped passed for the real thing. “I’d like you to feel free to talk about anything related to Chester with me. I adore him but I am not trying to play the part of his mother. That belongs solely to you.”