Skin Privilege

TWENTY-SEVEN

Nick Shelton had not been entirely forthcoming when he'd told Jeffrey the Georgia Bureau of Investigation could only step in when the local law enforcement agency asked them to. There was one exception to this rule: when the local law enforcement was so corrupt that there was no other choice but for the state agency to come in and clean house. You didn't get more corrupt than trying to blow up a cop and a police chief's wife in a meth lab, and the state agency had swarmed into Elawah County like a pack of angry hornets.

Jeffrey had been halfway between Coastal State Prison and Reece when his cell phone rang. He hadn't recognized the number, but knew the voice as soon as he picked up.

'I'm okay,' Sara told him, not even bothering with the formalities. Her words had stopped his heart in his chest, because you didn't say you were okay unless you'd been decidedly un-okay before.

Sara was calling him from the back of an ambulance; the siren in the background competed with her voice. She had laid out everything she could remember, from Valentine pulling the gun to Bart injecting her with something that had knocked her out. By the time she'd finished the story, Jeffrey's jaw was so tight that he could barely form words. He had been blowing smoke up Ethan Green's ass while Sara had been in mortal danger.

He would never forgive himself for leaving her alone with Valentine. If the man was not already dead, Jeffrey would have found him and done the deed himself.

Two hours later, when he had finally reached the hospital, Sara seemed more concerned about Lena than herself. She was worried about the plastic surgeon being good enough to fix the burn on her hand, scared an infection would set up in her lungs, sure that the pulmonologist didn't know what he was doing. She'd been almost manic, pacing back and forth as she spouted her concerns until Jeffrey had physically stopped her.

'I'm okay,' she kept telling him, long after he figured out the words were more for her own benefit than his. Even when he drove her back to Grant County, she kept telling him that she was fine. It wasn't until last night that she'd finally broken down. He'd told her he was returning to Reece to help Nick Shelton interrogate Fred Bart. She hadn't told him not to go, but this morning, he'd felt like a criminal as he sneaked out of the house before she woke up.

Jeffrey pulled up in front of the Elawah County jail, vowing that this really would be the last time he laid eyes on the place. There was a HAZMAI truck parked in the lot, a couple of government types milling around and drinking coffee. After the explosion at Hank's house, they had evacuated his neighborhood within half a square mile so they could clean up the toxic waste. The only things left of the sheriff were bits of DNA they'd found in the yard and the man's severed hand.

Jake Valentine. Jeffrey felt sick every time he thought about the man. Now that Valentine was dead, they'd found out all sorts of interesting things about him. His modest house in town was obviously his idea of slumming. He owned a large cabin at the lake with two powerboats docked outside. His arrest jacket was pretty clean, but his brother's was another matter. David Valentine had been stabbed to death in a knife fight with a rival skinhead gang, but judging from his rap sheet, he'd been pretty high up in the Brotherhood. Arson, rape, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder.

Valentine must have learned from his brother's mistakes; he'd kept a low profile. Except for a misdemeanor arrest for public drunkeness back in college, there was nothing on Jake Valentine's record that would tell you he was a skinhead drug trafficker running millions of dollars worth of meth. The missing piece of the puzzle was Myra, his wife. Myra Valentine, nee Fitzpatrick, was the baby sister of Jerry and Carl Fitzpatrick, the leaders of the Brotherhood of the True White Race. Their parents had moved to Elawah after their hometown in New Hampshire had made it clear that they didn't want the family of a cop killer living in their midst. Myra had liked it in Reece well enough to stay. Jake Valentine had married into a powerful family, and like most powerful families, they had found a way to employ their shiftless brother-in-law.

Nick had sent out a request to the Brotherhood's New Hampshire compound, asking to interview Myra. The compound had not replied.

Jeffrey had never entirely trusted Jake Valentine, but he'd been so damn hot on putting Ethan in the middle of everything that he'd let Sara and Lena go off alone with the man. Jeffrey didn't know whether to feel angry or ashamed at his own blindness. He remembered Grover Gibson's words that day Jeffrey and Valentine had gone to the man's shack in the woods to tell him that his son was dead.

'You did this to him!' Grover had screamed, fists flying as he jumped the sheriff. 'You killed him!'

Valentine had set it up so well, warning Jeffrey ahead of time that Grover blamed him for his dead son's drug dependency. Jeffrey had actually helped defend the sheriff.

He couldn't dwell on that now, because it only made him furious. Fred Bart had to be his focus now. The slimy dentist was the only one left to punish, and he seemed intent on fighting it every step of the way. He'd been in his office filling a cavity when Don Cook finally got around to looking for him. Bart insisted it was sheer coincidence that the patient in his chair also happened to be his lawyer. Nick was sure that Jeffrey could help him break the man. Jeffrey didn't share the state agent's optimism. Elawah County was built on secrets that went back decades. The town thrived on looking the other way. Jeffrey doubted very seriously anyone was about to change that, especially Fred Bart.

The jail lobby was even more claustrophobic than Jeffrey remembered. Don Cook was probably in the sheriff's office upstairs, measuring for new furniture. Nick was seated at the man's desk, thumbing through one of the deputy's hunting magazines. He glanced up when he saw Jeffrey. 'You look like hell, man.'

'Sara's not too happy about me being here.'

'She'll get over it,' Nick said, but Jeffrey wasn't too sure. 'I'm real tore up about Bob Burg, man. They picked him up last night.'

Jeffrey felt the same way. He'd assumed Burg was one of the good guys, but the GBI agent had apparently been taking money for years. 'Is he saying anything?'

'Not a peep,' Nick answered. 'Bob's not stupid. He knows he's not going to see daylight for a while, and he's not about to rat out a damn skinhead.'

'You didn't find anything about Hank contacting him?'

'Bob didn't write down jack, man. Even if he did, we'd need him to testify, and there's no way he'll flip. Those Nazi fuckwads are everywhere. Bob's gonna be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of his life.'

Jeffrey guessed that was some kind of payback.

'How's Lena doing?'

'Fine,' he answered, glad to be talking about something else. 'She's gonna need therapy for her lungs, but she should be ready to go back home by the middle of next week.' He added, 'They moved her to the same hospital as Hank last night.'

'How's he doing?'

'Better. Still not out of the woods yet. What about Bart – he doing any talking yet?'

'Shit,' Nick mumbled, standing from the desk. 'He's doing nothin' but talking. That jackass thinks he can squirm his way out of anything. Claims Lena must've been high from the chemicals, that she's remembering it all wrong. His lawyer says Bart will tell us everything he knows about Valentine if the charges are reduced to reckless endangerment.'

Jeffrey laughed for the first time in days. 'He really thinks he's gonna walk away from this?'

'His lawyer indicated he'd be open to probation with time served.'

Jeffrey laughed again. He was suddenly looking forward to seeing Fred Bart.

Nick turned serious. 'I want your read on the lawyer. Something's going on there.'

'All right,' Jeffrey agreed. 'You got the goods?'

Nick handed him a folder, then reached under the desk and buzzed the door open. Jeffrey followed him to the back, thinking that even though only a few days had passed, the building had an air of neglect to it. Don Cook wasn't exactly a leader, and it was going to take someone with a strong personality and a lot of experience to help the town recover from Valentine's betrayal. Jeffrey gave the man two months before he stepped down, took his retirement and went fishing for the rest of his life.

A tripod with a digital camera on top stood outside the small conference room. Nick rapped his knuckles on the door as he opened it.

'Finally,' Bart said, as if he was glad to see them.

Jeffrey threw the file Nick had given him on the table, then he held out his hand, introducing himself to Bart's lawyer. The man didn't offer his name, and Jeffrey guessed from his expensive suit and fancy haircut that he was more at home in Atlanta than Elawah County.

Nick indicated the camera. 'Just let me get this set up.' He whistled under his breath as he placed the tripod at the head of the table, moving it just so, acting like he had all the time in the world. Jeffrey knew he was just trying to make the dentist antsy, but the technique was working on Jeffrey, too. By the time Nick was finished, Jeffrey was almost squirming in his chair.

Nick sat down beside Jeffrey, opposite Fred Bart and his lawyer. For the sake of the camera, he said, 'I'm Nick Shelton with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Beside me is Grant County Chief of Police Jeffrey Tolliver, who will be leading this interview. That okay with you boys?'

The lawyer nodded. He was a burly man, his hair shaved close to his head. Jeffrey wondered if he had something tattooed on his scalp.

Bart said, 'Can we get this over with?'

Jeffrey opened the file on the table. He fanned out the photographs they had found in a folder on Jake Valentine's desk. Judging from the charred debris in his wastebasket, there had been more photographs, but Valentine had taken care to make sure it was only Fred Bart and Boyd Gibson implicated in the surveillance photos. The sheriff had been telling Jeffrey the truth when he said he'd called the GBI. Nick's office had logged a call on his voice mail about an hour before Jeffrey and Sara had gotten to the jail. Valentine had sounded giddy as he laid out the case of the drug-pin dentist.

Fred Bart barely glanced at the photographs. The pictures were grainy, but they still managed to tell a story. Jeffrey tapped his finger on the top one, which showed Fred Bart with Boyd Gibson smoking cigarettes outside an abandoned-looking warehouse. Behind them, a drug transaction was taking place. Another photo showed Bart in his Jag passing off a stack of money to Boyd Gibson, All the photos pointed the finger at Fred Bart as being the meth mastermind in town with Gibson as his muscle.

Bart blustered, 'Obviously, those have been doctored.'

'I'm sure you can find an expert to tell that to a jury,' Jeffrey admitted. Jake Valentine had done a good job setting up the dentist. If Lena hadn't seen the tattoo under the sheriff's arm, no one would have questioned Valentine's evidence – or Bart's death in his own homegrown meth lab, courtesy of Clint Jones.

Jeffrey told him, 'Your bank account shows a cash deposit of over two hundred thousand dollars Friday morning.'

'I was in my office with patients. I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'You mean your office where they found enough meth to powder a ski slope?' He paused. 'Jake was ready to hand the GBI the bust of a lifetime.'

Bart shook his head slowly side to side. 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

Jeffrey laid it out for the man. 'You're looking at the death penalty.'

The lawyer interjected, 'My client is cooperating in every way he knows how.'

'He shot a man in cold blood in front of a police detective.'

'She was high,' Bart protested, much as Nick had predicted. 'With the amount of chemicals in that room, I'm surprised she even remembers she was there. You know what she did to Jake. She cut off his hand! That's not the action of a thinking person.'

Jeffrey thought it was the action of somebody who didn't want to die. 'You injected my wife with a sedative.'

'Jake would've hurt her if I hadn't knocked her out. Mark my words. He was a violent man.'

The lawyer stiffened. Jeffrey would have missed it if he hadn't been watching.

Jeffrey asked Bart, 'How were you protecting Charlotte Gibson in the back of that Escalade?'

'I've already told your friend here that wasn't me,' Bart insisted. 'I was at home watching TV that night.'

' Lena 's willing to make a positive ID.'

Bart flashed a smile. 'It's my understanding that the perpetrator of that crime was masked.'

'Yeah,' Jeffrey agreed. 'But it's hard to hide behind a mask when you've got little ferret teeth.'

Bart covered his mouth with his hand before he could stop himself.

Jeffrey said, 'Tell me about Boyd Gibson.'

The lawyer seemed to perk up at the sound of Gibson's name. Was Fred Bart the only person in the room who didn't realize the guy was working the other side? Jeffrey would've loved to roll up the man's sleeves, look for any tattoos he might have.

Jeffrey repeated, 'Boyd Gibson?'

Bart talked slowly, moving his lips as little as possible as if he could hide his teeth. 'Jake told me what happened,' he said. 'Clint and Boyd never got along, but Jake kept them in line. He told them to burn down Hank's bar. Lena had spent some time there and Jake didn't like her poking around. He was trying to scare her off.'

'So?' Jeffrey prompted.

'So, Jake said that they poured gasoline around the outside of the bar. Clint threw a match on it, but then Boyd started yelling about how Hank kept some money inside, stuffed under a floorboard or something.'

'He ran into a burning building to get cash?'

Jeffrey asked, thinking that if Bart was telling the truth, Jeffrey had risked his life to save one of the stupidest bastards on earth.

Bart nodded. 'At that point, you came along. Boyd got away and he met up with Clint in the woods. They had some kind of argument. I told you these men were hotheaded.' Bart paused for effect. 'At any rate, Clint ended up stabbing Boyd.'

'And then what?'

'And then he had to tell Jake.'

'What about the knife?'

'Clint didn't want to lose his knife – it was expensive – so he used one he'd… found.' The man held out his hands in an open shrug. 'Mind you, I got this story second-hand from Jake, so I can't confirm the veracity.'

'Yeah,' Jeffrey said. 'I understand that.' He crossed his arms. 'Did Jake say whose idea it was to throw Boyd's body into my hotel room?'

'His. Jake thought if your wife got scared enough, you'd leave town.'

Jeffrey asked, 'What about Charlotte Gibson?'

'Jake got worried because she was talking to Lena.'

'So Jake torched her?'

'Yes. Jake liked to send messages.'

'Is that right?'

'Yes.'

Jeffrey remembered what Lena had said about Bart's last words to Valentine, the anger that had boiled up between the two men. The dentist had been supplementing his income with meth since Valentine was in diapers. He'd been the big man in town until Myra had married her college sweetheart.

'Lemme get this straight.' Jeffrey summarized, counting off the dead bodies on his fingers as he said, 'Clint Jones killed Boyd Gibson, Jake killed Charlotte and of course you were kind enough to shoot Clint in – what – self-defense? I guess leaving Lena and Sara in the house to die was some kind of oversight on your part?'

'I know I shouldn't have left those women there, but I was terrified. Jake has some powerful friends. I ran away because I was frightened. I take full responsibility for that.'

'I'm happy to hear you take responsibility for something.'

He tried to defend himself, saying, 'I called the sheriff's office and gave an anonymous tip.'

Nick had obviously heard this before. 'We listened to the nine-one-one tapes from Friday, Fred. We haven't found anything.'

'Then you need to keep looking,' Bart insisted. 'I called from a pay phone at the Stop 'n' Save. It should have my fingerprints on it.'

Jeffrey didn't doubt the phone had Bart's prints on it. He'd had plenty of time to think up an alibi while Lena and Sara were fighting for their lives.

'What about the other body?' Jeffrey asked.

'Other body?' Bart echoed. 'What other body?'

He seemed as surprised as Sara and Lena had been. Both women swore they hadn't seen anyone else in Hank's house, but the remains of a man's body had been found somewhere in the vicinity of the back bedroom.

Jeffrey told him, 'There was another set of bones in Hank Norton's house. The state coroner says he was an older man, maybe in his sixties.'

Bart looked at his hands. 'I don't know anything about that.'

'You don't know anything about a lot of things,' Jeffrey challenged. 'I think you're just sitting there with your little mind spinning, trying to come up with quick answers for every question, but the thing is you've got no idea how deep this hole is you're standing in.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

Jeffrey looked at Nick. Both men knew that Bart was either too arrogant or too stupid to see that his life was pretty much over the minute he shot Clint Jones and told Jake Valentine to get under the sink.

'All righty.' Nick sighed, pressing his palms against the table as he stood up.

Bart yelped, 'What are you doing?'

'Packing up,' Nick told him, collapsing the tripod. 'You don't know doodly squat, Tonto, and I have a feeling any second now the Lone Ranger there's gonna be heading back up to the corral to get along with his little doggies.'

The lawyer chuckled. 'Well put.'

Nick told him, 'No offense, buddy, but we're really hoping none of this goes any farther than it has to.'

'I think we've had enough collateral damage to last us for a while.' The lawyer pushed Valentine's photos of Fred Bart across the table. 'It seems to me you have an overwhelming amount of evidence here. Surely enough to charge the guilty party.' He stood, telling Jeffrey. 'I'm very sorry that your wife was in harm's way.' As an afterthought, he added, 'And your detective, too, of course.'

Jeffrey took the man's meaning, but he wanted to be clear. 'Just so long as they're safe now.'

'They are.'

The lawyer turned to leave, but Bart clawed his arm, screaming, 'You said they'd work a deal! You said they would-'

'Get your hands off me,' he barked, jerking his arm away.

Bart finally seemed to understand that the lawyer wasn't on his side, that the only reason the man was here was so he could make sure Bart wasn't a threat to the people who were really paying his fees.

For his part, the lawyer seemed relieved that the masquerade was over. He gave Nick a nod, then Jeffrey. 'Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me.'

'What are you doing?' Bart demanded. 'You're my lawyer! Where are you going?'

The man left the room without looking back.

Bart stood by the table, wringing his hands like a woman.

Nick told him, 'Sit down, Fred.'

Bart sagged into his chair. 'I want to cut a deal,' he muttered. 'I need to cut a deal.'

'Welcome to the State of Getting Your Head Out of Your Ass.' Nick clapped his hands in mock congratulations. 'What kind of deal you think you can make, Freddy boy?'

'Any kind,' Bart pleaded. 'Just tell me what you want me to say.'

Nick shook his head. 'We want you to say some names, Fred. Only problem is, you don't know 'em.'

'I know them!' Bart screeched. 'I know all of them!'

'Like?'

'Like…' His mouth worked as he tried to come up with something. 'Just tell me. Tell me who you want and I'll say it!'

'Rhymes with Spitzpatrick.'

He paled. 'No,' he said. 'I can't do that.'

Nick shrugged. 'Lookit, hoss, we're giving you enough rope here to hang a snake. Not my fault you can't tie the knot.'

'They'll kill me,' Bart said. 'They'll… worse than that. They don't just kill people… they…' His words stopped as he gulped for air. 'Please…' he cried.

Jeffrey stood up and Nick opened the door.

'No!' Bart begged. 'You can't just leave me here.'

Nick couldn't help himself. 'Don't worry, hoss. We'll go by the Stop 'n' Save and call nine-one-one on our way out of town.'

Jeffrey had a bad taste in his mouth as he drove past the Elawah County High School. He should feel good about leaving Fred Bart to the wolves, but instead he felt dirty. Fred Bart had left Sara to burn, and Jeffrey was a firm believer in an eye for an eye. He was also a cop, and he knew the state had a process for taking care of its most deserving criminals. What was the difference between waiting ten years for appeals to fall through and letting the Brotherhood take care of him?

The difference was that the Brotherhood got stronger with every life they took. They wouldn't roll Bart into a sterile room and slip a needle in his arm. They would make him beg for his life. They would beat him, torture him – make it so that death was the only thing he had to look forward to. Fred Bart would be a lesson for every other thug and moron out there: you did not cross the Brotherhood without paying the ultimate price.

Still, Ethan Green's words kept coming back into his head, and Jeffrey couldn't help but wonder if the young man had seen the real Jeffrey, the one who hid behind his badge while he looked the other way. Jeffrey had taken an oath to protect and defend everybody, not just the people he thought deserved it. He was supposed to work within the system, not make up the rules as he went along.

He was supposed to take care of the weak and protect them from the strong. Fred Bart sure hadn't looked strong when Jeffrey and Nick had left him crying in the interrogation room. He had fallen to the floor on his knees, begging for help.

Jeffrey realized he'd passed the motel and made a U-turn. He pulled up in front of the office as the maid was coming out of one of the rooms. She stood there, watching him get out of the car.

Jeffrey told her, 'I need to get the things out of room fourteen.'

'They're packed up,' the woman said, walking away.

Jeffrey guessed he was expected to follow her. He caught the office door before she let it slam in his face.

'Thanks,' he said.

She went behind the front counter, scratching her arms through her long-sleeved shirt. She told him, 'There's a balance on the room.'

Jeffrey glanced at the keys hanging on the board behind her and figured maybe three rooms were checked out. 'Been busy lately?'

'Listen, asshole. I don't make the rules.'

He laughed, taking out his wallet. 'How much is it?'

She scratched her neck, calculating how much she could get off him. 'A hundred bucks.'

'How about twenty?'

'How about fifty?'

Jeffrey paid her the money, though he seriously doubted the cash would ever make its way into the register. Judging by the woman's appearance, he guessed he was looking at one of those rare things: a meth addict who had made it past her thirties.

The woman asked, 'How's the girl doing?'

' Lena?'

'Yeah, her.'

'She's okay.'

'Right,' the woman said. She took out a bag from under the counter and pushed it toward Jeffrey. 'Here's her shit. Go on and get the fuck out of here.'

He studied her face for a moment, the arrogant tilt of her chin. Slowly, he said, 'She's at St. Ignatius for a few more days.'

'Great. My tax dollars at work.'

'You pay taxes?' She gave him an eat-shit look that he should have been used to by now. 'You know, your daughter looks at me the same way sometimes.'

'I ain't got a daughter.'

' Lena looks just like you.'

Angela Adams grunted, giving up. She had fifty bucks in her pocket and a need in her veins. 'Got her head up her ass just like me. Didn't recognize her own mother standing right in front of her.'

Jeffrey had barely made the connection himself between the oil painting that he'd seen hanging over Hank Norton's living room couch and the woman standing in front of him. Something about the tilt of her chin had given it away – even after all these years, she had that arrogant challenge in her eyes. Angela had been beautiful once, but meth had taken that from her, just like it had taken her away from her young daughters.

Still, Jeffrey tried to be kind. 'Sometimes you don't see what you're not looking for.'

'You think I don't know what I look like?' She picked at the edge of the laminate. 'Hank doing okay?'

Jeffrey felt another piece of the puzzle click into place. 'Hank was with you the whole time he was missing. Wasn't he?'

'Stupid fucker should've known better. Didn't last no more than a coupl'er three days before we were ready to kill each other.' She picked at the sore on her neck. 'Bastard just walked off one morning. I guess he turned up at his house.'

'He's cleaning up,' Jeffrey told the woman. 'All the meth is out of his system.'

'He's always looked after them.' She caught herself. 'Her.'

'We found the birth certificate you filled out with Hank's name on it.'

'Did she see it?'

'No,' Jeffrey said. 'It got lost in the shuffle.'

She gave a rueful laugh. 'Dumb fuck that I was -I figured it'd make it easier for him to take the girls, keep them safe. I nearly got him arrested.' She started picking at the sore again. Blood trickled out. 'I was the one who got Hank hooked. Did he tell you that?'

'We've never really talked about it.'

'When Cal was killed – that's their father -1 just couldn't take it. Pregnant, fat, miserable, alone. Then, I had a toothache on top of everything else. I went to that stupid bald fuck Fred Bart. He told me he had something that could take the edge off.' She glared at Jeffrey as if he'd challenged her. 'I made my choice.'

' Lena would want to see you.'

'I been in and out of jail the last twenty years. You think a cop wants a con for a mother?'

Jeffrey certainly hadn't wanted his own father, but then you didn't get to choose your parents. 'I've known Lena a long time. She'd want to see you.'

'You think she wants to see this?' Angela demanded, rolling up her sleeve.

Jeffrey winced at the damage the needles had done to her skin over the years.

'I work here,' Angela said. 'I make just enough money to keep myself going. I don't need nothing in my life that makes it complicated.'

'I'm not sure Lena would agree.'

'Yeah, well…' She pushed her sleeve back down. 'I don't really give a fuck what you think, asshole. Get the hell out of my face.'

She walked around the counter, heading toward the door. Jeffrey expected her to leave, but she stopped.

He tried, 'You're her mother. Nothing will ever change that.'

She kept her back to him, her hand on the glass door. 'You wanna know what kind of mother I am?' She shook her head, disgusted. 'I promised I'd leave them alone, but I was broke, twitching so bad it hurt. I went over to the house, begged Hank for some money. He gave it to me, and I-' she took a deep breath. 'I was backing up the car, not looking where I was going, and I ran right over her, right in front of her sister and that pudgy little girl from up the street. You know about that? You know I blinded my own daughter?'

Jeffrey couldn't fathom that kind of guilt.

'Cops banged me up the next day for holding. There was some other stuff on my sheet – some bad checks, a couple of priors. The judge came down on me hard. Me and Hank, we figured the girls would be better off thinking I was dead instead of knowing what I really was.'

'Still-'

'Mister, giving up those babies was the only good thing I ever did in my life. Don't take that away from me.'

She pushed open the door and walked out, leaving Jeffrey alone with Lena 's things.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Lena sat in a wheelchair beside Hank's bed, holding his hand with her good one. His skin was dry, his fingers like sticks that wouldn't bend. He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't return her grip. At first, she thought he was mad, but she was slowly beginning to realize that he was ashamed. If he was talking to her, he would've said something about his own pride ruining him. He had been almost arrogant about his recovery from addiction, but it had only taken one needle to get him hooked again. His body was ravaged from the drugs he had taken. The ones the doctors had prescribed were doing their best to counteract the withdrawal, but there was nothing they could really do for his depression.

Mostly, the two of them just stayed like this, Lena holding his hand, Hank staring out the window, until the nurses came and told them both to get some rest. Lena didn't talk much because there wasn't really anything to say.

'Doing okay?' the nurse asked, coming in to check all the tubes and machines Hank was hooked up to. She was a nice woman, but her cheerfulness grated and her voice was loud enough to wake the dead.

'Fine,' Lena told her, coughing.

The nurse shot her a look of concern. 'Did you do your breathing exercises this morning?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Lena answered.

She smiled, patting Hank's hand. 'See how good your niece is being, Mr. Norton?' Her voice was even louder when she talked to Hank, probably because he never responded.

She asked Lena, 'How's your hand doing?'

Lena held up her right hand, which was tightly bandaged. 'Doing okay. The doctors say I should be able to get full movement back.'

'Of course you will,' the nurse said, relentlessly positive. 'Just a few more minutes with your uncle, okay? You both need to get some rest.' She wagged her finger in warning. 'I'll check up on you!'

The door snicked closed, and Hank mumbled, 'Sure is damn loud enough.'

Lena felt so relieved to hear him speak that she couldn't respond.

His voice was rough when he asked, 'You really doing those exercises, girl?'

'Yes.'

'I never could tell when you were lying.'

'Me, either.'

Hank took a deep breath and let it go slowly.

She said, 'Tell me about my mother.'

He smiled. 'Which story do you want to hear?' He thought she was playing the old game Sibyl and Lena had made up when they were little.

'The true one, Hank. The one where she lived.'

His eyes watered all the time now, so she couldn't tell if he was crying. 'She always loved you girls. That never stopped.'

'She blinded Sibyl.'

If he was surprised, she could not tell. His face was still turned away from her. 'She came to the house looking for money. She was out of her mind with grief when it happened. I got her out of there, took the blame when the cops rolled up, said it was all my fault. I couldn't let you hate your own mother like that. I wanted you to love her, love the memory of her.'

'What happened to her?' Lena asked. 'How did she die?'

His head jerked around. He was obviously shocked by the question. There was almost panic in his eyes, as if he could not decide what to tell her.

'It's okay,' she soothed. 'I'm not blaming you. I'm not angry. I just need to know the truth. Just tell me the truth.'

Hank's throat visibly tightened. He pressed his lips together as if to force back the words that wanted to come. He had never been a man to dwell on memories, maybe because none of his were good.

'Hank, tell me,' Lena coaxed. 'Tell me this one time and I'll never ask you again. I think after all this time I deserve to know how my mother died.'

He stared back at the ceiling as if to collect himself. When he finally answered, he spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. 'Car accident.'

'Fred Bart told me that she's in a better place.'

Hank was quiet again, thinking it over. 'Losing your daddy, and then hurting your sister like that…' He swallowed, obviously fighting with his emotions. 'I'm a selfish man, Lee. You're all I have left and I can't…' His voice caught. 'I can't lose you.'

Lena tightened her grip on his hand, willing him to understand that she would never leave him again. 'When I saw you at the house, you told me that man, Clint Jones, killed my mother.'

'He dealt to her,' Hank said. 'He dealt to both of us.'

Lena sat back, trying to reconcile the image she'd had in her head for all these years of Angela the angel with this new one of Angela the drug addict. Had her mother been as bad as Hank? Had her arms been as marked, her features as ravaged? Lena shuddered at the thought, almost wishing she'd never been told.

'Meth is just…' Hank shook his head. 'You die the minute you take it. The person you are, the person you were gonna be – that's gone the second the liquid hits your veins. You're dead from that moment on.'

'How did it happen? How did she die?'

He closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with each breath. He would not look at her when he said, 'She went over Taylor Bridge too fast and hit a telephone pole. Snapped her neck. The doctor said it must have been instant.'

Lena had been called out on her share of single-car accidents. Invariably, there was a dark story behind them.

His fingers wrapped around her hand. 'She would've never left you if she'd known how sorry I'd turn out to be. She thought I would take care of you.'

'You did,' Lena told him. 'You did the best you could.'

'Don't forgive me,' he said. His hand was weak but he held on to her as tight as he could. 'Don't ever forgive me.'

Lena couldn't stop herself. Not after all that had happened, all he had done for her and Sibyl.

He glanced at her, then looked away quickly. 'Better get now before that nurse comes back. Makes me wish I was back in a damn coma.'

'All right,' she said, letting his hand slip from hers. Neither one of them had ever been good at talking about their feelings. 'Call me if you need me, okay?'

Lena shuffled out of the room, feeling more tired than she'd thought herself capable. The doctors had told her the reason was because she wasn't getting enough oxygen. Lena thought it was because all she did was lie around the hospital all day with nothing to do but feel sorry for herself.

Her room was right next door to Hank's and she could hear the phone ringing from the hall. Lena hastened her step, snatching up the receiver mid-ring.

'This is a collect call from an inmate in Coastal State Prison,' an automated voice informed her. Lena didn't sit on the bed so much as fall. She waited for the recorded voice, her heart thumping against her ribs as she heard, 'Ethan Green.'

Lena crooked the receiver between her shoulder and ear, pressing the button on the phone to accept the call.

There was silence, nothing but a soft beep every three seconds to remind them that time was passing.

He said, 'How you doing?'

Lena glanced around the room, feeling like someone was watching her. 'Why are you calling me?' she demanded. I don't want to talk to you.'

'That why you accepted the call?'

'I'm hanging up right now.'

'I heard about what happened.'

Her hand had been hovering over the phone, ready to hang up, but she stopped at his words. Of course Ethan had heard about what happened. His

network would have fed him the news before the media even knew about it.

'That toothache I had when you saw me?' She knew he wasn't expecting an answer. 'Don't worry about it,' he told her. 'I got some medicine. It doesn't hurt anymore.'

She thought about Fred Bart, the way the dentist had smiled with his nasty little teeth before he set Charlotte on fire. She spoke before she could stop herself. 'Good.'

'Nobody hurts my girl. You got me?'

'Nobody but you,' she reminded him.

He chuckled lightly. 'That's right, Lee. Nobody but me.'

Her breath was coming up short. Her hand was still inches from the hook, ready to hang up, but she couldn't make herself do anything but listen.

'I'm gonna write to you,' he told her, his voice soft, coaxing. 'I'm gonna write to you and you need to write back, okay, baby?'

'No,' she said, a begging quality to her voice. She tried to be stronger. 'I don't want you in my life anymore.'

'You think it's that easy? You think you're ever going to get away from me?' He laughed again, humoring her. 'I'm gonna be out of here before you know it, Lee. Then we can start over. Just you and me. Okay?'

She shook her head, words failing her.

'Sleep tight, baby. I'll be thinking about you.'

Lena hung up the phone, still hearing his voice, sensing his presence in the room. Who would get to her first – Ethan or Harley? Both men always settled their scores. Neither let anyone get the upper hand. Would she be beaten to death or wake up a

couple of weeks from now with some stranger sticking a needle in her arm, telling her not to struggle, that it would be easier if she just gave in? Lena hoped it was the needle; hoped to God that she would never have to see Ethan Green ever again.

She looked up at the ceiling where shadows danced against the white tiles. Ethan was still there – filling every part of the room, every part of her soul. She lay back in bed, his dark presence hanging over her, until exhaustion won out and she finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

TWENTY-NINE

Sara sat on the front porch, talking on the phone to her mother. Jeffrey had called half an hour ago and said he was just crossing the Grant County line, but she wasn't going to feel safe until he was home. He had told her he needed to talk to her about something, and Sara guessed it was the same thing that had been bothering her for the last few days. She couldn't keep going on like this. Something had to give.

Her mother sounded exasperated. 'Are you listening to me?'

'Yes, Mama,' Sara lied.

'He told me that he'd fixed the automatic sprinkler. Half the plants are dead.'

'I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose.'

'We've been home less than a week and he still hasn't offered a credible explanation.'

'I'm sure he meant to fix the sprinkler.'

'Sara,' Cathy began, and Sara braced herself for a lecture. Surprisingly, her mother offered, 'Do you want me to come back over? I can be there in five minutes.'

Sara loved her mother, but Cathy had been with her practically twenty-four hours a day over the last week. She needed time alone to think. 'Jeffrey will be home soon.'

'You sound so distant. Is it the lawsuit?'

'No,' Sara answered, but the word brought a sour taste to her mouth. Buddy Conford had called two days ago to tell Sara that Global Indemnity was settling with the Powells. The parents would get two million dollars for their son's death, barely enough to cover Jimmy's hospital and lab fees. Buddy had tried to make a joke about how rare it was that an insurance company was actually paying off somebody's medical bills, but Sara hadn't been in the mood for humor.

'If it's not the lawsuit, what is it?'

'Mama…'

Obviously, she'd had enough. 'Sara Ann Linton, I am your mother, and I know when something is bothering you.'

Sara let out a stream of breath between her teeth.

Cathy cut straight to the heart of the matter. 'Did you hear from the adoption agency?'

'Yes,' she said. The social worker had left a message on the machine that morning while Sara was at her parents' house. She'd come home to find the red button flashing, but had let three hours pass before she pressed play. It was the same thing that kept her from checking the mailbox or listening to the voice mail on her cell phone. Sara had waited so long to hear that there was a child out there for them, but now that the moment was at hand, she could not bring herself to reach out.

'And?' Cathy prompted. 'What did she say?'

'She said that they have a nine-month-old boy,' Sara answered. 'He's mixed race, Asian and African- American.'

'Oh, honey, that's wonderful!'

'Is it?' Sara asked, feeling like her heart was going to break. Just saying the words had conjured up the creamy skin and wiry hair – the way his little feet would curve into the palm of her hand. 'What am I going to do, Mama, stay up with a baby all night while I wait for the phone to ring so some stranger can tell me my husband's dead?'

'Stop being ridiculous,' Cathy snapped. 'Cops have families, Sara. Plumbers have families. You take a risk every time you get behind the wheel of a car or go to the post office. You can't put your life on hold because you're scared of something that might happen.'

'Jeffrey's so stubborn,' she argued. 'He never listens.'

'Welcome to marriage, honey. I'm sorry we can't organize you a parade.'

Sara put her hand to her neck, tried to coax the words that needed to come. 'What if…' she tried. 'What if…' She dropped her head in her hand, finally voicing her darkest concern. 'What if I can't take care of him, Mama? What if he gets sick or injured and I can't…'

Her mother was gentle, but stern. 'It is not your fault that Jimmy Powell died of leukemia.'

'What if my baby gets sick?'

'I know you pretend you don't believe in these things, but you'll know the first time you hold your child that he is a gift on loan from God. For however long that gift lasts, you cherish it, you hold it to your heart, and you do the best you can to never let go.'

'I just can't…' Sara thought about Jimmy Powell the last time she had seen him alive. His eyes had lit up when Sara entered his hospital room. He'd always had such a crush on her. She was as close as he would ever come to having a girlfriend. He would never steal a kiss from a girl after school or make out in the back of his father's car. He would never have a wife or a child. His mother would never have grandchildren. For the rest of her life, Beckey Powell would have nothing but lost milestones to remind her of her dead son. Other children would go to school. Other families would take holidays together. Beckey would only have an empty calendar, days without Jimmy stretching before her like a bottomless pit.

Cathy's tone softened. 'What did you tell the social worker?'

'That I would need to talk to Jeffrey.'

'You call her back right now and tell them you want that baby.'

'Mama, I don't know.'

'I do,' Cathy interrupted. 'I'm hanging up the phone so you can call her.' She paused. 'Call me right back, okay? I want to hear all about my first grandbaby.'

The line went dead, but Sara didn't make the call. Now that she had time alone, she found herself incapable of putting together any logical thoughts. Her mind kept jumping from Jimmy Powell, to Jeffrey, to the baby that was waiting for them. She sat motionless, staring at the street until her BMW pulled up in front of the house.

Jeffrey waved at her through the windshield, giving a half-smile. He had told her there was something he needed to tell her, something important. This wasn't just her decision. Maybe he was having second thoughts, too.

Sara put the phone down on the steps and walked toward the car.

He opened the door, saying, 'Man, I'm sick of driving.' He saw her face, asked, 'What's wrong?'

'The adoption agency called.'

He closed the distance between them, scooping her up into his arms. 'A baby!' he yelled. 'Oh, God, Sara.' He spun her around. 'I can't believe it. I can't believe-' He was laughing, trying to catch his breath. 'Is it a girl or a boy?'

'A boy.'

'Ha!' he said, spinning her around again.

Sara laughed, too, caught up in his excitement. 'You'll make me dizzy.'

He put her down, cupped her face in his hands. 'I've got a boy!' He kissed her. 'This is it, Sara. This is the beginning of our lives.' He kissed her again, deeper this time. 'God, I love you.'

She could see tears in his eyes, the absolute joy he felt at the news. Suddenly, all of her doubts fell away, meaningless distractions. She wanted a child with this man, wanted nothing more in her life than to raise their baby together.

He asked, 'Can we pick him up tonight? Right now?'

'Tomorrow,' she said, laughing at his eagerness. 'We have to meet at the agency and start the foster care procedures.'

'Paperwork,' he groaned, but he was still smiling. 'Oh, God, Sara. I love you so much.'

She put her hand to his cheek. 'I know.'

He laughed again, almost a whoop. 'What do we do now?'

'They said they already sent the forms,' she told him. 'Check the mailbox. I'll get the phone.'

She was halfway up the front walk when he yelled at her. 'Hey, foxy mama!'

Sara turned around, her face blushing red. 'Hush,' she warned him. 'The neighbors.'

'Call them all!' he yelled. 'We're gonna be parents!'

He opened the mailbox. There was a flash of light. Jeffrey flew up and back, his body twisting as the air cracked from the explosion.

Sara was running toward him before her mind processed what she had seen.

A bomb. Somebody had put a bomb in the mailbox.

'Jeffrey!' she gasped, falling down on her knees beside him. Chunks of metal were everywhere, mail flying all around them. She saw his open chest -bone, muscle, beating heart.

'Help!' she screamed. 'Somebody help me!'

He opened his mouth and blood pooled out. His right arm lay on the asphalt a few feet away, torn from his shoulder. She pressed her hands to the open wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. Blood poured between her fingers, soaked her hands.

'No,' she whispered. 'No.'

'You…' he said, his teeth chattering.

She pressed her lips to his, kissed him on his mouth, his face. 'Oh, my love… my love…'

'You…' he whispered, blindly reaching for her. She could see the pain in his eyes, knew that his life was slipping away.

'Don't leave me,' she pleaded, squeezing his hand. 'Oh, God, Jeffrey – please don't leave me.'

'You…'

'No,' she begged, willing him to hold on. 'Please! I love you. I love you.' Why had she always teased him, never telling him the words? 'Jeffrey, I love you.'

'Only

She kissed him again, tasting his blood in her mouth. This couldn't be happening. He could not leave her.

'Only…' he tried, blood gurgling in his throat. 'Only… ever…'

'Only ever what, baby? Only what?'

'You…' He gasped, choking. '… Only… ever… you…'

His body relaxed. The blood stopped spurting from his shoulder. Sara realized that their neighbors had come. They stood in a circle around her, not knowing what to do. She screamed, ordering them to go away. She didn't want them to see him like this, didn't want anyone to touch him. The ambulance came, then the police; his men, his friends. She railed against them all, begging them to leave. She lifted Jeffrey up, holding him in her arms, refusing to let them near. She held on to him like this, keening like a child, until her mother came and made Sara let them take him away.