“Not any more than I married you. Thinking I did was about the only really stupid moment she had when we were together. Women, what can you do? They’re wired to be suckers. But she wouldn’t have given up, even thinking I was dead. She’d want the score. She was getting too close. I walked right out behind her, out of that dive where you were singing to a bunch of rubes.”
He shook his head, circled her while she worked. “I saved you from a life of embarrassment thinking you could ever make anything with that mediocre voice. And Mel’s face when she saw me? Priceless. I take back what I said—that was her second really stupid moment. She rolled the window down, said, ‘Jake. I should’ve known.’
“Those were the last words she said, and yeah, she should’ve.”
“She loved you.”
“See what love gets you?” He gave her another little kick. “It’s just another con.”
She sat back on her heels, then rose slowly, bucket in hand. “I’m going to need more than this to bleach out that stain. Is there more?”
“You’ve got plenty, right there.”
“Yes, but I need it to—”
She heaved it up, straight bleach with a faint tinge of blood, into his face.
When he screamed, she had a choice. Go for the gun or run for the door. And she was too fired up to run.
She kicked, aiming for his groin. The floor was just wet enough that she slipped a little, and it took the leading edge off the kick. But she made contact. Even as she tried to grab for the gun, he fired it—wild and blind.
Her ears rang. She ducked, snatching at the mop, hoping to make better contact with his balls with the handle. But his flailing hand got a fistful of her hair, firing stupefying pain into her skull.
She jabbed her elbow into the same tender area, and knew she hurt him, knew she gave him pain. But he was as wild as she was now, and flung her across the room like a rag.
“Bitch, you bitch.”
She rolled. She wasn’t sure how well he could see, hoped he was blind. Desperate, she wrenched off a shoe, flung it across the room, praying he’d follow the sound.
But he walked slowly toward her, the whites of his eyes shattered and red.
“I’m not just going to kill you now. I’m going to hurt you first.” He rubbed his left eye with his free hand.
Making it worse, she knew. Please, please make it worse.
“Let’s start with a kneecap.”
She braced for the pain, then scrambled back in shock as the door where the bloodstains ended burst open.
Richard whirled, blinking his burning, blurry eyes as the bloody mountain of a man rammed him.
Horrible sounds, the grunts, snarls, the crack of fist against bone. But the only sound that mattered was the clatter of the gun as it leaped out of Richard’s hand on impact and hit the floor.
She bolted after it, nearly dropped it again out of hands soap slick with her own sweat.
She swayed up to her knees, bit down, gripped the gun in both hands.
The big man was bleeding, and whatever force had driven him into the room and at the man who’d shot him was eaten away now. Richard had his hands around the man’s throat. Squeezing, squeezing.
“Dead. Thought you were dead, Jimmy.”
I thought the same about you, she thought, and said calmly, coldly, “Richard.”
His head whipped around. She wondered what she looked like through those burning eyes. She hoped she looked like Vengeance.
He bared his teeth, let out a short laugh. “You haven’t got the spine.”
He lunged at her.
• • •
THEY HEARD the first shots as Forrest spun the truck onto the dirt track. All plans to go in quiet, one in front, one in back, while backup poured in behind them, dissolved.
He floored it, fishtailed over the gravel walk as the next shots rang out.
“Go in fast,” Forrest shouted as they leaped out of either side of the truck. “If he’s standing, drop him.”
They hit the door together. Griff swung the rifle up.
But Richard was already down.
She knelt on the floor, holding the gun out, gripped in both hands. There was blood and bruising on her face. Her dress was torn at the shoulder where more bruises bloomed.
Her eyes were cold and fierce, her hair a wild, tumbling tangle of flame.
She never had and never would look more beautiful to Griff’s eyes.
She swung the gun toward them, and he saw her arms tremble. Then she dropped those trembling arms.
“I think he’s dead this time. I think I killed him. I think he’s dead now.”
Griff shoved the rifle at Forrest. His heart started beating again when he had his arms around her.
“I’ve got you. You’re all right. I’ve got you.”
“Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” He eased back only to pry the gun out of her stiff fingers. “He hurt you.”
“Not as bad as he wanted. Callie.”
“She’s fine. She’s safe. She’s asleep.”
“He said he’d kill her if I didn’t go with him. He said he’d go after her.” She looked over at her brother, who pressed fingers against Richard’s throat. “I had to protect her.”
“You did what you had to do,” Forrest told her.
“Is he dead now?”
“He’s breathing. They both are, but they sure are a mess. It’ll be up to the doctors and God whether they make it.”
“He shot him, shot the big one—Jimmy—and thought he was dead, but he wasn’t. I threw bleach in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. I slipped on it, I think, when I went to kick him in the balls, and he got me by the hair. He was going to shoot me, but the other one came out like a demon from hell. I got the gun. I got the gun, and the big one, he couldn’t fight anymore he was bleeding so bad. Richard was choking him. I said his name. I said, ‘Richard,’ so he looked at me. I don’t know why I thought that would make him stop. He thought less than nothing of me. He thought I was weak and stupid and spineless. He said that. He said I didn’t have the spine, and he came at me. I had the spine to shoot him three times. I think it was three times. He didn’t go down until the third time.”
Forrest shifted, crouched eye-to-eye with her. “You did what you had to do.”
Her eyes lost the fierceness, went glassy with tears. “You have to take it back.”
“Take what back, baby?”
“That I can’t shoot worth shit.”
Weak-kneed, Forrest rested his brow to hers a moment. “I take it back. Get her out of here, Griff. I got this.”
“I’m all right.”
Rather than argue, Griff just picked her up.
“You came.” She touched his cheek. “I knew you would, somehow. I didn’t know if the texts were going through, or who I was texting for sure. I’ve got them alphabetical, so it was going to be you or Forrest or Granny, maybe Grandpa. I knew if they got through, you’d come. You’d fix it.”
“You fixed it yourself before I got the chance.”
“I had to— Someone’s coming.” Her fingers dug into his shoulder. “The lights. Someone—”
“Backup. You’re safe now.” He turned his face into her hair. “You’ve got the whole damn Rendezvous Ridge Sheriff’s Department and God knows who else coming.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then. Will you take me to see Callie? I don’t want to wake her up. I don’t want her to see me until I’ve cleaned up, but I need to see her. Well, my God, that’s Grandpa’s date-night car. Set me down. Set me down so they’re not scared.”
He put her on her feet, but kept an arm around her. When he felt her shivering, he stripped off his jacket, draped it over her shoulders as her grandparents got out of the car.
“I’m all right. I’m not hurt. I’m—” The rest was muffled against her grandfather’s shoulder. She felt him shaking, knew he wept. Wept with him a little as others drove up.
“Where is the bastard?” Jack dema
nded.
“Inside. I shot him, Grandpa. He’s not dead—again—but I shot him.”
Jack took her face in his hands, kissed her wet cheeks.
“Let me see the girl.” Viola pulled her away, studied her face. “You were born to take care of yourself and yours. You did what you were born to do. Now we’re going to take you home and . . .”
She paused, steadied herself. “Griff’s going to take you home,” Viola corrected. “Your mama and daddy are at Suzannah’s with Callie. Just staying there while she sleeps. They need to hear your voice.”
“I’ll call right away. I had my phone in my pocket. He never knew I had it. He never knew much about me, I guess. Sheriff.”
Her head felt too light, and the dark circled for a few seconds as Hardigan strode up to her.
“I shot him. He was going to kill me so I shot him.”
“I want you to tell me everything that happened.”
“She gave Forrest the outline,” Griff interrupted. “She needs to get away from here. She needs to see her daughter.”
Sheriff Hardigan tapped his cheek where Shelby’s was bruised. “He do that?”
“Yes, sir. It was the first time he ever hit me. I guess it’s going to be the last time.”
“You go on home now, darling. I’ll be around to talk to you tomorrow.”
It took some time. Clay rushed up, picked her up off her feet, held her suspended as if he’d never let her go. There was Matt, who thrust his phone out to her after he’d hugged her so she could speak to Emma Kate.
“Tell Forrest I’m taking his truck.”
Griff drove away from the cabin, from the blood, from the lights, then just stopped at the turn onto the road.
He drew her over against him, held on.
“I need a minute.”
“You can take all the minutes you want.” She started to relax against him. “Oh hell, Griffin, I forgot to tell them. Richard has a key in his pocket—or I guess that’s where it is. It was in that picture frame, the one holding the picture of me and Callie I gave him. He said he was going Monday morning to the bank, and I think he means one of the banks right in the Ridge. It’s where he put the jewelry, the stamps, too, I guess. He put it right in the bank in Rendezvous Ridge.”
Keeping his eyes closed, Griff just breathed in the scent of her hair. “Who’d have figured to look for it there?”
“I guess he was canny in that way. I have to tell them.”
“You will. Tomorrow’s soon enough. They’ve waited five years. They can wait one more night.”
“One more night. I want a hot shower and a gallon of water, and I want to burn this dress. But I want to see Callie more than anything.”
“That’s first on the list.”
“Do you know the way to get back to the Ridge from here?”
“I haven’t got a clue.”
“That’s all right.” She took his hand in hers. “I do. I know how to get us home again.”
Epilogue
Shelby slept long and deep, comforted by the sight of her sleeping child, and her own mother’s fussing, her father’s gentle, if insistent, exam.
The sun beamed high and bright when she woke, turned the hills she loved into a glimmering green, bathed to shining by the storm that blew through while she slept.
She might have winced when she looked at her face in the mirror, at the purpling bruise on her cheekbone. And winced again, with an added hiss, when she pressed testing fingers against it.
But she reminded herself it would heal and fade.
She wouldn’t allow Richard to leave a mark on her. Or on hers.
She heard voices as she went downstairs, followed them into the kitchen.
She saw Griff leaning on the counter smiling at her grandmother, and her grandfather giving Matt some instructions over a hitch in his truck. Her mother put a pretty tray together; her father drank coffee in a splash of sunlight. Emma Kate and Forrest with their heads together, and Clay, Gilly and the baby huddled together.
“This looks like a party.”
All conversation stopped; all eyes turned to her.
“Oh, baby girl, I was just fixing you breakfast in bed. You need rest.”
“I slept just fine, Mama, and I feel just fine now.” She went to kiss her mother’s cheek, snatched a piece of bacon off the plate she didn’t really want to make her mother smile. “Party. Oh, Emma Kate, your party.”
“Don’t even start to go there.” Jumping up, Emma Kate hugged her hard. “You scared me, Shelby. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I’m happy to promise that.”
“Come over here and sit,” her father ordered. “I want a look at you.”
“Yes, sir, Daddy. But where’s Callie?”
“We took Jack over to Miz Suzannah’s so she’d have more company.” Gilly smiled but gripped Shelby’s hand tight. “We all thought you’d sleep longer.”
“I’m so glad you’re all here. I’m so glad I woke up to all of you.” She looked at Griff. “All of you.”
She sat so her father could turn her face this way and that, shine his little light in her eyes. “Headache?”
“No. Not a bit, I promise.”
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
“No—well, my cheek’s a little sore. Tender.”
“That’s what this is for.” Viola gave her an ice pack, and a kiss on the top of her head.
“Feels good.” Like bliss, Shelby thought. “He backhanded me because he could, and he pulled my hair like a girl in a catfight. Mostly he just tried to hurt me with words, like always. But he couldn’t. Nothing he could say could— Oh, good Lord, I forgot again. Forrest, I have to tell you why he was here, in the house when I came to get Fifi. He was after—”
“A key? Safe-deposit box he’s been paying for under the name of Charles Jakes for about five years now?”
Deflated, she shifted the angle of the ice bag. “Yes, that’s what I forgot to tell you.”
“Griff filled me in last night when I came by. You slept late, Shelby. We found what the feds have been after right in the First Bank of Tennessee on High Street.”
“All of it? Here?”
“Most of it. The owners and their insurance company’ll be notified. That’s for the federals.”
“Tell her the rest, Forrest.” His mother poked him. “I still can’t believe it.”
“What rest?” Her stomach pitched so she reached for the Coke her mother had put in front of her. “Is he dead? Did I kill him?”
“Not that part of the rest. He made it through the night, and they give him a decent shot of making it altogether.”
Closing her eyes, she let out a breath. She’d done what she’d had to do, just as Forrest had said, but dear God, she didn’t want a killing on her hands. Even Richard’s.