HARD FAL (16 page)

Seth’s shoulders sagged and he turned away. Lucy pushed the door open to rescue him. “Dinner’s about ready,” she announced.

Seth helped June up from the bed as Megan replaced the photo album. Outside lightning cracked through the sky and rain pelted the window. Damn, she’d thought the storm wasn’t supposed to hit until later tonight.

Her phone rang. Taylor. “I’ve got something boss,” he announced breathlessly.

“What is it?”

“Got a call from Pittsburgh Police. They found our motorcyclist-slash-shooter. Dead.”

“I’m on my way.” He gave her the address and she hung up the phone. Seth and June had left but Megan sat on the floor in front of the bookcase, glaring at Lucy.

“Don’t say it,” Megan said. “I know what’s coming.”

First words spoken directly to Lucy in weeks. A clap of thunder boomed beyond the window.

“You know they lose power up here all the time when it storms,” Lucy said, ignoring what she couldn’t change. “Can you help your dad gather the flashlights, start a fire?”

“Because you have to go. There’s some kid out there more important than me, some bad guy more important than Dad.” The words didn’t come out bitter or angry. More like resigned. Megan pushed up to her feet and turned her back on Lucy.

“Megan—” Lucy stopped. Realized she didn’t have an answer. Had she ever? Pain tightened her chest as she wanted so badly to grab Megan in a hug, somehow find the words to make everything right.

At that moment she was glad she’d left the cane behind in the kitchen. She realized now why she truly despised the thing; not because it drew attention to her weakness, but rather because it was a constant reminder that things were different now. And they could never be the same again.

Lucy stepped forward onto her good foot, finally close enough to reach Megan. Using both hands she hugged her from behind, pulling Megan’s rigid body against hers, holding tight. “I miss her, too.”

Megan’s shoulders slumped and she turned to face Lucy, not fighting but also not returning Lucy’s hug. But she didn’t run away from Lucy’s touch, so it was a step in the right direction. So much anger. The counselor said anger was a normal part of the grieving process, but Lucy sensed there was something more beneath Megan’s constant fury.

It wasn’t until now, standing in her mother’s room, inhaling the faint memory of Coletta’s perfume, that she remembered being a few years younger than Megan, her father had just died, and she’d stood in almost this same spot, lashing out at her own mother.

More than anger. She remembered the emotions that had crashed down on her those first few months after Dad died. Coletta could do nothing right, nothing to break through to Lucy—it was as if after suffering the pain of losing one parent, Lucy felt the need to build a barrier between her heart and her love of her mother, anything to protect her from feeling that anguish again.

Not anger. Fear.

Lucy bowed her head over Megan, allowing her weight to settle on both feet—to hell with the pain—and held on even tighter. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

She wanted to promise Megan that nothing would ever happen to her or Nick, that she had nothing to fear. But Lucy didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep and after what Megan had seen firsthand two months ago, she’d never believe the empty words.

“I hate you,” Megan muttered into Lucy’s shoulder, but the words had no bite. “I hate your job. You go and leave us behind and we never know what’s happening, if you’ll come home, or if you’ll—” She choked into silence. Lucy felt tears slide warm against the side of her neck.

“I hate leaving,” Lucy said. “But when things get bad, I think of you and Dad. It’s what gives me the strength to make it through. All I ever want is to come home to you. That’s what I’m always thinking. Always. Do you understand that?”

Magical thinking. Suddenly Lucy realized she wasn’t the only one in this family who used it as an emotional crutch. This was part of why Megan clung to the idea of keeping their home, of never moving away from the house that had become their family’s touchstone. More than avoiding change, more than wishing for things to go back to the way they were before.

“Megan, I will always, always fight to come home to you.” Lucy kissed the top of Megan’s head and released her. “But talk to me if you’re upset or afraid. Don’t push me away.”

Megan didn’t look up, simply wiped her tears with the back of her hand, and stared at the floor. At Lucy’s injured foot. “You don’t blame me?”

“Blame you? For what?”

“Grams. She never would have been there if it wasn’t for me. If I was old enough to take care of myself.”

And there it was. Sorrow more painful than anything Lucy’s broken, twisted nerves could create hit her so hard and fast she nearly lost her balance. She hung onto Megan, the only way she could stay upright. Bowed her head until it touched Megan’s, both now sobbing, their bodies swaying in unison.

“No. I don’t blame you, Megan.” God, the thought, even the suggestion, that it could have been Megan the killer found that night, alone, vulnerable—Lucy refused to let it go to its natural conclusion. Magical thinking or not, she could not, she would not, allow such a vile image fill her mind, tempting fate.

“No one blames you, because it wasn’t your fault. You can’t ever think it was. Grams would be the first to tell you that.” Lucy wished she had better words to offer—that was Nick’s department and she fell woefully short. All she could do was speak from her heart. “We love you, Megan. And none of what happened was your fault.”

She raised Megan’s face to hers. Tears brimmed over in Megan’s eyes and snot coated her upper lip. “Do you believe me? Will you remember that?”

Megan nodded. Lucy gave her one last hug and a quick kiss on the forehead. “Okay. Go clean up for dinner.”

“You’re still leaving?”

“I have to, sweetie. I have to stop the men after June and Seth—not just because it’s my job,” Lucy hastened to add when bitter disappointment clouded Megan’s face. “Because it’s the right thing to do.” She drew in a breath, terrified of shattering the delicate bridge she and Megan had forged. “If we let men like that get away, then what happened to Grams could happen to someone else.”

Megan frowned, shaking her head as if her mother was a lost cause. “Whatever.” And she was gone before Lucy could reach her.

<><><>

LUCY DROVE NICK’S
Explorer down the mountain, glad she was in the larger SUV and navigating a proper two lane road instead of the twisty, narrow lanes she’d taken past the dam and river and up the backside of the mountain earlier when she was in Taylor’s MiniCooper. The storm was a typical Pennsylvania March gale: blizzard-like winds accompanied by sheets of rain. It was slow moving, forecast to last all night, leaving behind flooding and downed power lines and the havoc that came with that.

Despite the weather, she smiled. When she was a little girl she’d been both terrified and fascinated with storms. Used to sit by her bedroom window and watch the lightning strikes dance above the trees.

“Nice thing about living up here,” her dad would say when he came in to check on her and took her in his lap, wrapping her quilt around them both as they watched nature’s fury. “We’re protected from all that. No need to worry about flooding—if the dam bursts, and it won’t, it will flood the lake and valley, but we’re above it all. If the power gets knocked out, we’ve got our wood burner and fireplace and the propane tank to keep the well pumping. And this house, it’s built solid, can weather just about anything.”

She’d turn in his embrace and look up at him. “But Daddy, how can you be sure?”

And he’d hug her tight. “Because I built this house to keep you and your mom safe. For always.”

She reached the bottom of the mountain and turned on to Route 981. At the first stop light she pulled her phone out. No telling when she’d get another chance to charge it. Nick’s phone was already plugged in. She sighed and swapped the phones out. He was constantly doing that, forgetting his phone. She made a note to call Megan if she needed to reach them.

Hopefully with good news. She dialed Walden. “How’s Oshiro?”

“Planning a jailbreak. Not even taking the time to seduce any of the very cute nurses at his disposal.”

“Did Taylor let you know they found one of our wannabe kidnappers, dead?”

“Yep. Do you want me back at the office or at the scene?”

“Actually, I was going to ask you to head over to my mother’s house.” She didn’t want to say why—despite the fact that her phone was secured with the latest encryption technology, after seeing the way June and Seth had been tracked, she didn’t trust it.

Walden was smart enough to fill in the blanks. “Want me to make sure everything is battened down for the storm?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“No problem. But if you don’t want Oshiro going Incredible Hulk on us, you’d better invite him as well.”

“They’re not keeping him overnight?”

“Nope. Said he needs to take antibiotics and come back in two days for a wound check. He’s gonna have a nasty set of scars, but the bullet didn’t hit anything vital.”

“How much longer will you be?” She was certain the others were safe up at her mother’s house, but having Walden take June and Seth to another location would make her feel even better.

“They just need to finish running this antibiotic is all. Bag’s half empty already, so not long, I’m guessing. We’ll head out as soon as it’s done.”

“Sounds good. I appreciate you watching over things for me at home. Thanks.” She hung up and continued up to Route 22. She’d just hit the turnoff to the Parkway when her phone rang. Taylor. “I’m almost there.”

“Got something, boss.” He sounded excited, but not in a good way. With Taylor his moods ranged in almost as many shades of excitation as the pain from her ankle.

“What happened?”

“Got a call from Don Burroughs.” Burroughs was a detective with Pittsburgh Police’s Major Crimes unit. “He caught our homicide. Said the guy was shot, point blank range in the face, in the parking garage of an old bottling plant. With the bike from earlier today sitting right beside him.”

He paused expectantly. “And?” Lucy nudged.

“And looks like motorcycle guy is tied to five other killings. We might have a serial killer on our hands.”

Chapter 20

SETH’S STOMACH BURNED
so much that his vision blurred. They sat at the kitchen table, him, June, Megan, and Lucy’s husband. Passing food and chatting as if there was nothing wrong, as if no one had tried to take his wife and child from him just a few hours ago. Outside the storm raged—at least that fit his mood.

As he passed more meatballs to June—pregnancy had turned her into a devout carnivore—he replayed the ambush from earlier in his head. If Lucy hadn’t been there, if Oshiro hadn’t caught the bullets meant for Seth…a rush of nausea made him shiver.

“Seth, are you okay?” June asked, her fingers tapping the back of his hand. He blinked back to life, wondered how much of the conversation he’d missed.

Rolling his hand over, he intertwined his fingers with hers and squeezed. “Fine, thanks. Just my stomach.” He couldn’t look her in the eye with the lie—seemed like he was doomed to leave behind a legacy of lies. More than lies. Sins. Sins of commission and sins of omission. So many that some days he looked in the mirror and thought it right and just that he was dying.

But even a dying sinner had the right to protect his family. That single thought kept him going. He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

Nick watched him stumble towards the archway that led to the living room. “I think there might be some antacids in the medicine cabinet.”

Seth nodded his thanks and lurched down the hall. Stomach acid played chopsticks racing up and down from his chest to his throat and mouth and back again. But he didn’t go to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Instead he went back to the bedroom where they’d been earlier.

He sank onto the bed and buried his head in his hands. Lucy had wondered why Daddy would target him now, when he was already dying. Not fast enough to suit Daddy, obviously. Especially not with Seth closing in on him. A few tattered gasps here, a word or two there, but hopefully it would soon be enough to lead him to Daddy. He just needed a little more time.

But Daddy knew Seth was getting close—was worried Seth might find him before he could end Seth. So he’d set the trap with the ultrasound, knowing Seth would run with June.

They both knew Seth could no longer protect her, was as good as useless—dead or alive. How did the bastard always stay one step ahead of them?

Megan’s phone with its bright purple case and rhinestone studded Eiffel Tower beckoned from where it sat on its charger. Maybe he should just ask.

As he reached across the nightstand for it he spotted something in the partially open drawer below. A gleam of metal. He slid the door open. A revolver.

Seth lifted the gun free. Fully loaded from the weight. Short barrel, not too heavy—good thing because his hands were so weak he could barely grip doorknobs and turn them properly. The symptoms were escalating. If the doctors were right, he didn’t have long.