The Heart of Texas (21 page)

Chapter 44

It was the tenth day since the shooting and the tenth time that Riley was the first one up. Jack was still asleep and curled on his side, though Riley knew he would wake soon and come to find him out with the horses. To be fair, Riley hadn't actually fallen asleep at all; he had too much spinning through his head. He was exchanging his vows with Jack today, with his family and friends around him, a much better man than he'd been mere months before. He felt no nerves, only an incredible sense of peace that started in his belly and ended up curled around his heart. He was promising his life and his heart to Jack, and it felt so right he could almost weep with the emotion. He sensed Jack arriving behind him before his husband even said a word.

"Hey," Jack said as he slid into the circle of Riley's arms, offering him coffee and smiling almost shyly.

"Hey," Riley replied softly, capturing Jack's mouth in a soft kiss then pulling back to look into blue eyes, soft and warm with sleep.

"It's a big day," Jack observed carefully, wondering why his husband was standing so alone out here as the Texas dawn painted the sky with muted hues.

"A day we'll remember for the rest of our lives," Riley said. "I couldn't sleep earlier and I wondered if what we're doing is right, With Beth pregnant and Jeff in the hospital and Lisa missing, should we be—"

"If you ask should we be looking into renewing our vows then I may have to beat you into submission." Jack smiled at his own joke, pleased when Riley smirked back, shadows lifting from his eyes.

"Like to see you try," he offered, and laughing, they leaned into each other and looked out over the land that was the D, lost in thought and contemplating the day ahead. It was Riley who saw the lights heading inexorably towards the ranch house. A car. Both men moved to greet whoever it was, Jack frowning as Detectives Stafford and Patterson climbed out of the car, weapons drawn, looks of determination on their faces.

Riley half smiled, saw the gun, saw the purposeful look in Stafford's eyes, then the next was a blur. Strong arms pulled Jack away, pushing him against the car. Stafford's partner cuffed Jack, words spinning in the morning air. "Jackson Robert Campbell— Right to remain silent— Right to an attorney— Do you understand these rights?"What was happening here? Why were they doing this? The single moment was crystallized in front of him, Jack resigned, quiet, Stafford's partner dragging Jack away, Stafford standing between him and Jack and stopping Riley from stepping forward.

"No, wait!" Was that his own voice? Riley couldn't tell Jack was watching as he was forced into the back of the car. "No!" Jack finally shouted, pushing forward, but Stafford stood firm, gripping Riley's arms, his face calm and understanding.

"I'm sorry, Mr Campbell-Hayes… Riley. Please work with me here. I can't stop this. Your brother is awake."

Riley stood rooted to the spot, shock and disbelief cutting into him like knives, then in a sudden lunge, he made to wrestle Jack away from the other cop. He slipped past Stafford in a practiced move, his hands almost reaching Jack before he was body checked, Tom pushing him hard against the front of the car, shouting at him.

"You are not helping Jack here, Riley. Leave it, follow us to the station."

Riley struggled, desperation giving him the edge, heaving and twisting until he turned the situation and Tom was now the one pinned to the car. It was Jack's voice, loud and clear from the car, that stopped him. "Riley, no! Call Josh. Call Jim. It will be okay."

The fight left Riley as quickly as it had started, and he released his hold on the detective, his thoughts scarily blank. "He didn't do anything," he said simply as he looked into Tom's face. He saw a flare of understanding there before it was pushed behind the mask of a man doing his job.

"Riley," he began, "your brother gave us a name. He identified Jack as the shooter."

Chapter 45

It was a new dawn when Gerald arrived at Jim's apartment. The dark of the hallway and the silence of the block was unnerving. To get a call from Jim in the middle of the night, he guessed it must be something to do with the whole Jeff situation, and he wondered if Jim was going to admit to having shot Jeff himself, although for the life of him, he couldn't fathom any reason
why
he would have done anything like that. He knocked on the door, only having to wait mere seconds before Jim ushered him in and closed the door behind them.

"What is so God-fired important you got me here at 5 am?" Gerald blustered, decided the best defense was an offense, turning suddenly in shock at a small voice behind him.

"Daddy?"

Gerald couldn't believe his eyes. His Eden here, in Jim's apartment, sleep mussed and red-eyed. His mind went suddenly blank. Was Jim making a statement somehow by sleeping with his daughter?

It was as if Jim could read his mind, hurrying to reassure him. "Eden was upset, and she came here for help."

"Here? She came
here
for help?" Gerald felt sudden remorse stab through him that she couldn't have turned to him for help— but help with what exactly?

Eden seemed terrified, looking from Jim to him and back again. "Uncle J, why is Dad here?" Her voice was shaky, and it took only moments for Gerald to piece it together. The energy to stand left his body in one sharp exhalation of breath.

"Eden?" he said, suddenly afraid of what he wasn't hearing. He watched as she moved unconsciously towards Jim, pressing into his side, letting herself be led to the sofa, and he waited.

"Sit, we have some things we need to tell you."

Gerald listened, he learned, he stood, he sat, but he couldn't stop himself from shouting, then from apologizing, then feeling sick to his stomach. Gerald finally sat on the sofa next to his daughter, an arm around her protectively, encouraging her back to bed. "We will take care of this Eden. Lisa will be okay, but you must promise to never breathe a word of this to anyone."

When she was in the bedroom, Jim stood, his eyes narrowing as Gerald asked him for the gun.

"Why do you want the gun?"

"I want it away from Eden and Lisa."

* * * *

Jim looked down at his cell as it vibrated on the table, Riley's name on the screen, and he dismissed the call quickly, not willing to let Gerald leave as he seemed to want to.

"How do we fix this?" Jim said softly as Gerald shrugged on his jacket, seeing the man's face carefully blank, lined and gray. "You are losing Hayes Oil. The scandal will be enough too, if it gets out that Lisa shot her husband and Eden witnessed the shooting." Jim stopped, he didn't know what else to say.

Gerald took a deep breath. "I think I've wronged you in this life, Jim, for nothing more than money and the need to win. But, know this, I respect you. You've been a good employee, although I know you only stayed to watch over your son, and you have been a good friend to him. Without your influence, with just his brother and me as role models… Well, he would have been just another Jeff, with his vices and his vicious manipulations. I won't let Eden or Lisa get hurt in this. I won't let my grandchildren suffer."

"How can you stop them from tracking down Lisa?"

"With all the money I have, I still can't buy time," he said enigmatically. Jim looked alternately blank and then confused, but Gerald pressed on. "I'm not getting any younger. You promise me, look after Eden and Lisa, Jim… and Riley. You make sure they stay safe and well, and leave me to deal with what's happened in the time I have left."

"Gerald, this is stupid talk."

Gerald just half-smirked that familiar Hayes smirk and walked to the door, the gun safely in his jacket pocket. He turned to face the man who was going to have everything now —his family, peace— and he wondered for a moment what he could say.
I cheated Alan out of everything, I lost Donna, I didn't love my wife, and I drove my children away.

"Gerald." Jim had one last question, suddenly taking in how frail Gerald seemed since the last time he saw him. "Are you okay?"

"I don't need long. I just need enough time to make it all right."

Chapter 46

Riley was out of his head with worry. He couldn't contact Jim, and he was following the cop car to the station across the dead landscape of downtown Dallas, empty of its usual rush and purpose and eerily silent. Josh had left immediately when he'd heard from Riley, saying he'd meet them at the station, emphasized with more curse words than Riley had ever heard come from his brother-in-law's mouth.

When he arrived, he wasn't allowed through the same entrance. The door closed in his face, and his last image was that of an impassive Jack being led down a corridor, his hands still cuffed behind his back. In a fit of anger, Riley smashed his fist against the heavy wood door before turning and leaning back, trying to figure out which way to go. By the time he got to the front of the station, Stafford's partner was there waiting, a look of expectation on his face, his stance solid and guarded.

"What the fuck is going on?" Riley spat out.

"If you'd like to take a seat, we'll be out to talk to you when we can," Patterson said calmly. He probably dealt with irate husbands every day, Riley thought bitterly, crossing his arms and mirroring the same calm stance.

"I'll wait," he said carefully, "but you have gotta know, my husband did not shoot my brother."

Patterson inclined his head and nodded, dismissing Riley's words and indicating a room marked for waiting. He turned on his heel, pushed past the doors marked
Secure Area
. Briefly the flash of an idea hit him, an idea whereby Riley pushed the door whilst it was still open, found Jack and dragged him out, an idea dismissed as soon as it formed. Instead, he started to pace outside the room, counting the time until Josh would arrive. He was a lawyer, and he'd know what to do. Damn it all to hell, where was Jim? Ignoring the
No Cell Phones
sign, he dialed Jim again, leaving another voice message and hanging up as Josh barreled in through the front doors.

"What the fuck, Riley?"

* * * *

Gerald stood for a moment next to his car, looking up at the sign for the private wing— the Hayes wing. It was a donation from way back. He turned the gun over in his pocket and held it tight. He had no real idea of what he was doing, or what he was trying to achieve, and he had to steady his breathing before he could move. The early morning air felt welcomingly cool on his hot skin.

Finally he simply walked in, nodding briefly at the nurse on duty and the security guard who sat at her side. No one stopped him; no one would dare to. It was
his
wing, and he was visiting
his
son.

"Mr Hayes, we have been trying to contact you. It's good news, sir. Your son regained consciousness for a short while earlier."

"Excellent," Gerald heard himself say, turning to the room, not wanting to hear anything else.

"Sir, the police who were with him left, saying you should call them when you can. Your son managed to talk to them, and the case has taken a turn for the better." She was obviously reading from notes, not realizing the pain that was knifing into Gerald as he listened. Was he too late?

Straightening his back, he just nodded and pushed open the door to the litany of beeps, his eldest child deathly white against the sheets, tubes and machines pumping nutrients and painkillers into his system. How easy would it be to dial up the morphine, or maybe pinch the tube for the oxygen? He'd seen it done in movies, subtle murders, but he had the gun. The gun that was cold and hard and very real in his pocket, an ideal solution, one bullet direct to the heart, no missing, no thoughts—just instant death. It took only moments for Gerald to close his hand tight and start to take the weapon from deep inside his jacket's hiding place. There was no decision to make other than the right one, but how long he stood there he didn't know. An hour— two— The nurses bustled around him, attending to his son even as he tried to get the courage together to bring this whole thing to an end.

The noise in his head was harsh, the confusion around him quick and deadly, as suddenly Jeff started to convulse, arching and twisting on the bed, alarms in the room alerting staff. Gerald just stood there, the rush of nurses and doctors around him, pushing him back out of the room. "Give me ten of— Charging— I need—"and he stood outside the door, listening to the sudden silence inside as everything was as still as death.

"I'm sorry, Mr Hayes, he was just too weak. We tried— Time of death? Oh, eight twenty two. Sorry—"

Gerald left in a daze. What had just happened had made it so easy.

He slid into his car, sliding the gun onto his lap and carefully wiping it of all fingerprints, Lisa's, Eden's, his own. Then gently he held the gun as if to shoot, pressing harder, pushing his prints and his prints alone onto the weapon. Finally he wrapped the gun in a T-shirt from his gym bag and placed it on the passenger seat.

He had only one other thing to do.

* * * *

The interview room smelled of coffee and sweat, and Jack was uncomfortable in the hard seat. Stafford hadn't said much, simply repeating the Miranda, and then passing Jack coffee before he sat down opposite him.

"You have indicated you don't wish to have a lawyer present."

"I don't need a lawyer. I haven't done anything that warrants one."

"At oh seven-thirty this morning, Jeffery Gerald Hayes identified that you, Jackson Robert Campbell-Hayes, shot him at close range," Stafford summed up briefly, and then stopped, simply leaning forward in his chair and grasping his coffee in his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. "Talk to me," he added, almost gently.

Jack didn't know what to say, so he said all he could. "I didn't shoot my husband's brother."

"He says you did," Tom pointed out, "and let's be honest here. You have already admitted to grievous bodily harm, and you have no alibi as to your whereabouts after you left the Hayes mansion."

"And I say again, I did
not
shoot Jeff Hayes."

* * * *

Tom sat back, his face carefully blank, looking at Jack's steady hands and the shell-shocked but grim determination on his face. "So," he began carefully, "Tell me why you attacked him in his own home, why you beat him up."

Jack shuffled in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. "We already did this," Jack answered finally, a stubborn set to him that Tom was worried he wouldn't break through. Damn idiot was hiding something.

"Not under Miranda we didn't," Tom shot back, a glint in his eye as he leaned forward, seeing those words impact the prisoner, seeing his full lips tighten, and his blue eyes darken.

"I have nothing to add," Jack finally said, "we had a falling out, a
family
disagreement. It was an explosion of irritation that got out of hand."

"He came off quite bad." Tom opened a file listing the damage to the older man. "Facial bruising, finger marks on his neck, a couple of cracked bones, a broken nose." He didn't list everything, just left it hanging. "That must have been some argument when all you came away with was bruised knuckles." Jack dropped his hands to his lap. "A lot of passion. Just what exactly was the argument about?"

"He didn't like me marrying his brother," Jack offered.

"And for that you beat him, and… wait," he glanced at the notes again, "you tried to strangle him."

"What do you want me to say? We sorted it, and I didn't shoot him."

Tom collected together the papers, pulling out photos of the unconscious Jeff, of the crime scene, the blood from under him, and turned them to face Jack, who looked everywhere except directly at them.

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Or do you want to wait for your lawyer?"

"I want my lawyer," Jack spat out. Tom sat back. He stood, about to ask Jack for details, when his partner entered the room, indicating Tom should step outside.

It was a few words, but it was enough for Jack Campbell-Hayes to be in the clear. He walked back in, and gestured to the open door. "You
will
need to appear here at a later stage for the assault charge, but for the moment, you are free to go." Jack scrambled to stand, disbelief on his face. He followed Tom, passing other rooms. Tom caught Jack's expression, the younger man's eyes widening to see Gerald Hayes sitting at a table in an adjoining room. The man glanced up at him, nodded almost imperceptibly, and then lowered his gaze. In an obvious state of confusion, Jack just followed Tom to the booking area where Jack's brother and his husband waited. Jack almost fell into Riley Campbell Hayes's strong hold, gripping him tight.

"What is going on here, Detective?" Riley demanded.

"Someone has just turned themselves in for the shooting and murder of Jeff Hayes," Tom said softly. "Mr Campbell-Hayes is free to go for the time being."

"Murder?" Riley sounded shell-shocked, holding tight to Jack's jacket.

Tom turned to Riley. He had to be told, but it was never news he liked to tell. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir, but your brother died just over an hour ago."

"Who turned themselves in?" Jack asked softly.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," was all Tom replied, nodding to Josh and retracing his footsteps to the secure area, leaving the three men in various states of disbelief, the lawyer questioning, Jack confused, and Riley clearly in the beginning of shock.

* * * *

"Gerald is here." Jack said, pulling back from Riley. "Gerald is in one of the rooms." Riley looked blank, scared, confused, and couldn't even form words. His brother was dead, his dad was here. Gerald here?

"Riley? Riley?" Jack's voice seemed a long way away, distant, tired, concerned, and it was all Riley could do to clutch at him. He needed Jim. He might know what is happening. "Riley, Jim is here. Riley?"

Riley turned to his friend, his father, the one person who could sort this out, could help him, level him, maybe keep him sane. It wasn't grief he was feeling. It couldn't be; he hated his brother for what he'd done to Beth, to Jack, to his mom—

"Gerald Hayes is here because he's admitted he shot Jeff. He has the gun. Riley can you hear me? Riley?"

"I've got you," Jack's voice penetrated through the haze, and his hands held him upright. "We need to get him out of here, get some air."

"I'm staying for Gerald," Jim replied carefully. "Take care of Riley."

"Riley, come on, man. Let's get you out of here and get our heads clear." Riley felt arms holding him, Jack, Josh, but his head was full of noise, panic, confusion, questions, and he allowed himself to be led out to the warming morning air, the thick of it hard against his air-con-cold skin. The morning had changed. The noise of the city was around him as he was led to the back of the station, where there was shelter and peace.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, blinking and leaning against Jack, "Josh, I need to see Gerald. I need to know what's going on."

* * * *

He said it was against his better judgment, but Stafford gave Riley five minutes with his father.

Riley couldn't speak, didn't even know where to start, glancing up at the detective who was leaning against the doorframe just watching them.

"What you're doing for Hayes Oil was a good plan, Riley. I'm proud of you," Gerald started. "Jim will be good for Hayes Oil, better than Jeff would have been."

"Is that why you killed Jeff? Tell me, because I don't understand this." Riley was suddenly insistent. He only had five minutes with this man he'd once called Dad, and he needed to know—

"Yes," Gerald said simply, and Riley slumped back in the chair, disappointment running through his veins like ice. "You can never understand, Riley. I don't expect you to."

"You killed your son!" Riley shouted, watching for emotion, for a sign that Gerald felt anything, but there was nothing, only silence. He sensed the detective coming closer, probably worried Riley was going to lose it.

"Riley, I want you to know that I'm happy for you and your husband. I need you to talk to your momma, tell her Lisa is safe now, tell her she can come home, that they can bring my grandchildren home," Gerald said finally as the detective cleared his throat and indicated time was up and Riley needed to leave. Riley just stared at Gerald, his head swimming with grief, confusion and hatred. He turned his back and left.

There was nothing to say.