You Don't Want To Know (54 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: You Don't Want To Know
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“Stop!” the police ordered as they maneuvered their boat to cut off Garrison's escape. He slid to a stop and turned, ignoring orders to “Halt!” while Dern dragged a limp Ava onto the shore, carrying her over the rocks near the dock, watching as blood poured from a wound on her arm.
“Hang in there, Ava,” he whispered, afraid she was already gone. At that thought, something deep inside of him twisted painfully. He had no idea how long she'd been in the water, but she wasn't breathing as he laid her on a strip of sand and checked her pulse. He felt nothing beneath his fingertips. He was too late! She was already gone, her body cold, her skin tinged blue.
“Come on, Ava,” he said, “Come on,” and he started CPR. He forced breaths into her lungs, did chest compressions, and he talked to her. “You can do this. Don't give up, damn it!” More air into her lungs. “Ava, please! Come back to me. Oh, God . . . don't die. Do you hear me? You. Can. Not. Die! I love you, damn it. Do you hear me? I love you.” His voice cracked, and though he willed her to live, he felt nothing beneath his hands. No response to the breath he forced into her lungs.
Not a damned thing.
 
“He's getting away!” Lyons said, swearing under her breath as Garrison reached the boathouse and saw that he was blocked from making his escape. “Son of a bitch! Oh, shit, he's got a gun!”
Snyder focused on the lawyer, saw him reach into his pocket and withdraw a pistol. “Son of a bitch!” This wasn't going well. Not well at all. Already Dern had dragged the floater to the shore and was attempting CPR, but it looked too late for the woman. Though Snyder couldn't see her face, he'd bet his badge that the drowned woman was Ava Garrison.
Lyons clicked on the bullhorn again. “Wyatt Garrison, drop your weapon. Slowly! Then—Oh, crap!”
Blam! Blam! Blam!
Garrison was firing wildly. One bullet struck the hull and another cracked the windshield of the department's boat. Then he spun and took aim at Dern and the lifeless body lying near him.
“No effin' way!” Snyder said, drawing a bead on him. He fired one warning shot as Lyons screamed into the megaphone, “Drop your weapon!”
“Oh, hell, he's going to do it!”
 
Ava gasped, her lungs gurgling, water spouting from her nose and mouth. Her lungs were on fire and she coughed, dragging in lungful after lungful of air. It was dark, the world swimming, and she saw Dern's face. Hovering over him was a bright light, and the noise was deafening, the air rushing wildly around them.
Where am I?
She felt the sand beneath her, knew she was outside.
What's happening?
“Ava!” Dern grinned down at her as the world spun. Quickly she turned over and retched, salt water pouring out of her nose and mouth, her stomach and lungs expelling all the water invading her body.
She was sick again as everything righted itself.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
Gunshots?
In an instant, it all came back to her, and as Dern fell against her, instinctively protecting her body with his, she looked over his wet shoulder and saw Wyatt, crouching on the dock, his pistol aimed straight at Dern's back.
“No!” she screamed, terror rising in her eyes.
Dern turned, one hand going automatically to the waistband of his sodden jeans.
“Watch out!” she screamed, though her voice was raw.
Blam!
Another blast of Wyatt's gun.
The sand near her head exploded as the bullet hit.
Springing to a crouch, his body between hers and the barrel of Wyatt's pistol, Dern fired. Other guns blasted and she cringed. A hail of bullets hit the dock. Splintered wood went flying. Ava watched in horror as a massive explosion of color sparked from Wyatt's face. Flesh and skin ripped, his eyes went wild, and he shrieked in agony. Sparks caught his hair on fire, bright flames shooting upward from his head. Screaming, his body jerking like a macabre marionette as other bullets hit him, he spun, still on fire, blood spurting from his body, and fell into the black waters.
She was sick all over again.
And then Dern held her close to his body, his heart pounding as the chaos of the police descended.
“You're going to be all right,” he whispered against her hair.
In the shelter of his arms, she believed him. “I love you,” she whispered, and then with the loss of blood and near drowning, she let go, closing her eyes and letting the safety of unconsciousness drag her under. She thought she heard his voice crack as he said, “I love you, too,” but then there was nothing. . . .
CHAPTER 47
A
va was going to be all right.
Dern had been told by the doctors attending her that she was fine, just recovering, that the coma she'd slipped into was the result of her wound and all the mental trauma she'd witnessed. He'd thought it all a crock, but he'd spent the next eight hours at her bedside, then gone home to shower, change, and take care of the animals. Despite all the chaos, the horses and his dog needed attention.
Once he'd finished his chores, he'd checked with the hospital, compliments of the prepaid cell he'd used when he called Reba, found out that Ava was still sleeping soundly, and decided to do a little investigating on his own.
The house was cleared out of all the residents, of course, all of Ava's employees and family having split. It was eerie to walk through the foyer and know that Wyatt and Khloe, both having died, would never set foot in the house again. Nor would Dr. McPherson or Jewel-Anne. Even Demetria had vacated the premises.
A ghost house
, he thought, his boots ringing against the tiled foyer. Today, at least at this time, even the damned grandfather clock was silent.
He wasn't certain what he was looking for; he probably wouldn't find anything, but he walked through all of the rooms one by one and eventually made his way to the attic—the place where Jewel-Anne had started her gaslighting. It was eerie up here, with all the furniture draped and broken, the lights dim. In what had been the servants' quarters in a grander era, he made his way from the tiny kitchen to the living area and bedrooms, finding nothing of interest.
He'd walked back to the stairs and was about to leave when a glint caught his eye. Bending down, he spied an old Elvis CD in its case tucked behind the shade on a windowsill. Possibly of no consequence. But out of place. He picked it up. The plastic casing was cracked and opened easily, and the CD was obviously scratched. No wonder it had been left. About to set it back on the sill, he noticed the tiny booklet inside, a pamphlet with pictures of Elvis as a young man and the lyrics of the songs on the album. Kept all this time. He rifled through the thin pages and a small square of paper fell out, fluttering to the dusty floor.
It was probably nothing, maybe even the original receipt for the purchase, but when he bent down and picked it up, flipping it over, he saw that it wasn't a receipt but a picture of a boy of about four, a timid shot where he was looking up at the camera, only the hint of a smile visible. On the back, in writing Dern had seen before, was a simple note:
Noah. Age four.
He nearly dropped through the floorboards. Son of a bitch! The kid was alive! Ava's son was freakin' alive! That manipulative Jewel-Anne had known all the time and tortured Ava with the knowledge, tormenting her.
But where was he?
This was obviously Jewel-Anne's picture, so who would know where . . . and then he realized the note wasn't written in Ava's cousin's hand. No, he'd seen the writing before—on notes left for the partially paralyzed woman.
From her nurse.
Damn it all to hell, Demetria knew where the boy was.
He was already flying down the stairs, ready to contact Snyder and find the damned nurse. One way or another, come hell or high water, Dern was going to locate Ava's son.
 
“Mrs. Garrison?” A woman's soft voice. “Can you hear me? Ava?”
The sounds were far away. Distant. A hand touched her shoulder. Ava cracked an eye and the harsh light made her close it again quickly.
“She's coming around.” Another voice, male.
“Mrs. Garrison, how're you feeling?” The woman again.
Like hell.
“Can you hear me? I'm your nurse, Karen. Ava, can you wake up for me? You're in the hospital.”
“Whaaat?” she croaked.
“Ava? Thank God!”
She opened an eye and found Austin Dern near the bed where she was lying. Her throat felt like sandpaper, her eyes even worse. “What happened? Where . . . ?” But pieces of the horrid night were coming back to her.
“Shhh.” He kissed her forehead and then tried to straighten, but she grabbed his forearm tightly, pulling at the IV in her arm.
“Tell me.” When he looked at the nurse, a tall, lanky woman with frizzy red hair, Ava clenched her fingers. “Now.”
“Go ahead,” the nurse said. “But the police are going to want to talk to her.”
“In a minute.” Dern, looking like he'd been to hell and back, took her hand. “I have something to show you . . .” He reached into his pocket and took out a picture of a boy, about four, looking timidly at the camera.
“What?” she whispered, but knew in an instant that the boy was Noah. She blinked, biting her lip, fighting tears.
“I found him. He's fine. Healthy.”
“You found him?”
Ava's eyes filled with tears. She was certain she'd misheard, that this was another hallucination brought on by drugs. . . . “Don't lie to me, Dern . . . I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
She could hardly let her heart trust this. After all these years! Her fingers clutched his. “Where? How?”
“Demetria was in on it. Wyatt, too. They kept him in Canada. Vancouver.”
“What?”
She blinked rapidly and threw back the bedsheets. “I need to get out of here. Noah . . . I don't . . .”
“He's coming home to you,” Dern assured her. “Snyder's on it.”
“Oh my God!” Was it possible? This was real, not the figment of her oh-so-willing imagination, not a dream.
“You're getting him back.”
“Oh . . . oh God, finally .Her heart ached with the thought of seeing him again, holding him. Tears rolled down her cheeks, though her heart lifted. She could hardly let herself believe the news, but the picture . . . the picture was of Noah! “Is he all right?” she asked, trying to not panic. “Is he?”
“He's fine,” Dern assured her.
The nurse said, “I think that's enough.”
“No! I have to go to him!” she said, and tried to get up.
“No . . . wait,” the nurse said. “I'll get a doctor to release you ASAP. I promise.” She smiled and blinked, as if fighting tears. “Believe me, I understand. I'm a mother, too.”
 
The next few days went by as slowly as sludge, and when Ava was released to her home, she found herself forever looking out to sea or taking a phone call only to find it was a reporter to whom she said, “No comment.” Fortunately, Dern, the one person who had stayed on, was with her.
He and she were getting closer, though she was still tender, hadn't even yet buried Wyatt. Everything her scumbag of a husband and his lover had planned had been executed perfectly, until the ending, when it had all fallen apart for them and they were both killed. The police believed that Khloe had actually been the murderess, and Wyatt's role in that part of the scheme was murky. However, he had definitely been in on trying to make Ava go out of her mind, his intent to make her kill herself, though Jewel-Anne had probably just started the gaslighting out of envy and guilt for having given up her son.
Ava felt weird about all of that. Satisfied that Khloe and Wyatt were dead and had gotten what they deserved, yet sad as well . . . it was still all so messed up. And she couldn't help but wonder if others on the island had suspected what was going on. Trent and Ian? Jacob? Though they all claimed their shock and innocence.
Virginia and Simon had been conveniently off the island the night that Khloe had staged her lover's death and tried to kill Ava. Now they were swearing their innocence and had moved out. Ava's cousins, too, showing their true colors, were in the process of finding other living arrangements. Trent had flown home, and Ian had quit whining long enough to clean out his room. Even Jacob was in transition, insisting he wanted to leave this “sick house of horrors” ASAP. He had been home the night that Ava was nearly killed, probably stoned out of his mind, the volume on his television cranked into the eardrum-breaking decibel range. He swore he heard nothing outside the walls of his room that night and had somehow, despite the earsplitting roar from his TV, slept through all of the hubbub.
Sure.
However, Ava didn't care about any of them. The staff could be replaced and her family wasn't close to her. Those who wanted to eventually connect again, maybe Zinnia or Aunt Piper, would try. Or maybe not. For now, everyone seemed to be giving her the space and time she needed.
That left her with Dern, a man she was getting to know day by day, the layers of his past unraveling.
So far, so good. At least she had hope for them—once the dust had settled on the shambles of her life.
Of course, the most important thing was Noah.
Finally on the third day, just when Ava thought she would truly go out of her mind, the call came through. With Detective Snyder's help, her son was coming home! He was four now and had been ripped away from the family who had stolen him, so it was going to be tricky. But she would be patient.
As clouds rolled in from the Pacific and the tide lapped at the shore, she waited for him at the end of the dock, ignoring the splintered bullet holes and bloodstains that couldn't quite be washed away.
Dern was at her side. In the two days she'd been out of it in the hospital, he'd been the one who had figured out what had happened. “It had to be Demetria,” he'd told her when she'd been released from the hospital. “No one else could keep a secret and she was Jewel-Anne's biggest supporter; her confidante. Jewel-Anne convinced Demetria to steal her boy that night at the party. Wyatt knew all about it. They worked it out, to take him after you put him down. They had a boat ready. They stole into his room and had a friend who desperately wanted a baby boat him across the bay. They drove to a private airstrip and flew him by private plane to Canada. Vancouver. Where with fake papers, Noah got lost in the crowd. But it's all being straightened out now.” Dern hugged her and added, “Demetria felt horrible about losing Jewel-Anne. And she's undone about the murders. When I confronted her and showed her the picture I'd found, she broke down completely, told me everything, and now is dealing with the police and the FBI and the Canadian authorities. It's a legal and criminal mess, but one thing is certain: you're getting your boy back.”
“Thank God.”
“It'll be tough at first. He still thinks his ‘mom' is in Vancouver. She'll be prosecuted of course.”
“He'll miss her.”
“The dad took off a year ago, so . . .”
“So those shoes won't be as hard to fill.” She glanced up at him and he grinned, that sexy grin she found so damned endearing. “Are you volunteering?”
“You know where I stand.” That she did. He'd professed to love her and, so far, intended on staying with her here, though he did own some property in Texas.
With Dern, anything could happen, but she had a good feeling about their relationship. A very good feeling.
Now, though, it was all about Noah; then again, it always had been.
The boat was drawing closer, knifing through the gray water, casting a thick wake. Every muscle in Ava's body was tense. The wind was up, blowing her hair in front of her face, and the smell of the sea was heavy today. From aloft, seagulls let out their plaintive calls, teasing the dog, who, feeling the tension in the air, hadn't left Dern's side, even as a sea lion cruised by the shore.
Ava barely noticed. All of her concentration was on the cutter from the sheriff's office and its precious cargo.
Heart trip-hammering, nerves strung as tight as bowstrings, she waited on the dock as the cutter docked, tying up.
Detective Snyder, in uniform, helped a lanky young boy onto the deck.
Her heart cracked. Noah! Though taller, no longer any baby fat visible, his hair a thick, curly brown, his eyes round, she recognized him as he walked along the dock, holding Snyder's hand.
Her throat was hot. Tight. Her eyes burning with tears. Did he remember her? That was probably too much to ask.
Dern squeezed her shoulder and she took a step forward.
“Noah?” she said, and the boy scowled, distrusting.
“My name is Peter.”
“Of course it is. And I'm . . . Ava,” she said, telling herself to take it slowly. God, oh, God, she wished that he would remember her, and there was a flicker of something in his gaze as he looked at the house, the grounds, and into Ava's face. But if she'd expected him to suddenly recall her and come running into her arms, she'd been wrong. Instead he looked from her to Dern and back again, then at Rover. “Is that your dog?” he asked.
“Yes.” She nodded, fighting tears.

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