Grace's Redemption, page 16
“I understand, Louise,” I said. “I’m not judging you.”
“No?”
“Of course not. Police work is not your job. It is mine, however. So, until we get a handle on this, let’s keep our work quiet and on a need-to-know basis, alright?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
“And Deputy Chief Clark? Is he . . .?”
She offered a soft smile. “As far as I know, he’s managed to avoid Cyrus’ claws. It probably helps that he lives outside of town and spends as much time at church as he does here in the office.”
“Okay. Well, I’m going to make a few preliminary calls. Would you mind calling him and asking him to come meet me as soon as possible? Then can you get me a copy of Chief Darden’s autopsy report and any other pertinent files there might be regarding his death and last few weeks in office?”
She stood with a nod. “Of course.”
“Thank you, Louise.”
“And Chief?”
I looked up. “Yeah?”
“Be careful,” she said, her eyes going serious. “I really don’t want to have to break in a number five, okay?”
I gave her a warm smile and nodded. Once she was out the door, I picked up my phone, only to be interrupted by an unfamiliar number on my cell.
“Chief Beckett.”
“Hello,” came the smooth female voice on the other end. “This is Hope McMasters. Grace’s sister,” she added unnecessarily.
I sat back, surprised at the kick Grace’s name still had on me. “Sure. How can I help you, Miss McMasters?” I didn’t bother asking how she’d gotten my number.
“Hope is fine. We’re family, after all.”
The sarcasm nearly dripped through the phone. Wow.
“Can I help you with something?” I said, biting back the choice words I really wanted to say—because of her I hadn’t slept in a week. Because of her, Grace would end our marriage. Because of her—
“Well, I’m sorry to call like this, but I honestly didn’t know who else to try.” Her tone changed, and I caught on that I was a last resort. “She hasn’t answered any of my calls or text messages. Faith’s either. It’s not like her. I’m worried.”
I glanced at the clock. “She’s probably busy in class.” Still, something in my stomach twisted. As much as I didn’t want to, I still cared. And Hope was right. It wasn’t like her to ignore people. Well, people besides me.
“The school says she’s called in sick for the third day in a row.”
“Okay?”
“She doesn’t do that.”
There was a long pause on the line, and I stood up to pace and stare out my window down to the street. I shouldn’t be worried. She was probably with their dad or—
“Do you really care about my sister?”
Hope’s emotional tone stopped my thoughts cold. I could tell there was so much buried deep within that one question. So much context, so much history, so much more than I’d probably ever know.
I wanted to lie. To protect my heart against the coming pain. But I knew she needed the truth, and for some reason I needed to give it to her.
“Yes,” I gritted out. “Believe it or not, I do.”
A long breath rushed over the line, and I’d swear I heard her counting to herself. “Okay,” she finally said. “I think there’s something you need to know. To understand.”
I frowned, my grip tightening on the phone. “What?”
“Our parents had—issues, to say the least.” She paused. “Have you met the good Reverend, yet?”
“No.”
“Well, let’s just say that they got married because Grace was on the way,” she said, all in a rush. “And it all went downhill after that. And that’s being generous.”
I turned slowly, the pieces moving in slow motion as they clicked together.
“She’s the most meticulous, infuriatingly plan-obsessed person I’ve ever known, and then Vegas happened. You happened.” Her sigh was audible. “Dad has called her a mistake our whole lives, and you just have to—”
“Jesus.” I raked a hand over my head as my heart began to pound in a vicious beat against my ribs. So many things were making sense now. Sad, cruel sense.
“Yeah, Jesus didn’t live at our house,” she quipped. “We had Reverend Noel McMasters. So . . . I’m just saying, give her a little leeway.” She cleared her throat. “And blame me for the rest.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I already do that.”
“See? We’re on the same page already.” She sighed. “So anyway, if you see her, will you please ask her to call me?”
“Sure.”
We hung up and I debated calling to check on her myself, but ultimately, I didn’t. I needed to process what I’d just learned. I knew there was major stress with the dad, but shit. That was eighteen levels of messed up. And she was afraid history would repeat itself.
I decided to give it some time. Wrap my head around it. Figure out what to say. One thing I knew for sure—I missed her like crazy. Damn it, how could I miss someone that I didn’t even know a month ago?
And evidently still didn’t.
Craig showed up a bit later and I got him up to speed on what I knew so far about all of my predecessors and my suspicions about Cyrus.
He sat back with a thoughtful frown. “Damn, sir.”
“Damn is right.”
“How can I help?”
“I need to pull the autopsy reports on Darden and LaVeaux. Can you dig a little deeper into Bollinger’s ties to Pittman?”
“Absolutely.”
I stared at my notes. Two dead police chiefs and one in prison. Gabe was back from his honeymoon; I’d seen him briefly at the funeral. I needed to invite him over for a beer and smash him over the head with one. Quiet, cozy little town, my ass.
“We also need to do a little more research on this ‘friend’ that Cyrus sold the packing plant to. Get a name. Details. Dirt.”
“I’m on it.”
“Okay—” My cell rang, this time with the ringtone I’d specifically set up for Olivia’s burner phone. I held up a finger to apologize to Craig, then picked up the phone, concerned why she was calling me from school instead of one of the staff if there was a problem. “Olivia?”
“Daddy?” she whispered.
My skin went clammy at the timbre of fear in her voice, and I leapt to my feet. “What is it, baby? What’s wrong?”
“Can you come here?”
I was already at the door, my free hand checking for my sidearm, then my keys. “Where are you? Tell me what’s happening.”
“The man said . . .” Her little voice quivered as she hiccupped with tears. “The man had a big gun, Daddy.”
My heart was in my throat now as I raced past Louise’s desk. I spun back and muffled the phone. “All available units to the elementary school now. Olivia saw a man with a gun.”
Louise nodded and I sprinted out to my truck, knowing full well I’d be there before anyone else. “Where are you now, Doodlebug? Where is the man?”
“He was at the big fence by the tree.” She was openly crying now. “He said he would kill Miss M., and then he would kill you.” She sniffled loudly. “I runned inside to get my phone like you told me to. I don’t want you to go to the sky like Mommy did. Please don’t let the bad man kill you, Daddy.”
I sped in the direction of the school, reining in my emotions so I could focus on getting to my little girl. “Nobody is going to kill me, Doodlebug, I promise. Where are you now? In your classroom?”
“No, I’m hiding in the bathroom.”
The image of my baby girl crying in a stall brought bile to my throat.
“Good girl, I’m proud of you, baby. Just stay on the phone with me until I get to you, okay?”
“’Kay.”
I raced through the only red light with white knuckles as I kept Olivia talking, concentrating on anything but the man with the gun.
“Did you tell Miss M. what you heard?” I asked.
“Nuh-uh. We have a substitute.”
“Ah . . .” I pulled into the parking lot just as I heard sirens behind me. “I’m here now, baby girl. I’m coming inside to get you in just a minute.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Movement was just beginning, with teachers scurrying their kids to shelter in place. I scoured the fence line and beyond, checking the street, trees, cars—anything that might look wrong.
Nothing.
Principal Briggs sprinted out of the building, meeting me at the steps just as two squad cars screeched up behind me.
“I just heard, and Olivia isn’t with her class,” she said, pure panic in her tone.
“She ran inside when it happened,” I said, holding up my phone. “She’s hiding in the bathroom and called me.”
Principal Briggs let out a breath like a deflated balloon and clutched her stomach. “Oh, my God. I’ll go get her.”
“No, thanks. I’m going myself.”
I left her without another option, pointed to the east and west in silent instruction to the arriving officers, and ran into the building—thanking the Lord that my job gave me the authority to do that.
I skidded past the girl’s restroom, nearly falling trying to stop. I raced in, my heart pounding in my ears. “Olivia?”
Nothing.
“Doodlebug? It’s Daddy.”
“Daddy!” Little feet appeared from the last stall and she came barreling out and into my legs.
I lifted her into my arms and sunk my face into her hair, inhaling my sweet little girl’s scent, letting myself feel relief that she was safe. I drew back and looked her over. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“That man scare you?”
She scrunched up her face. “He was mean.”
“I know.” I walked us toward the front of the school. “I’ll find him and put him in jail.”
“So he can’t kill you or Miss M.?”
“Yes, so he can’t kill me or Miss . . .” My words drifted off as a new, chilling realization fell on me like an icy boulder.
This sick fuck had not only threatened me and my daughter—he’d threatened Grace. Did that mean he knew she was my wife? Had filing legal papers exposed us and unintentionally put a target on her back?
And she wasn’t here, which meant he could’ve already gotten to her.
Bile rose quick and fierce up my throat, but I swallowed it back. I tucked Olivia’s head into my neck and ran as fast as I could out of the building and to my truck.
We buckled in and I dialed Grace’s number.
Straight to voicemail.
I texted. Call me please. 9-1-1. Then I pulled up the address I had for her on my GPS. It was on the outskirts of town, by itself in what appeared to be swampland. Great. Perfect place to take someone out and no one would hear a thing.
Glancing in my rearview mirror at my little girl, buckled into her car seat and looking a little lost, I was so torn. The cop inside me knew I couldn’t bring her with me to check on Grace. She didn’t need to be anywhere near that if it went south. The dad in me, though, didn’t want to let her back out of my sight.
I sped off toward the station, banking on an instinct I hoped wasn’t a mistake.
Louise greeted us in a whirlwind of perfume and grandmotherly gushing. “Oh, sweetie, are you okay?” She scooped Olivia from me and swept the hair from her face.
“Yes, but that mean man was scary.”
“I’ll just bet he was.” Louise’s frightened eyes slid my way.
I shot her a meaningful look. “I need to go take care of something very important.” I ran my hand down Olivia’s back. “I’m gonna go check on Miss M., okay?” I faced Louise. “Would you mind watching her for a bit while I do that?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” I was already rushing toward the door. “One of the female officers from the school may be heading over to talk to Olivia to ask some questions.” I looked Olivia in the eye. “You tell her every single thing you remember about the bad man with the gun, okay, Doodlebug?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“I’m so proud of you, baby.”
When I got back into the truck, a cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. It was all too familiar, this fear. This sick dread.
I floored the gas pedal, praying I wouldn’t find my wife dead . . . because I knew I wouldn’t survive that loss twice.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grace
I felt guilty calling in today, after already being out the last two. It was legit at first—a migraine taking over my whole body, turning me into a sweaty puke farm, curled up in the dark. I’d even taken another pregnancy test (yes, I bought a few more—for the future) just to rule out that it really wasn’t a little baby nugget in there stirring things up.
It wasn’t.
Why did that get to me so badly?
Why did the absolutely foreign concept of being a mother suddenly consume me, when I’d spent my life thinking that bringing a child into the kind of world I grew up in was not for me? Teaching other people’s children filled enough of that void.
Regardless, it was a moot point now. The migraine was just that, brought on by stress and anxiety, and today was—just a day. I woke up, thrilled to be pain-free, took a shower and dried my hair, and then walked into my closet to get dressed. And said fuck it. I grabbed a clean tank top and pajama shorts, called into the staff personnel line at school, turned my phone on do not disturb, and curled up on my couch with a blanket and my earbuds.
I hesitated on the phone thing, waffling on whether I should turn it back on for Faith, just in case. But no. I deserved a day to myself, not reserved for hurling or wrapped in the fetal position. A day just for me, with at least a few hours of disconnected peace. I wasn’t depressed or anything, I just didn’t feel like peopling. Especially with particular people.
Not that I was guaranteed to run into Mateo. I hadn’t all week. I managed to avoid the before and after school car duties so I wouldn’t have to, and I’d been blessed to not have much to do in town. I went to work, did my job, went to the hospital for a few minutes to make my obligatory appearance, came home, and tried like hell to forget the man who singlehandedly made my heart both swell and wither in the same thought. Tried to forget the sweetness of the guy who talked me through an anxiety attack on my bathroom floor. The eyes that set me on fire. That burned as he took my body, and made me feel things I’d never experienced before. That made me feel seen. Adored. Loved.
No.
Not that.
He couldn’t love me and say the things to me he’d said. Push me aside just because I’d asked my sister to look into things after knowing him for all of five minutes. If he could walk away from me that easily, then it was better this way. Better now than later.
Besides . . . we didn’t know each other. He knew nothing of my past, and I had no idea if he had anything lurking around in his closet.
Yes. This was better.
I could sign the papers that still sat exactly where I’d left them after printing them out . . . a week ago. On the kitchen bar next to a package of graham crackers. I could sign them and slide them under his door with my email address in a note. Yeah, that was a good idea; let him deal with scanning and sending, and I’d just forward the whole mess back to Hope.
It was a plan. It was the only plan.
I wasn’t interested in staying married to a man who was only my husband in drunken name only. Who couldn’t remember putting a ring on my finger any more than I did, and clearly despised me now.
No matter how amazing the chemistry was. Or how good the sex was.
“Damn it, we should have never done that,” I breathed, covering my eyes.
All this was so much easier when I couldn’t remember it.
And before I got a new student in my class that looked up at me with so much adoration when she called me “Miss M.” When she asked me to do the mundane things that real parents took for granted, like bath time and bedtime—things I never imagined doing. Damn it if I hadn’t gone and fallen in love with her, too.
Her, too.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I pulled the blanket over my head, letting the murder mystery audiobook I was listening to waft into my ears and carry me away to someone else’s problems.
There was an odd thumping. A noise so far away, accompanied by something calling out. Was it part of the story?
Then my door exploded, the vibration yanking me from my reverie.
Everything slowed down. Screaming, flailing, earbuds flying, all in slow motion as my limbs tried to disengage from the blanket, my fingers wrapped around the one thing I always kept nearby. An old wooden baseball bat I’d commandeered from the church’s lost and found box years ago.
I’d told my father I was taking it for protection, insinuating that I meant from him, but in all honesty, that was just my long-festering resentment talking. I lived alone, in a swamp. It was just smart. As my heart raced out of my chest now, thundering in my ears as I gasped for air, I was wishing that bat had a trigger.
At least until my feet were flat on the ground and my eyes could focus on the door bouncing against the wall, and the wild-eyed man standing in the doorway.
“What the hell, Mateo!”
“Grace!”
“My door!” I shrieked. “I—”
My words were buried into his chest as he crossed the space in seconds, crushing me against him. My bat thunked to the floor.
“Are you okay?” he gritted out, the vibration of his words surrounding me, blanketing me.
What the hell?
Rough hands raked into my loose hair, gripping my head like a lifeline. He pulled back, staring down into my eyes and then down my body like he was checking for ten fingers and toes. As if I might dissolve any minute.
“Of course, I’m—” I stared up at him, nerves prickling the back of my neck. “What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t answer!” he ground out, his voice hoarse.
