“He's not up there,” the older cop said.
“All we found were these,” his partner said, holding up the cuffs.
Dorothy looked at Emma, who came to her side and grabbed her hand.
“He's not going to come after you, baby. It's not expedient. Because if he does, he'll go to jail.”
“We need to get your statement,” the older cop said.
“She's going to give you a bare outline,” Remy said, “and then she's going to the emergency room.”
Dorothy shook her head. “I want to go home. I'm all right.”
The cop looked at her kindly. “I'm afraid you'll need to have a forensic examination, miss, but we'll try to get through this as easily as we can. Let's start with what we don't know. We know you got a note during the rally yesterday...”
Dorothy took it from there, outlining the basics of what Darius did. Remy had a hold of one hand, her mother the other. They communicated their horror by painful squeezes of hands. She didn't mind. It helped keep her grounded in the present, not sucked back into the horror.
“He told me he killed Suzanne Henry,” Dorothy said.
The two cops exchanged looks. “Did he say why?”
“He said she made him want her. He couldn't allow that.”
“Did he mention her husband?”
Dorothy felt Emma's grip get tense. “He said men weren't as interesting to kill, but no he didn't say he killed Bubba Joe Henry. I can see him doing it, though. He'd think it was the expedient thing to do. He liked to break things to me in pieces, not all at once. And I didn't ask. He wasn't exactly at the forefront of my mind at the time.”
Maybe that wasn't the whole truth, but she was not going to point the cops toward her mother when she didn't
know
Emma had killed Bubba Joe. And after what had just happened to her, if Emma had killed him, well, it was justice too long delayed.
When she finished with the bare outlines of her experience, both men went upstairs to examine the box she'd been held captive in. The crime scene people also arrived and were directed upstairs. An ambulance arrived. When the blanket was peeled back to expose her raw, scraped skin, Remy's hands curled into lethal looking fists.
“I'm riding in the ambulance with her,” he told Emma, his tone not allowing for argument as he handed her his keys.
Truth be told, she was glad. She felt safer with Remy, knowing the Darius was still out there somewhere. When she was more rested, she'd have to deal with how to manage her life again, but for now, she just wanted to hide. She'd been awake for forever. With Remy watching over her, she could finally sleep...she closed her eyes and found Darius waiting inside her head. She tried to pull out, but was pulled back into the nightmare...
Remy gazed across the stretcher Dorothy lay on, to Emma. He needed to absorb her new identity, but there wasn't time right now.
“Take care of her, Remy,” Emma said.
He nodded, waited for them to load her in the back of the ambulance, before climbing in and taking a seat out of the way of the technician. The other climbed into the driver's seat. Dorothy's eyes fluttered open.
“My second ambulance ride,” she murmured, remnants of horror darkening her eyes.
“It's my first.” Remy said, taking her hand. She seemed smaller and more fragile than yesterday. There were scrapes on her face from her captivity and her wrists were raw and scored from the handcuffs. She was going to bear the physical scars of what happened for a while, but what worried him more were the emotional scars. Just the bare recital of facts was horrifying beyond comprehension, but the devil was in the details that would emerge later. To give fuel to his worry, she shifted restlessly, as if her sleep weren't peaceful. He could just imagine what face was troubling it.
He took her hand. “Dorothy.” His voice pulled her out of her restless sleep, thank goodness.
When they decided to kick the anthill of the past, he sure as hell hadn't counted on this. Guilt engulfed him a bitter tide. He should never have let her do this. He'd convinced himself they could manage events. His arrogance, his lust for political power had resulted in this.
He was tortured with thoughts of how she'd looked the first time he saw her, and unable to look away from how she looked now. Battered and exhausted, and rescued by her mother, not by the man who claimed to love her. The man who'd conspired to send her bodyguard away.
He had no right to even think it. He'd let her down in every way he could. He didn't deserve her and he sure didn't deserve to be governor of anything. Both state and this woman deserved better.
Even as the bitter thoughts assailed him, he held onto her hand. He couldn't let go. It felt right clutching his. Amazingly, a small smile curved her chapped lips. He lifted her hand to his lips and whispered against them, “I'm so sorry.”
Her lashes lifted. “No guilt trips allowed in this vehicle, Remy Mistral.”
Her voice was still raspy, the bruises on her slender throat mute testimony to why.
“If only...” He stopped, because there were too many of them to list.
“I'm tired of them. That's all I thought about last night.” She sighed. “I thought you were dead. I'm glad you're not. Talk about a guilt trip.” She smiled at him and it turned into a yawn. “I didn't know you could be this tired.”
“Try to rest.” Remy couldn't stop himself from kissing her hand.
Her head turned away from him. “Yeah, sure.”
“Dorothy?” Remy waited until she looked at him. “Look at me. Put my face in your head. Or your mom's. Don't give him the power. Take it back.”
“I think I'm too tired.”
“Right now is when you need to do it the most. He wanted to steal your peace, your rest, your willpower. Right now, you have to dig deep and push him out. It's the first step in getting your life back.” He didn't know how he knew it, but in his gut, he knew it was true. “Remember Scarlet O'Hara? Deal with it tomorrow. In Oz.”
She smiled. “You're mixing your novels.”
He leaned over and smoothed her hair back from her face. It wasn't soft and silky, it was stiff with sweat and possibly blood and she'd never been more beautiful. He'd never loved her more than at the moment. He couldn't tell her. All he could do was to try to shore up her strength enough to get her past this first hurdle. It was pitifully little, but it was something.
“Please don't tell me its expedient,” she whispered.
“I'll try to never use that word in conversation with you.”
She stared up at him for a long time, before nodding. She sighed, but the sound was stronger. Her eyes drooped and closed. When her breathing evened out, he could tell her sleep was finally peaceful.
With his feet braced for the ambulance's movement, he rested his forehead on her hand, for the moment letting himself just be grateful she was back.
* * * *
Emma watched the ambulance leave, then turned and went back inside the house. Her heart, her soul wanted to follow her daughter, but Remy's words about truth were echoing in her head. She wished so much that she could talk to Henry. Everything had seemed so clear when she went to Bubba Joe's house that night. He was a threat to Dorothy now. He'd raped her and gotten away with it.
She sank onto the stairs as crime scene activity went on around her. Darius was right. It was very easy to kill. Too easy. If Dorothy hadn't knocked Darius out, he'd be dead right now. The world would be better for it. She was the only one who knew what Dorothy had gone through here. Even the telling wouldn't communicate the full horror she'd experienced.
So why was she so relieved she hadn't killed him? He was still out there, might still be a threat to them both. He might be able to convince himself he acted out of expediency, but she knew how easy it was to convince yourself that what you wanted was expedient.
She'd felt satisfaction when she looked down at Bubba Joe's body. Today, she felt shame. She didn't want to leave Dorothy just when they'd found each other, but she was no mastermind criminal. There was a chance the police would find evidence linking her to the crime. She wouldn't put it past Darius to tip them off anonymously. He wouldn't like the expediency with which he'd been taken out of the game.
If she'd killed Bubba Joe twenty-nine years ago, they'd call it self-defense, but now it would be first degree murder. She wouldn't be able to escape jail time.
And still she wanted to tell the truth.
Truth.
It had been missing in her life for so long. She wanted to be cleansed of her past, finally and completely cleansed. She was weary of carrying the burden of all her secrets, of all her mistakes, of all her sins of omission and commission.
And she wanted to see Henry one more time, but if she did, she wouldn't have the courage to do it. Truth was hard, at least in the beginning. Lies were harder in the long haul.
Dorothy had forgiven her so freely. It was astounding. Out of the violence of the day, there'd been no room for it, she supposed. If only she could forgive herself now. She almost wished Darius had succeeded in killing her. She had a feeling that she'd never been destined to live in peace, well, except during periods of amnesia.
She sighed and stood up, turning into Darius's library. It was probably the only empty room in the house at the moment. She sat at the desk, found paper and pen and wrote the truth as she knew it, one to each person that needed to know it. She addressed each separately, but put them in one envelope that she sealed and addressed it to Dorothy. She glanced at her cell phone. She wanted to hear Henry's voice so bad, it was a physical ache around her heart. But in that direction lay weakness. She needed to be strong for once in her life. She laid the cell phone on top of the letter and left both in the center of the desk. She was sure someone would find them eventually.
She stood up and went outside. “I'm going to the hospital now,” she told the uniformed cop standing guard outside. “Mr. Mistral gave me his keys, so I could bring his car, but I need to take my car. Could you have someone drive it over there for him?”
The cop nodded and accepted the keys and let her go.
She unlocked her rental car and climbed in, started the engine and pulled away from the house, turning in the opposite direction of the hospital. She'd told the truth. Now she would find peace.
A stop sign forced her to stop. As she started to release the brake, the cool barrel of a pistol pressed against her temple.
“Where are you going, Emma?” Titus whispered with his lips against her ear.
TWENTY
* * * *
Remy stayed with Dorothy all the way to her room. She'd drifted in and out of wakefulness, depending on what they needed from her. She was exhausted and dehydrated, but would recover, was the general consensus. Following the forensic exam, she was allowed to clean up, then collapse in the hospital bed with a sedative to ensure she got some rest.
As he sat in the chair by her bed, he found his own lack of sleep trying to catch up with him. Because Darius was still at large, there were cops all over this floor of the hospital, but Remy still fought sleep. It was illogical, but he felt like he should stay alert. To ensure it, he chose the chair, instead of the recliner in the corner, but when his head fell forward for the third time, he realized he needed some help.
He opened the door. The cop outside turned. He was young and eager, Remy noted.
“Could you sit with Miss Merlinn while I track down some coffee? I'll bring some for you, too?”
With the aid of his radio, he consulted with the other members of the detail, and then nodded.
“No one gets in this room, but me or hospital staff,” Remy said. “Is that clear? She's not to be disturbed for any reason.”
The cop nodded, but changed places with him. Remy was part way down the hall when the elevator ahead of him opened, disgorging staff and Higgins, the detective, who'd been at the house.
“I need to speak with her,” he said.
Remy shook his head. “It's not possible. She's been sedated. Can't it wait until tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “I found this back at Smith's house.”
He held out an envelope with Dorothy's name written on the front.
“And this.” In his other hand was a cell phone. “Isn't this her mother's cell phone?”
Remy looked at it, and then shrugged. “It could be, I suppose.” He was too tired to figure this out. “Let's find some coffee. I can't think clearly anymore.”
Downstairs in the cafeteria, with coffee and food in front of them, Remy took the envelope, turning it over in his hand. “Do you think this is urgent, detective?”
Higgins hesitated, before nodding. “I'll be frank with you, Mistral. It's my belief that Mrs. Needham killed Bubba Joe Henry, though it's only a gut belief. I have no proof yet. Do you know where she is?”
Remy shook his head. Now that he thought about it, it was odd she hadn't turned up at the hospital yet. He'd been so focused on Dorothy, he hadn't noticed. He looked at the letter.
“I'll tell you what, I'll open it and if there's anything of interest to you, we'll wake up Dorothy and get her permission to give it to you. Fair?”
Higgins hesitated. “Fair enough.”
Remy ran his finger along the flap and pulled out the contents. There were three folded sheets inside, each taped shut. One was addressed to Dorothy, one to Titus and the other to...
Remy looked up. “This one is addressed to you, Higgins.” He handed it to him. Dorothy's letter he returned to the envelope. The note to Titus was puzzling. Why would Emma be writing to Titus?
Higgins looked up. “This is a confession to the murder of Bubba Joe Henry.” He stood up. “I'm going to have to get on this.” He hesitated again. “Did she seem like the kind of person to commit suicide?”
Remy shook his head. “I don't know. She told us she'd had some kind of breakdown ten years ago and suffered some memory loss at the time. That's why she didn't come to see Dorothy before.”
“Did you believe her?”
“More now than I did at first,” Remy said. “Why do you think she confessed now? If you had no proof—”
“She says it was something you said about the truth that made her realize it had to be done. Do you know what she meant by that?”