Authors: CJ Lyons
Caitlyn stepped back. Wished her mother had hit her; it would have hurt less. Because
now she saw the final truth, the truth that sliced so deep she could barely breathe.
“You. You killed him.”
Jimmy’s laughter pealed through the room once more. “Oh, this is priceless. Jess,
you do realize that you’ve just given your daughter the same dilemma her father faced?
Honor, duty, or family? Which will you betray, Ginger?”
Caitlyn swiveled her attention from Jessalyn back to Jimmy. Jimmy wasn’t just laughing,
he’d pulled a gun, a small 9mm semiautomatic. Aimed at her.
“There’s only one right answer here, Ging,” he said. “What’s it going to be? Your
family or your life?”
Before Caitlyn could react, before she could even remember how to move her mouth to
form words, much less raise her own weapon, Jessalyn pulled a gun from her pocket
and shot Jimmy twice in the chest. His eyes went wide, hands started to rise as if
to protect himself from the bullets, then he slumped in his chair, his pistol tumbling
to the floor.
Caitlyn whirled on her mother, her own weapon raised. “Drop it,” she shouted, amazed
her voice and body seemed to be reacting without her brain being engaged. It was a
surreal, out-of-body moment as she stared down the barrel of her gun at her mother.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” Jessalyn said, her voice certain. But she did set
her gun down on the floor, rising to face Caitlyn. “And you’re not going to arrest
me. That pistol belongs to Poppy. His fingerprints are all over it and the bullets
inside.” Caitlyn noticed Jessalyn still wore her leather driving gloves. “We were
never here. Do you understand me, Caitlyn? We were never here. Together we’re going
to leave and everything is going to be just fine. I promise.”
She walked past Caitlyn, heading to the door. Caitlyn stared after her, dumbfounded.
Ran to Jimmy, no pulse. No surprise—the pistol Jessalyn used was a chrome-plated Desert
Eagle .357 magnum.
“Caitlyn, let’s go.”
Caitlyn turned to her mother, still holding her Glock, but more out of comfort, not
aiming it anywhere. She just needed something solid to ground her in reality. She
reached into her pocket and grabbed her cell phone as well. “Why? I don’t—”
Jessalyn frowned as if Caitlyn were particularly slow on the uptake. “What do you
mean why? Family, Caitlyn. Blood always comes first. You’re my blood, my daughter.
I couldn’t let Jimmy and Poppy bring us down—and you know they would. They’d cut a
deal to save themselves, and we’d be the ones to suffer. So I came prepared to save
us. You and me, Caitlyn. Just like always.”
Caitlyn blinked at Jessalyn’s twisted attempt to pull Caitlyn into her warped scheme.
Suddenly her mother seemed very tall and Caitlyn felt very small. Like she was nine
years old again. Her voice emerged in a hushed whisper. “You, you killed Dad.”
“Of course. I told you, I had to save you. Jimmy didn’t have the guts to do what had
to be done. Men, they’re all so weak. I’m sorry you’re the one who found him—we had
no idea you were there that day. We must have left out the back while you came in
the front.”
“And now you killed Jimmy. Your own brother.” Caitlyn understood the words; she just
couldn’t force her mind to accept them as fact.
“Yes, dear. Now hurry up. Mama will drive, you seem to be in shock.”
Shock. That was an understatement. Caitlyn stared at her mother, stared at her uncle,
then stared at the spot on the floor where her father had died. Full circle. Didn’t
make anything right, didn’t ease the pain, but … somehow it felt like this was the
only way things could ever have ended.
She straightened. “I don’t think so. You’re not going anywhere except to prison. Let’s
go.”
“Everything I did, I did for you. How can you be so ungrateful? Why do you always
have to take your father’s side? I love you. I sacrificed everything for you. Don’t
you dare talk to me that way!” By the time she finished Jessalyn was screaming just
like any other felon Caitlyn had ever arrested. Gone was the facade of superiority.
All her life she’d been waiting for her mother to accept her, to be proud of her.
Never going to happen. But as she ushered Jessalyn outside and shut her in the backseat
of the car where she wouldn’t have to listen to her, Caitlyn realized she’d earned
something more precious. She’d gotten her father back.
The cost was incomprehensibly high—and she’d be paying the rest of her life, she was
certain. But the thought helped to calm the turmoil rushing through her brain so she
could stay focused on her job.
She found the cell phone sweet spot and put in a call to Markle. As she waited for
his men to arrive, Caitlyn stared up at her home.
Her own mother. A killer. And Caitlyn had just arrested her.
She knew the words should have disturbed her, but standing there, the chill wind cutting
across the mountain, she was too numb to care.
The sun rose across the valley, golden beams giving the house a glow. Home sweet home.
Then mist from the mountain crowded out the sunbeams, shrouding the house in snow
flurries. Making the house look cold and lonely, just as it had every day since her
father died.
Not a home, Caitlyn thought. Not anymore. Just another crime scene.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Back to the sheriff’s station. Back to answering questions. Back to dissecting her
actions, forcing herself to stay unemotional and professional while inside she felt
like her feelings were ready to boil over in a confused mess she couldn’t even begin
to label or analyze.
Finally a deputy drove her to her Subaru. She was tempted to just head home—didn’t
have the courage or strength to face Paul if he was still at the VistaView—but needed
her laptop. And she wanted to pack up Eli’s papers, arrange that Lena got them along
with the original pact.
Paul, in his usual thorough thoughtfulness, had taken care of everything. When she
got to the room, he was gone, her bags packed, and a note left for her along with
a sandwich from room service. She sank into the chair, forced herself to eat even
though every bite stung with regret.
A man like Paul. A man who’d take care of her, comfort her. She very much wanted to
love a man like that. But she didn’t. Maybe she couldn’t. She was too exhausted to
do more than blink away tears as she chewed her turkey club and read his note.
Caitlyn,
First, you need to know I love you. But I think we both need a little time and space
to think about what happened here. To think about what we both want.
No, that’s not true. I know what I want. But I need you to be certain.
I love you and I think you love me as well. Trust your heart, Caitlyn. It won’t lead
you wrong.
I’ll be waiting. Love always,
Paul
Trust her heart? Laughter bubbled out of her. High-pitched, insane; if she didn’t
laugh she’d be on the floor sobbing. Love? Her mom loved her dad, look where that
got them. Her mom loved her brother—whoops, that hadn’t worked out very good, either,
had it?
Her mom said she’d done everything because she loved Caitlyn.
Her laughter died. She shoved the sandwich away along with her emotions, tucked Paul’s
note into her pocket, grabbed her stuff and left. Paul was right about one thing:
she did need time. To think. To feel. To understand.
But not now. Later.
Now she just wanted to go home.
* * *
As Caitlyn pulled out of the casino parking garage she met another vehicle coming
in. An armored truck. With Florida plates.
This is silly,
she thought even as she turned the Subaru around and parked where she could watch
the truck. Made perfect sense that a casino would need spare cash on a Sunday, especially
with all the tourists in town for the poker run.
Except. It just didn’t feel right.
She grabbed her monocular from the glove compartment. The logo on the truck had a
different style of lettering from the one she’d seen on Friday. Meant nothing. Companies
changed logos, didn’t take the time and money to update every truck. But there was
also no agent operator license or US DOT number listed.
The truck she’d seen on Friday was picking up coins. This time the armored car guards
were unloading shrink-wrapped bundles of bills from the truck under the direction
of a man with a clipboard and another man who wore a VistaView security uniform. A
large man dressed as a guard pushed a handcart loaded with bills out of the truck.
Tiny, her favorite Jolly Giant. Bingo.
Wanting backup, she called Goose. “Where are you?”
“Sitting on Caruso. With the poker run canceled, looks like he’s sleeping late.”
“Forget Caruso. There’s nothing in his saddlebags except dirty underwear.”
“What the hell you talking about? Our guys—”
“If you want your marked money it’s being unloaded from the back of an armored truck
into the VistaView as we speak.”
“And you know this how?”
She shook her head, too exhausted to even try to explain. “Truck’s marked
GUARDIAN SECURITY
with Florida plates. Four men, at least three of them armed. I’d hurry if I was you.”
She hung up before he could say anything. Goose wasn’t her problem anymore. Neither
were Lena, Paul, or her mom. Only thing Caitlyn had to worry about was what she was
going to do with the rest of her life.
But still, she wasn’t about to let Caruso get away with it. The man with the clipboard
turned around, and he looked familiar as well. He’d been at Poppy’s house with the
other Daytona Reapers.
The exchange was moving along nicely. The loading dock was equipped with an industrial
scale. The guards would drive their handcart loaded with bills over the scale; the
man would record the weight, then transfer the cart to the second man dressed in the
VistaView uniform, who would hand him a check. Turning illegitimate money into legally
obtained and documented casino winnings. It was elegant in its simplicity.
The exchange was obviously a familiar routine for these guys. Familiar and all too
fast. There was no sign of Goose by the time they had the last handcart from the truck
on the scale being weighed.
She was so damn tired, she actually thought about letting them get away. But Goose
had worked so hard, sacrificed so much for this bust. He deserved it.
Caitlyn snuck out of her Subaru and crept between the other cars until she was at
the front of the truck. A blind spot for the men at the rear, but by twisting one
of the side-view mirrors she could see them easily. She held her Glock at the ready.
The man with the clipboard was unarmed as far as she could see, both hands occupied.
The two guards from the VistaView were loading bundles already exchanged onto a second
handcart. Tiny was in the back of the armored car, making the final exchange.
Which meant they all had their hands full. And were close enough together that she
could cover them all. Best timing she’d get.
She waited for Tiny to emerge from the cover of the truck, pushing the cart. Then
she stepped forward, Glock aimed at them. “Freeze and keep your hands where I can
see them.”
Tiny stared at her, dropped the handcart, and raised his arms. Not in surrender but
as if he planned to leap off the loading dock and tackle her.
“You,” he growled. It should have scared her but after the wild animals of last night,
it had no effect. “I’m gonna kill you, bitch.”
The man with the clipboard laughed. The other two just watched—obviously not paid
for their brains.
Caitlyn sighed, sighting on Tiny’s no-miss target of a chest. Was she really going
to have to kill someone again?
“Tiny, please. I’m in no mood to kill you. And that’s what’s going to happen if you
try anything. First, I kill you. And then”—inspiration struck—“I go after DeeDee.
Ever seen what happens to a bike sitting unprotected in a forfeiture lot for a year
or two? Pushed around, scraped up, sitting in the rain, maybe even broken down and
sold for parts? You want that for DeeDee?”
It was a long shot. Trying to connect with a sociopathic biker’s soul.
At first Tiny’s face grew red, but then it drained of color faster than sour milk
going down a drain. “DeeDee—you wouldn’t, you couldn’t…” His voice was hardly a whisper,
it was so choked with emotion, as he crumbled to sit on the concrete, hands on his
head.
The man with the clipboard made a move for his jacket and Caitlyn shifted her aim
to him. “Hold it.”
There was a split second when everything seemed to move in slow motion. The clipboard
falling to the ground, the man’s hand reaching for a semiautomatic in a shoulder holster
beneath his blazer, Caitlyn’s finger slipping from the trigger guard to the trigger.
“Do what the lady says.” Goose came up behind the man on the other side of the truck,
his gun aimed at the back of his head. Another man and a woman appeared from the casino
entrance, holding weapons on the guards.
Caitlyn blew her breath out, took her finger off the trigger. So close, so close.
“Nice timing,” she called to Goose.
“Just returning the favor. Technically, I guess this collar belongs to you.”
She shook her head and holstered her weapon. “Not me. I was never even here.”
* * *
Caitlyn drove east until she reached Raleigh, where she should have headed north on
I-85. Then she saw a sign for Route 64. The way to the Outer Banks.
What the hell,
she thought, as she steered the Subaru off the interstate. Because of the holiday
tomorrow, no one was expecting her at work until Tuesday. Hell, they might not even
notice if she didn’t show up then—or at least not care.
It was almost nine by the time she reached Duck, North Carolina. Seemed like the Outer
Banks pretty much closed down during the off season; she was lucky to find a tiny
Mexican restaurant in a small strip mall north of Duck with its lights still on. The
waitress and cook, obviously mother and daughter, recognized a weary traveler when
they saw one and took pity on her, feeding her the best seviche and fish tacos she’d
ever had.