Don't Say a Word (25 page)

D
AMON WHISPERED
,
“Au revoir, ma douce amie,”
goodbye, my sweet love, to Jacqueline, pressed a kiss on her cheek, then left the hospital at noon the next day, tension knotting his shoulders.

Max was going to make it, thank God. He didn't blame Damon for Cal's actions, and had been concerned about Cal's escalating mood swings since Damon had pulled out of the team. He hadn't contacted Damon because he'd been investigating Cal himself. Max also agreed to use his gift with computers to try to retrieve the lost files from Pace's computer.

Damon's thoughts turned to Jacqueline—the woman he loved.

The woman he had to leave now.

He'd sat by her bedside until she'd started to stir, then he was afraid he'd upset her more, so he'd left, hoping she could find peace now that she had some answers and that Cal was dead.

After getting stitched up himself the night before, he'd given his statement to Jean-Paul. His parents had rushed into the hospital, hysterical, and he'd assured them that he was alive, then he'd explained what Cal had done.

They were more worried about Antwaun and his reaction to the fact that he was a serial killer's son—and that his father had killed his birth mother—than they were over any fallout from Antwaun's arrest or their business burning to the ground.

Fearing the press might gain access to the truth and print it, they planned to tell Antwaun the story about his birth parents in person. Hopefully Antwaun would realize how fortunate he was to have the Duboises—blood didn't matter.

They were family. They always would be, no matter what.

Now, Damon had to do what was right. He drove toward the town square where the Memorial Day ceremony was to be held. Jean-Paul was meeting with the lawyers to get Antwaun released, and he and the rest of the family were supposed to meet Damon at the courthouse.

Apparently the mayor wanted to honor both him and Jean-Paul for their part in capturing the copycat Mutilator.

Decorations glittered with red, white and blue along the French Quarter. Flags waved from houses and street corners commemorating war heroes, and a wall of plaques with names of the fallen soldiers stretched across the market. Another held names of victims of Katrina.

Local artists sold a mixture of craft items, souvenirs, dolls, Mardi Gras masks, beads, voodoo paraphernalia, toy crocodiles, and pictures of the town before and after the hurricane—all with a portion of the revenue going to a fund contributing to the restoration of the city.

A parade boomed through the town with street musicians, colorful floats, balloons, costume-clad dancers, clowns on stilts, and a full band playing a mixture of local jazz and blues tunes blended with patriotic melodies, a true celebration of the culture of the Vieux Carré. A stage had been set up featuring local Dixieland jazz musicians, dancers, magicians, mimes and vocalists, while food booths offered everything from beignets to full-course Cajun jambalaya, and oyster and shrimp po' boys.

Damon arrived just in time to watch the parade, then made his way to the center stage where the mayor waited with a half-dozen soldiers in uniform. Families of the men and women gathered around, and the speech began, commemorating various soldiers who'd died serving the country as well as the ones present. Cheers, clapping and salutes erupted, and Damon congratulated the others. Jean-Paul waved through the crowd and approached, and Damon looked out and spotted his parents. He searched for Antwaun's face, but didn't see him anywhere.

“Where is he?” he asked Jean-Paul.

“He had to clean up first,” Jean-Paul said. “But he said he'd be here.”

“He knows about the café?”

Jean-Paul nodded grimly. “Yes. And, Damon, Jacqueline called when I was at the station. She was looking for you.”

His heart hammered with worry. “Was she all right?”

Jean-Paul offered him a sympathetic look. “Yes. But she claims her cousin confided in her the name of the dirty cop.”

Please, God, not Antwaun. “Antwaun's partner?”

“No. Lieutenant Phelps. Internal Affairs has him in interrogation now and has already gotten a warrant for his office and home.”

Dammit. “He was so righteous when he arrested him.”

“I know. Turns out he was heavily involved in gambling and owed Swafford big bucks. Hopefully he'll lead us to Swafford himself and we can tie up that loose end.”

Damon sighed. Maybe the danger was finally over. Jacqueline was safe. And Antwaun…could return to his job.

Damon and Jean-Paul fell silent as the mayor offered a quick speech, then handed out awards to several soldiers, honoring their bravery. The mayor clapped Jean-Paul on the back, listed his heroic acts during Katrina, his own service experience, then announced that the copycat Mutilator had been caught, giving credit to Jean-Paul, Damon, the local police and Kendra herself.

Jean-Paul accepted the award and shook his hand, then smiled at Britta, who stood to the side of the stage, beaming with pride.

The mayor turned to Damon, listed his accomplishments and reiterated how he'd nearly died getting justice for Kendra Yates and her mother. Damon stepped forward, prepared to dispute his hero status when Jacqueline's face appeared in the crowd. For a minute, he couldn't breathe. He was so damn glad she was alive.

But she hated him, could never forgive him for what he'd done….

All the more reason he had to come clean. He cleared his throat and stepped up to the microphone. “I'm honored to stand here with the true heroes of our war and our city.” He gestured toward the soldiers seated onstage. “I personally want to thank them for the sacrifices they've made for us. My prayers remain with them and their families.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “But I am not a hero, just a man who has tried to fight evil both overseas and here in the city. But I have made mistakes…”

Jacqueline pushed through the crowd to him and rushed near the front of the stage, an urgent look on her face. “Please, Damon, don't. I have to talk to you.”

He met her gaze, shocked at the need he saw in her eyes. Then fear slammed into him. Did she need to tell him something important? Swafford might have resurfaced. What if he'd come after her?

He thanked the mayor, then descended the stairs and pulled her aside.

The band burst into “America the Beautiful” while he zeroed in on Jacqueline's bruised face, the knife wound on her neck, the bandages on her hands. His stomach churned at the sight, while another part of him soaked up her image. He was desperate to hold her in his arms and love her again. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“I remembered what happened that day, Damon.
Everything
that happened.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “It wasn't your fault that I almost died in that fire. It was Diego's.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Jacqueline, I set the explosion. I'm responsible.”

She shook her head, then gripped his arm. Dammit, he wanted to believe that she'd forgiven him, that they could have a long-lasting love like his parents, like Catherine and her husband Sean, and Jean-Paul and Britta, but he didn't deserve her forgiveness or love.

“It's true,” she whispered. “Kendra came to me at my father's funeral, explained about her investigation. She was in love with Antwaun, but thought he was dirty, so she investigated him. Then she found out about his birth father being the Mutilator. She traced him somehow to Cal, then found out about the E-team and Diego. She told me Diego was bad.”

Damon gripped her arms.

“I didn't want to believe her, that I could have been so stupid. So I went to see Diego to find out.”

He nodded, his chest tight and aching. “That's when I saw you come in the house?”

“Yes. I heard him on the phone discussing a hit. Then I knew Kendra was right. When I tried to turn and escape, Diego hit me and knocked me out. That was before the explosion, Damon.” She wet her dry lips, her eyes full of conviction. “He would have killed me, if you hadn't killed him first.”

Damon was still haunted by the image of her lying in that fire, of hearing Cal saying she was dead. He felt the cool, fragile plastic of the baby rattle in his hands…“But if I hadn't blown up the damn building, you wouldn't have been burned, been in the hospital for months.”

“Diego was a cold-blooded killer who murdered my father, and used me to get to him. If you hadn't blown him up, Diego would have killed me and disposed of my body. You know it's true, Damon.” She jerked at his hands, forced him to look at her. “It's not your fault. You got rid of a killer. Diego deserved to die.”

She was right, but still, guilt weighed on him. She'd suffered so much, he wanted to make it up to her…. “But how could you forgive me?” he asked. “I found that
bébé
rattle…My God, you were pregnant.” He dropped his head forward, sweating, guilt assaulting him again. “I've heard that
bébé'
s cry in my sleep.”

She cupped his face between her hands. “That rattle belonged to Kendra, Damon. I wasn't pregnant. She was.”

Damon jerked his gaze back to hers. “Kendra was pregnant?”

“Yes, she was going to have Antwaun's baby. She said she might have to disappear for a while to keep the baby safe.”

“But Cal killed her first,” Damon growled. “Jesus. On top of learning about his birth, knowing Kendra was pregnant with his baby when she died, that will kill Antwaun.”

“I'm sorry, Damon.”

He slid his hands up to her face. “You have nothing to apologize for, Jacqueline,
ma douce amie
. You were innocent in all this.”

“No, I was taken in by Diego. For that I'll never forgive myself.”

“He would have killed your father anyway,” Damon said gently. “You know that.”

She nodded, conceding his point.

He brushed her cheek with his fingertips.
“Sa me fait de le pain
.”

She turned her hand into his palm. “What does that mean?”

“It means I'm sorry.” Damon's voice cracked. “I wish I could take back all the pain I caused you…”

Tears glittered in her eyes, and she traced a finger down his jaw. The gesture was so tender and sweet that moisture pooled in his eyes.

“I know,” she said softly. “But I also know that you tried to save me, Damon. I heard your voice, telling me not to die.”

He stroked her arms with his fingertips, aching to kiss her. “I wanted you to live more than anything.”

“I'm alive now, and so are you.” She twined her arms around his neck. “We can both make up for the past.”

He gazed into her eyes, and the pain of the past faded as her love enveloped him. Antwaun might see Kendra's face when he looked at her, but Damon didn't.

“I want that so much,” Damon said softly. “I love you,
ma belle
.”

“I love you, too, Damon.”

He no longer thought of her as Crystal, the faceless woman with no past, or Kendra, a brave woman who'd died trying to expose evil in the town. Jacqueline was a brave, strong woman in her own right, one who offered him trust, love and forgiveness.

Unable to resist, he lowered his head and kissed her with all the passion and emotion that he'd had bottled up for the last year.

He had a second chance with her, and he was going to take it. And just like his parents, their love would last the rest of their lives.

* * *

A
NTWAUN'S HEART POUNDED
as he watched his parents congregate on the square with Jean-Paul and Britta, Catherine and her family, Stephanie, and Damon and the woman Jacqueline.

He was supposed to meet the family here to celebrate his release.

But they were not his family at all.

He gripped the manila envelope holding the file Kendra had on him between clammy hands. His partner had discovered it in Lieutenant Phelps's desk and had handed it to him when he'd been released.

He'd read the contents and had been shocked.

He was not a Dubois at all, but the son of the Mutilator, Frederick Fenton, a cold-blooded serial killer serving life in the state pen.

Damon glanced up through the crowd and spotted him, and their gazes locked. Antwaun shifted and held the folder up, and Damon's face blanched.

So Damon knew his family's secret. Jean-Paul probably did, too. What about Catherine and Stephanie?

Had everyone in the family known that he was the bastard son of a killer except him?

Rage heated his blood. He couldn't go back to the force, not after this past week. And he couldn't join the happy little family who'd lied to him all his life.

Damon started toward him, but he sent the man he'd once called his brother a scowl, then he turned and disappeared into the crowd. He was all alone now. The family he'd once loved not a family at all. The woman he'd wanted to marry…dead, too.