Final Mend (7 page)

If Jake didn't know, she wasn't sure how to tell him.

Jake opened the door, and Winona hesitated. “Hey, Jake. Can I come in?”

He stepped aside. Thank God he was wearing a shirt, though it was tight around his chest and shoulders, revealing striations that shouldn't be possible.

“Have you seen the news?” she blurted.

Jake's eyes narrowed, his face paled, and those brawny shoulders she'd admired earlier fell, as if the weight of the world had crushed him. “No.”

“Amy's been found. Alive. She's safe.” A gust of emotions rushed through her. “She's with her mom, back home. I watched a news clip. She's okay.”

Jake dropped to a chair and pressed his palms into his yes. She kneeled beside him and placed her hands on his knees.

“She's okay?” He raised his head to look at her, his eyes wide and uncertain. She felt his pain, the slow trembling of his body heating hers.

“Yes. She's fine.”

“When?”

“Early this morning.”

“Dammit.” He banged his hands on the chair and pushed her away as he stood. “Lillian should have called me.”

“I'm sure she's been busy.”

“Yeah, I'm sure she has. Wondering how she's going to get away with murder.”

Winona didn't respond, didn't know how to respond. She didn't know Lillian, didn't understand Jake's animosity toward her. She couldn't decipher the emotions flashing across his face. Relief, uncertainty, fear. She recognized those only because she felt them herself. But the others—the others were too scary to name.

“I … I need to know for certain.”

Winona turned on the TV and flicked through the channels, but nothing was mentioned. She grabbed her phone, found her recent search, and thrust it into his face.

Jake sat, his face impassive as he read the news reports.

“Are you okay?” She scooted another chair up and sat next to him.

He nodded and returned the phone. “Yeah, I'm okay. Just shocked. Uncertain. Unsure what to do now.”

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“No.”

“How about we go grab a bite to eat? Discuss what's next.”

“What's next with what? I have to see Amy.”

“Let Amy get settled again before you try to see her. You said you suspected Lillian of being involved. We can discuss what's next as far as with Lillian. Do you still want to investigate her?”

“I want to kill her.” His voice was soft and edgy, almost imperceptible. A whisper of warning skated along her spine, but she didn't move away, didn't react. The air conditioner droned a low hum, welling into a shiver in her belly.

Winona suspected something else was going on that Jake hadn't told her, and for now she had to accept that he wouldn't tell her. If she were to commit to an investigation, she'd have to know everything. But right now, she wasn't sure there was an investigation to commit to.

She didn't think he was crazy, but didn't know him well enough to know whether he meant it. If Lillian ended up dead …

Winona stood. “Well, you know how to find me if you need anything. Good luck, Jake.”

She walked out the door without looking back. She understood exactly where Jake was coming from. She knew he'd pack his clothes in a hurry and flee as fast as he could to get home to Amy. And possibly Lillian. Who knew what kind of relationship they really had? Whatever passion he felt for them both bordered on frenzy. She didn't need to get involved in that.

Jake watched her go. He felt bad involving Winona in any of this, but he feared it wasn't over. Amy wasn't safe until she was out of Lillian's hands.

Lillian had hated when Brandon left on his trips as a sports agent, often throwing in his face how she hadn't wanted to be a mother and she shouldn't be stuck with a kid. He'd never been able to prove Lillian's recklessness. Amy's bruises were always the result of her clumsiness. Brandon had practically given up his career so he wouldn't have to leave his child with her mother, yet when he had filed for divorce, Lillian had turned the tables and made him out to be the bad guy.

Jake woke this morning feeling hungover, and he hadn't had an ounce to drink. Massive headache, irritability, overall body aches, and a jagged hole in his gut were the first signs he was about to lose it. The relief of hearing Amy had been found, combined with his uncertainties, made him feel vulnerable and stupid.

Temptation told him a drink would make it all better. It would all go away. His problems, his future, even his past. He'd feel better, if only temporarily. Temporary could turn to forever if he tried hard enough.

He took a shower, hoping to ease his restlessness. It didn't work.

He opened the window blinds, but the sun hadn't reached over the mountains yet and the heavy clouds stifled any chance of sunshine. He should get out there and run. Run across the mountains as far as he could, then return to the B&B and dive into their cold pool. Sweat would pour the sorrows out of his body, only to return when his heartbeat stabilized.

Fuck that. He wasn't going to go out there and exercise. He needed to call Lillian and get it over with. He needed to talk to Amy.

He picked up the phone and flicked through his contacts for the bitch's name. Shoulders taut, he rolled them back, breathing deeply as the phone rang.

She answered on the second ring. Her voice sounded desperate, as if she was waiting for someone.

“Lillian,” he stated, pouring every ounce of animosity into the phone line.

“Yes?” she asked, pretending not to know who was calling. He knew she recognized his name, if not his cell number.

“It's Jacob.”

“Oh, Jacob,” she screeched, as if relieved to hear from him. Jake knew that wasn't the case. They'd never liked each other—she hated him mostly because she knew he knew she was a farce and called her out on all her manipulations.

He had to stay one jump ahead of Lillian. Maybe it was time to hire an attorney. Invoke rights the cousin of a dead father wouldn't normally have. Amy was not safe with Lillian. If she'd had anything to do with Amy's disappearance, she'd also had everything to do with her being found and thrust into the spotlight.

“Glad you're home,” he said, the sarcasm lolling on his tongue like sugar left over from a lollipop, thick and sticky and gross.

“Yes. It was quite an ordeal.”

“I bet it was. Still is, probably. Lying to the media. Pretending you're something you're not. Where's Amy?”

“In her room, resting.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“No.” Her voice changed abruptly, from the sweetness of a woman who thought she could charm the stripes off a tiger to a tiger ready to attack.

Jake hated this woman. Brandon had been a good-looking guy with a bright future and a good head on his shoulders. He could have had any woman he wanted, but the Lillian he'd known was sweet and supportive and naive. He'd been blinded by lust at first, and then Amy was born. His love for his child overruled every other decision he might have made. Brandon had refused to destroy her life.

“I'm her godfather,” Jake said. “And I will see her.”

“She's been through enough with her kidnapping and with losing her father.”

“Exactly. Which is why she needs to be with someone she trusts.”

“She trusts me.”

Jake's breath loitered in his throat, bitter and festering and ready to spew out words he wanted to control. “She's probably scared out of her mind, and as usual you don't give a damn about anyone but yourself. Are you afraid she'll tell me who killed her daddy? You and Dillon?”

“You're out of your mind, Jake. Why would you think I had anything to do with Brandon's death? What do you think, I kidnapped Amy, too?”

“Yeah, I damn sure do. You tried to hang Brandon out to dry in court, but that wasn't happening fast enough for you. Did your gambling debts get out of control? You thought maybe you could still collect life insurance on him since the divorce wasn't final and having a dead husband is better than being divorced. Am I close? Kidnapping Amy is a good alibi for you, is it not? I mean, her own mother wouldn't have done such a thing, would she?”

“Have you been drinking?”

With Lillian, it was always
have you been drinking?
Any emotion he showed that didn't include worshipping her meant he must be drinking. She thought something was wrong if men weren't falling at her feet, and Jake had disliked her the moment he saw her true colors.

“You know I haven't been drinking. But I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I'm telling you if I find out you had anything to do with this, I'll—”

“You'll what, Jake? Kill me?”

“I'll do whatever it takes.” He heard the rasp in his voice, but he couldn't control it.

“And I've been doing whatever it takes to keep my little girl safe. And to find whoever killed Brandon.”

“Then you'd better look in the mirror. But make sure Dillon is standing right by your side, just like he always has.”

“You're crazy, little man. You need to go to the loony bin. If you try anything with me, I'll make sure that happens. Amy may go so far as to say
you
did it. And when you did it, maybe you did far worse.”

Jake had no doubt Lillian would do anything to make him look like the bad guy, even frame him for murder, and brainwash Amy. He wouldn't put it past her to do something as crazy as accusing him of child molestation just to get him behind bars.

Jake knew his anger might net him trouble. Lillian was good at playing the damsel. He'd already gone to the police and told them what he knew, but they didn't believe him then and they sure wouldn't believe him now that Amy was found and Lillian was televised for all the world to see her pretty face and hear her pathetic cries.

“You can't keep Amy away from me,” he said.

“I'm her mother. I can do whatever I want. And the way you're sounding, you shouldn't be near her right now.”

Lillian slammed the phone down so hard, it rang in his ear.

He gripped the phone before slowly lowering it, urging anger to escape from his breath. He tossed the phone on the bed, hurling out negative emotions with the force.

Control yourself
.

He'd spoken the mantra for years, especially when the temptation for a drink arose. In the old days, a drink was the only way to mask his emotions. He didn't want to feel, didn't want to experience the world. Didn't want to hurt again. At first, the addiction was all in fun. Lots of partying, lots of people who meant nothing to him, lots of wasting time so he didn't have to dwell on the time he'd wasted.

But he had to control himself, for Amy's sake. She wasn't safe with Lillian.

He did jumping jacks, pushups, and squats over and over until sweat poured from his body. But the familiar hunger that haunted him for years continued to spread and branch and fester into the need for something far worse.

Taking that drink would damage his soul.

He didn't know what to do next. The idea of a run no longer appealed to him. He was tired of being alone. Tired of feeling like the most isolated man on the planet. He knew he should pack his car and head out to see Amy, but he doubted Lillian would let him in. She'd already threatened him with false accusations, and he wouldn't leave without a fight. She'd call the cops, and he'd likely land his ass in jail. No matter how hard it was, he knew he had to be patient.

Best to stay away for a bit. Let Lillian cool down. Stop outright accusing her.

Maybe he could ask Winona to go with him to provide a buffer. He still wasn't sure he wanted to give up on Winona taking the job. Amy had been found, but had she been rescued? He was convinced she wasn't out of danger. He still hoped Winona would take the job and investigate Brandon's death.

He needed to see Winona again.

He couldn't claim that desire related only to the job. He craved her mouth like he craved a drink. Her taste, her touch. He wanted to experience her. But it would be wrong and improper if he hired her to investigate Brandon's death.

Wrong and improper and way too complicated.

Fuck it. He walked to Air Dog, but saw neither Winona nor Chayton when he entered the bar. He ordered vodka on the rocks and sat at a table, starting at the glass as the condensation coated it like a barrier that wasn't near strong enough.

He'd ordered it mainly to test himself. To punish himself. At first, he had no intention of drinking it. He just wanted to watch it. Watch the ice melt and clink in the glass as the vodka took hold, swallowing and destroying everything around it.

But the ice didn't melt fast enough. It fought to keep from losing, as he'd fought over the years. As he watched the ice battle with the alcohol, he finally convinced himself one drink wouldn't hurt.

Maybe he
could
stop at one. How could he know? He'd never tried it. What was wrong with just one? He deserved it. Besides, he'd chosen vodka over whiskey. Whiskey was his vice. He could handle vodka.

He could have a drink and return to his normal life tomorrow, whatever normal was now. He would try to go see Amy tomorrow, but tonight he wanted to wallow in the misery he'd been trying to ignore.

He took a sip. Fire burned through him. He slammed the rest down, his throat aching and head exploding, the drink fueling him in a way nothing else could.

Fraudulent. Alcohol wasn't fuel. It was poison, scamming everyone to believe it would heal their problems, at least temporarily.

Time go back to his room. He'd had a drink. His head was still on straight. The bed and breakfast had no bar. He'd made sure of that before he'd rented it.

Within seconds, the bartender sat another drink in front of him. It wasn't her fault. She had no idea he couldn't handle two.

He wrapped his hands around the drink and stared, the condensation on the glass building like the regrets of his life and coating his hands with shame.