In The Arms of a Stranger (18 page)

But they'd made it.

They leaned with their backs against the wall, breathing deeply. Luke instantly turned to her, drawing her and the baby into an embrace. His lips sought hers, desperate and breathless. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, his lips moving against hers. “Thank God you're both safe.”

Dana touched his face, amazed that she was back in his arms. So much had happened… She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the SUV, horrified that Vivian was still trapped inside.

“She'll be okay, I promise.” Luke's voice was soft yet convincing. “The focus is on us now. I doubt she even knows there's someone else in the car.”

“She?”

“Camille.” Luke faced Dana, his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn't define. “That's my stepmother up there, firing at the ghosts of the past.”

Dana couldn't grasp Luke's words. She shook her head. “What?”

Luke touched the side of Dana's face, trailing his fingers down her jaw until he reached her shoulder. Then he caressed the baby's cheek. “Daniel is…Daniel is my son.” He choked the words out.

Dana felt the world open up and swallow every last piece of sanity.

Despite herself, she clutched Daniel a little tighter and stepped out of Luke's embrace. “He's your son.” The words weren't a question, but a sort of denial.

“Daniel is my son and Michelle Alexander was his mother.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't know about Daniel.” Luke shook his head. “I barely knew Shelly, and she was injured so badly in the accident that I didn't recognize her. I didn't even recognize the name Michelle Alexander. She used the name Shelly Henson when I last knew her.”

“You barely knew her? Luke, she had your child!” Dana gasped.

His eyes darkened. “By design. We were together only once. I was drunk and she was obviously forming a plan. I found something after you left. The back side of the lullaby tape had a recorded conversation. Shelly was trying to blackmail my family. If Camille didn't cooperate, she
planned to get to me through Daniel. Lord knows what she had in mind.”

Dana closed her eyes. The cinder block wall pressed against her back was real, the child she held in her arms was real. Even the bullets that pierced the air around them were all too real. What didn't seem real was what Luke was trying to tell her.

Daniel is Luke's son…. Dana tried to force the other facts into her brain, but one thought kept blocking all others. Daniel is Luke's son…

“You're saying that your stepmother—” the horror she felt was mirrored in her voice “—is trying to kill Daniel?”

“No.” Luke shook his head and looked away. “She doesn't know about Daniel. She's trying to kill his mother.”

Outrage filled her. “She's already done that.”

“But she doesn't know that. She doesn't realize Michelle Alexander died in the accident.”

“What?”

Luke leaned back against the wall, frustration etched on his face. “You bear a striking resemblance to Shelly. When Camille saw you scrambling up the side of the mountain after rescuing Daniel, she thought Shelly had survived.”

Dana recalled Michelle Alexander's face, or what had been left of it. The idea that they once resembled each other was sobering. And frightening. She forced the image away by searching for some semblance of logic.

“No, no,” she argued. “She would have seen me go down the mountain. She would have seen my car.”

Luke shook his head. “You lowered yourself down the cliff but took the footpath back up. I don't think Camille saw you go down, but I'm certain she saw you come back up.”

Memories of that day came crashing down around her
like frozen shards of ice. “This is crazy, Luke.” She resisted the urge to start running and never look back.

“You were in the right place at the wrong time.” Luke's eyes went to Daniel. “Or the wrong place at the right time. You saved Daniel's life.”

Luke was right. It was one of the few realities that she could grasp.

Another shot rang out, and Luke instinctively shielded Dana and the baby with his body. Dana screamed. The bullet hit the corner of the cinder block, taking a large section with it this time.

“Hold on,” he whispered against her ear, his deep voice soothing. “I've already called for backup. My men should be here any minute now.”

She nodded, focusing on Luke instead of the madness that was going on around her. She inhaled the scent of him, the feel of his arms pinning her against the wall, shielding them from harm. Dana repeated his words in her head, struggling to understand. The pieces of information Luke had given her swirled around her like too many snowflakes, each visible yet blinding all together.

“Why was Michelle Alexander trying to blackmail your family?”

“Revenge. Money.” He looked in the direction of the water tower. “Michelle Alexander, Shelly as we knew her, lived in Sweetwater as a child. She was the little girl orphaned by the factory fire.”

A cold wind slapped the side of the building, and Luke pressed closer to them. He slid off his jacket, and Dana accepted it, as much for Daniel as for herself. The baby had grown quiet, and Dana could feel his body trembling through the thin fabric of the sleeper. She slid her arms into the warm leather and snapped the baby inside.

Dana remained silent, waiting on Luke to continue. “The
fire was arson, not an accident. Camille chained the exits and set fire to the building. Shelly witnessed the whole thing.” He shook his head. “She was just a child.”

“Oh, my God…”

“She reemerged last year and tried to blackmail my stepmother, threatened to expose the murder if she didn't pay up.”

“But you said that Camille's first husband died in the factory fire. Why would she start a fire that would kill her own husband?”

“Apparently her first husband was having an affair with Shelly's mother.” A muscle in Luke's jaw jumped. “Why she chose to kill him and sixteen other innocent people is a question she'll have to answer to a much higher authority than me.”

“And because Shelly threatened to tell…”

“Camille killed her. She just doesn't realize that she succeeded.”

Understanding sank in, and Dana shivered despite the protection of Luke's jacket. Daniel began to fret as though he understood as well.

A veil of emotion clouded Luke's face as he holstered his gun. He held out his arms for his son. “Just for a minute,” he whispered.

This was how it would end soon, she realized. She would care for Daniel in this space and time, just as she had cared for Michael Gonzalez, then return him to his father. Dana smiled, though her heart ached. This time would be different, though. There was no doubt in her mind that Luke already loved Daniel. They would have a life together, father and son.

She handed Daniel to his father.

Luke hugged the baby against him, his arms sheltering Daniel almost as effectively as the jacket had, then kissed
his cheek. Dana saw the unshed tears in Luke's eyes through the moisture in her own.

She stared at the two of them together and realized what her heart had whispered all along. They belonged together—not only because they loved each other but because the physical connection was undeniable.

Dana blinked. This was what she'd tried to realize earlier. Her heart had seen it, her mind just refused what seemed illogical. Daniel was a tiny carbon copy of his father, from the shape of his eyes to the dark peach fuzz that covered the top of his head. It was amazing that she hadn't seen it more clearly before, the biological connection.

Dana felt something within her whither and die.

The sound of a car's engine interrupted. “Vivian,” she whispered as she turned toward the sound.

A firm grip on her upper arm pulled her back. “That's not the SUV,” he whispered. “Stay back.”

Luke immediately returned Daniel to her arms, tucking him back inside the jacket. He pressed his back against the wall and drew his gun, inching slowly until he reached the end. He glanced quickly around the corner and cursed beneath his breath.

One look at his face and Dana instantly knew something was wrong.

“It can't be.” He ground the words out between clenched teeth.

Dana put her hand against his arm. “What is it, Luke?”

His eyes met hers. “It's my father.”

T
he sight of his father's Cadillac pulling next to his police cruiser sent chills up Luke's spine. What did the old man think he was doing? He mentally used every curse word not in the dictionary when he realized he'd unwittingly set his father up to come looking for Camille.

Dammit, where were his men? He'd radioed for backup the minute he'd left his house, and called for medical units when he'd seen Vivian Metcalf's SUV nose down in the ditch. All available units had been on the other side of the district, assisting traffic as the city began to crawl out from underneath the ice and snow.

He glanced at his watch. By his estimation, though, they'd had time to respond and to block the north- and southbound lanes of the road, which meant his father had probably bullied his way through.

Luke felt an illogical surge of pride at his father's command of authority, a pride he wouldn't have felt yesterday. Yesterday he'd believed his father a far different person than
he really was. Regret tugged at his gut. How would it feel to have your own son believe you capable of murder, to turn his back on you when you needed him most?

He stole a glance at Daniel and hoped he'd never have to face that scenario.

“Come on, you stubborn old man,” Luke muttered as he peered around the corner of the building, his gun drawn, “stay in the damn car.”

The door to the car creaked open, and Luke felt his heart leap into his throat. But when he tried to call out to his father, he couldn't form the words. He hadn't called his father “Dad” for decades. He referred to him as “my father” when speaking to others but he had avoided any personal term for so long that his tongue felt numb.

“Get back in the car!” he finally shouted. “Dad, get back inside the damn car!”

His father looked confused for a moment, following the sound of Luke's voice to the building. “Son?”

A shot rang out, hitting his father's car with a metallic ping. His father ducked down but didn't take cover. What was wrong with him? Couldn't he tell that he was under fire?

Luke stepped out from around the corner of the building, squinting, searching for any activity on the tank's spiral walkway. Cloud-cover blocked the sun, causing natural shadows and any silhouette that might have been Camille's to merge into an indistinguishable mosaic pattern. Finally he glimpsed a small movement near the base and took aim.

“Dad, it's Camille,” he shouted. “She's on the water tank. She's got a gun. Take cover!”

He fired in the direction of the movement, and the sound of the bullet ricocheting off the water tank echoed through the mountains.

Everything was still, quiet in the aftermath of the shot.

Had he hit her?

Luke tried to reconcile the pampered socialite he'd known for years with someone mentally and physically capable of murder. Though Camille had kept her slim body in top physical condition, and no doubt had a mean streak, he suddenly had a hard time believing it was actually her clinging to the stairs of the water tower and shooting at his father.

He didn't have long to doubt himself before she started screaming. “Lawrence, you'd better take care of that little whore yourself or I'll do it for you.”

Lawrence? Her first husband.

Luke's father stood and Luke felt his blood run cold. “Camille,” he called. “Honey, is that you?”

“Yes, it's me.” Camille's voice was childlike this time and, ironically, the tone was more chilling.

“Camille, it's me, Lucas. You know me.” He stood and opened his arms wide. “Think about it. I'm not Lawrence. Lawrence died a long time ago, remember?”

Luke felt glued to the ground. His father had done this before, he realized. How often had he loaned Camille his sanity when hers failed?

He could hear Camille muttering to herself, hear the metallic sound of her footsteps as she paced the stairs of the water tank. “That whore is back!” she finally shouted. “That whore Janet is back!”

Janet Alexander. Shelly's mother. Lawrence's mistress.

“No, no, that's not true.” He took another step in her direction. “Sweetheart, do me a favor. Please. Lay that gun down.”

Luke listened as his father cajoled and soothed his stepmother. How could Luke have known his stepmother all these years and not seen the madness? Because he'd been too busy blaming his father, that's why.

The wail of patrol cars echoed in the distance, and Luke
realized his men were almost on the scene. But he felt dread instead of relief. Camille was on the verge of killing his father, and his father seemed oblivious to the danger. The arrival of several screaming cop cars could very well send her over the edge.

He turned to Dana, pulling her to him for a quick kiss and planting another on top of Daniel's head. He wanted to stay. He wanted to will away what was happening outside and start his new life with Dana and Daniel. But he couldn't. No amount of wishing was going to change what was happening out there on that county road, or the fact that his father was in danger. It was time they all faced the past.

“I've got to go,” he whispered.

Dana nodded, her eyes wide. “Luke—” she grabbed his arm “—be careful.”

“I will.” He wanted a little more time, just a few more seconds to tell her all the plans he had for the three of them. But it would have to wait. “Stay here behind the building, no matter what.” He squeezed her hand and then dropped it, backing away. “Take care of Daniel for me, okay?”

Dana nodded.

Luke took a deep breath and sprinted out from behind the building and toward the pine scrub that lined the gas station's parking lot. Though he expected a rain of bullets, no shots were fired. It was a mixed blessing. The pine scrub offered little cover, and Luke was grateful that Camille hadn't seen him. But the fact that she hadn't noticed meant that she was focused in on his father or the sirens. Or both.

The sirens… As the adrenaline in his body receded, the wail of the sirens became deafening. Luke crouched beneath the underbrush, maneuvering himself until he had a clear shot. He raised his gun, and squinted through the sight.

“Dammit,” he cursed. She wasn't there. She'd changed her last position.

Then the shot rang out. Its crack split the air like a final insult, a violent summary of all the pain Camille had caused.

His father crumpled to the ground.

The sun chose that moment to break through the cloud cover and Luke spotted Camille at the top of the water tank. She was leaning against the guardrail, the scope of her rifle glistening in the sun.

She was preparing for a second shot.

Luke quickly glanced at his father, lying helplessly on the ground. Was he dead? Luke had no way of knowing. His men were on the scene now, but there wasn't time to brief them. There was no reasoning with Camille at this point. And no time. She'd murdered before. Luke had no doubt that she was about to pull the trigger again. She was about to shoot his father, his father who lay as helpless as a baby on the ground.

Luke took aim and fired.

The rifle dropped first, then Camille's body tumbled from the stairs, falling with a sickening thud to the rocks that lay below. Luke closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw Ben Allen and another officer running in Camille's direction. But from the broken position of her body, he knew she was already dead.

He felt no remorse. The only thing left to regret was the way Camille Williams Sutherlin had lived her life.

Luke stood, his gun held loosely in his hand. Chaos boiled around him. He could hear other officers radioing in the situation. Reality slowly crept back in.

His father…

He jogged a few paces, leaving the cover of the pine scrub, and stopped at the sight of his father. Lucas Sutherlin, Sr., was sitting upright, a bloodstain spreading slowly on the arm of his white dress shirt. Relief poured through Luke. The rifle Camille used had been powerful. If the bullet had
hit his father's chest, he probably wouldn't have survived. Luke thought he recognized the rifle as one of his father's deer rifles. He felt numb with disbelief. She hadn't fired it to frighten, she'd aimed to kill.

A paramedic unit ran to his father's side and began stripping away the thin cotton of his shirtsleeve. Luke watched through a haze of emotion as they began wrapping his father's arm and checking him for other injuries. Vivian Metcalf appeared, limping through the chaos with calm authority. She knelt by his father's side and took his hand. Luke smiled. Not only was she okay, she was offering his father comfort.

Vivian had probably regained consciousness and witnessed the whole incident from the vehicle, reemerging when it was over. Luke was relieved to see an EMT take Vivian's arm and escort her to a waiting ambulance. He doubted there would be any question regarding what happened, but the tough-as-nails deputy director of the DCFS would make one hell of a witness.

“Chief?” Luke looked up to see Ben Allen jogging in his direction. The young lieutenant stopped before him, his face suddenly older than his years. “She's dead.”

Luke nodded.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked.

“Yeah.” He extended the handle of the gun to Ben. “Bag it, will you?”

“You got it.” Lieutenant Allen accepted the weapon and headed back toward the row of squad cars.

Luke shoved his trembling hands in his pockets, glad to be relieved of the gun. He'd never taken someone's life before. He'd shot to defend, shot to wound, even. But never to kill. And never in a million years would he have thought Camille would die at his hands.

He felt tainted by her sins, by what he'd been forced to
do. Guilt clung to him like smoke, a lingering association with death and evil that he feared might never leave him.

A soft hand slid against the skin of his neck. “Luke?” Dana's voice called to him like a beacon of sanity in a damaged world.

Luke closed his eyes and turned into her waiting arms. He bowed his head against her shoulder, unashamed as tears of relief fell against Dana's tender skin. They were safe. Dana and Daniel were out of harm's way. Dana held tightly to Daniel, and Luke stroked the baby's back, the width of his hand covering the tiny expanse of his shoulders. No one would ever threaten them again. Not Camille, not Gonzalez or any other unseen enemy. Because from now on he would be here watching, protecting.

Luke's lips moved against Dana's neck, tasting the salt of his own tears. He threaded his fingers into her hair and trailed soft kisses up her neck until their mouths met. He kissed her long and hard, loving and memorizing the taste of her, asking for and receiving a healing. She was like magic, vanquishing the air of evil and replacing it with everything that was good and right in the world.

“Chief?”

Luke pulled his mouth from Dana's and turned to find Lieutenant Allen behind him.

“I'm sorry to interrupt. Really, I am. But your father is asking for you.”

Luke frowned. “He is okay, isn't he.”

“He's going to be.”

“Thanks, Ben.” He put his hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. “Get an EMT over here. Have them check every hair on Miss Langston's and the baby's heads. Got that?”

“Sure thing, Chief.”

He watched as Ben flagged down an EMT unit and di
rected them toward Dana. There was so much he needed to say to her, but he wanted it said in private.

Luke turned toward his father and felt a surge of fear, the kind of apprehension a child gets when they're uncertain what their parent is about to do or say.

Parent.

He smiled, despite the gravity of the situation. He hadn't thought of his father as a parent in a long, long time. But that was about to change. He'd gotten a second chance with someone he'd once loved but now, tragically, barely knew.

Luke walked to his father and knelt beside him.

“Son, is that you?” His father struggled to see him around the cluster of paramedics.

“Yes, Dad.” The word felt good on his lips.

The EMT who had just finished bandaging his father's arm stepped gracefully aside, nudging the others to follow. “You don't have long, sir. We'll need to transport him right away.”

“I understand,” Luke answered. He turned toward his father's ashen face, suddenly recalling his words to Camille.

Sweetheart, it's me.

Luke went cold with dread. He'd always thought their marriage was loveless, a convenient merging of business assets. Now he wondered. Had his father truly loved Camille? If so, could he forgive him for taking her life?

His father grasped Luke's arm, tugging him nearer. Tears were in the old man's eyes. “Are you okay?” His voice was frantic with worry. “Did she hurt you?”

“No,” Luke whispered. “No. But I—” he choked on the confession “—Camille is dead.”

“I know.” Grief lined his father's eyes, even as he smiled and patted Luke's arm. “She was a good woman once, really.” He shook his head. “She just let Lawrence's betrayal poison her soul.”

Luke could only nod.

“I loved her once. I suppose I was lonely after your mother died.” His father coughed, waving away the paramedics when they started toward him. “I hated the way Lawrence treated Camille. I thought I could make it up to her, that one day she'd love me as much as she had him.”

Luke swallowed hard. “Did you know? Did you know she started the factory fire?”

“No. At least I didn't put it all together until today.” He shook his head. “She'd been having these spells for a few years now, talking out of her head, accusing me of adultery and calling me Lawrence. Then the spells got worse and she started talking about blackmail, about Shelly and Janet Alexander.”

“Was Shelly—” Luke hesitated “—was Shelly your mistress?”

His father almost laughed. “Son, the last time I saw Shelly-Anne, she was six years old.”