Authors: Lynda Bailey
She inhaled a small gasp. “My dad? What about him?”
“He didn’t believe me when I said you were fated to be
mine.” Graham pressed his lips into a thin line. “He called me a sick bastard.
Said hell would freeze before he allowed his daughter to be with someone my
age. After years of being his friend, for him to turn on me was unforgiveable.”
Shasta wrapped her arms around her middle and locked her
knees to keep standing. “What did you do?”
His eyebrows rose. “I eliminated him, of course.”
“Eliminated him?” Her blood chilled. “You mean you killed
him. You
killed
my father.”
Graham narrowed his eyes. “Do not raise your voice to me.
But, yes. One of the few times I took care of business myself.” He reached for
her, but she angled from his touch. He crossed his arms with a sigh. “Surely
you realize it had to be done. Your father stood in my way. In
our
way.
Just like your brother, and…” He cast a hateful look to the wheelchair beside
her which held the unconscious Lynch. “…him.”
“My brother and Lynch?”
“Yes…it was the perfect plan. Kill your brother and frame
Callan for the crime. One obstacle would be dead, the other on death row.”
Graham sighed. “Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out like I’d hoped. And while
I’m loath to allow your brother to continue breathing, it’s a small price to
ensure others are out of the way to our happiness.”
“Others?”
Graham pinched the bridge of his nose with a noisy exhale.
“Really, sweetheart…must you repeat everything I say? Yes...others, as in
Callan.”
Comprehension cleared her mind.
The gasoline. Lynch out cold and tied to the wheelchair.
“You’re going to burn down the cabin—with Lynch inside?”
“He’s been between us for far too long. Just like your
father. Once Callan’s gone, it’ll just be you and me.”
Stars outlined her vision. She glanced down at her son. He
looked so small. So vulnerable. “And Wyatt?”
“It needs to look like the invalid died in the fire.”
Graham’s expression seemed almost…sympathetic. “And lots of people know he
brought the boy here.”
Her stomach roiled. “So you’re just going to…leave him?”
“I can’t have anything—or anyone—sully our future. But don’t
worry, sweetheart. He won’t suffer. I promise. He’s been sedated and will die
from smoke inhalation long before he burns. He won’t feel a thing.”
“Won’t feel a thing,” she mimicked, her voice a shrill
shriek. “You’re talking about killing your son. About
burning him alive
.”
“He is
not
my son.”
“Of course he’s your son, Graham. You’re the only father—”
She never saw his hand. Pain roared across her cheek. Blood
flooded her mouth. She staggered backwards, landing on the couch, next to
Wyatt’s motionless body.
“Call me that cripple’s name again,” Graham bit out, “and
I’m going to get upset.”
Cool metal pressed against Shasta’s knuckles. She wrapped
her fingers around the forgotten gun and rose to her feet, the weapon hidden behind
her right leg. “I won’t let you do this.”
Graham gave her an patronizing smile. “And just how do you
plan to stop me?”
She leveled the gun at his chest.
He laughed. “Oh, please. You won’t shoot me.”
She stiffened her arm. “Yes I will. I’ll do whatever is
necessary to protect my son. And you.”
“Protect me? From what?”
“From yourself. This isn’t you, Graham. Something’s happened
to you. You
love
Wyatt. He’s
your son
. You wouldn’t hurt him. You
wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
His nostrils flared. “I warned you not to call me that.” He
took a menacing step forward.
“Don’t come near me,” she cautioned.
When he didn’t heed her warning, she switched her aim and
fired a round just over his right shoulder. He jumped as the bullet imbedded in
the fireplace mantel. She immediately trained the gun on her husband again.
Shock blanketed Graham’s face, then his complexion turned an
ugly, mottled red. “How dare you… You think this makes a difference? It
doesn’t. You can’t prevent any of this.” He tipped his nose in the air. “It’s
already started.”
Shasta inhaled a breath…and cold fingers seized her heart.
Smoke.
She moved toward the hall and the pungent smell grew
stronger. “What have you done?”
“What was necessary to ensure our future.”
Too late she realized Graham had lunged forward and snagged
the gun barrel. Agony scorched up her arm as he twisted the weapon from her
grasp.
“See?” He smiled a triumphant grin, the gun in his hand. “I
said you wouldn’t shoot me.” He moved to the side and waved her toward the
front door. “Now, come. I soaked the bed linens with lighter fluid. It’s just a
matter of minutes before the gasoline I poured on the floor catches.”
Shaking her head, she backed away.
Graham pinched his lips together. “Enough foolishness,
Shasta. We need to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Graham. That’s right,
Graham
,”
she taunted at his angry glower. “Your name is Graham, not Ian. And if you
think, for one nanosecond, I’m leaving with you, you’re not simply crazy,
you’re fucking deranged.”
The tendons in his neck bulged. He jumped forward, locked
his hand on her arm and dragged her toward the door. “I've had it with your
childishness. You’re coming with me.”
She torqued from his grip, clawing at his knuckles. “Let me
go.”
“Ow!” He released her and looked at the blood trickling down
his fingers. “Why you ungrateful bitch.” He backhanded her and the force hurled
her into Lynch, almost toppling over the wheelchair. “I’m offering you a
future, goddamn it. A life. The best fucking life you can ever imagine. Why
can’t you accept that?”
She straightened. “Accept that you murdered my father? That
you tried to murder my brother and now you want to murder my son? Accept that?”
Her loud scoff bounced around the room. “Never. There will never be a future
for us because I will
never
accept you.”
Graham’s eyes widened, showing the whites. He pointed the
gun at her head. “So you’d prefer to die?”
She upped her chin. “Yes.”
His lethal gaze tapered. “As you wish.”
Shasta held his stare. She had no doubt Graham would shoot
her—would kill her—but she would rather die than be with him.
She looked over at the peaceful face of her son. Undaunted
by the threat of death, she sat beside him and stroked hair from his forehead.
She gathered him into her arms. She kissed his soft cheek. Graham moved to the
side, out of her peripheral vision. She began to rock, humming Wyatt’s favorite
lullaby.
She felt the cold, hard edge of steel against the back of
her head. Absently she wondered how a bullet in her brain would be explained in
the aftermath of the fire. Not that it really mattered…
Tears stung her eyes, but she wasn’t crying because she
feared dying. She didn’t. She’d be with Wyatt, and Lynch. Guilt pinched her
heart that Lynch never knew his son, at least not in this life. But he would in
the next.
She also regretted having to leave Dell all alone. She could
only hope her brother would be all right.
Shasta ceased her humming as the gun barrel pressed closer.
She tightened her embrace around Wyatt and buried her face in his neck. His
scent reminded her of when he was an infant. All warm and cuddly. She
envisioned his green and white nursery with the musical mobile hanging over the
crib and the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains…
The faint sound of wood creaking intruded on her thoughts.
She shoved it away. She wanted to stay where she was…with Wyatt and the
multitude of his stuffed animals surrounded by the fragrance of baby powder.
She heard a muffled grunt. A deafening blast resounded in
her ear. Fiery heat tore through her head.
Then nothing...
Chapter Twenty-Eight
SHASTA
DIDN’T KNOW
what hurt worse—the pain erupting through her skull or the
shaking that intensified said pain.
She always figured dying would encompass a bright light then
deceased loved ones, namely her mom and dad, would take her hand and lead her
through Heaven’s gates. Maybe there’d even be a chorus of angels singing.
She never imagined it would have this level of horrific
pain.
Great. More shaking. And a voice. From very far away…calling
her name, but it wasn’t either of her parents...
“Shaly…c’mon, Shaly, baby. Open your eyes.”
With supreme effort she cracked one lid, but saw nothing.
Probably due to a warm liquid which coated her eye. She licked her lips.
“Lynch?”
“Oh thank God.” Relief steeped his voice. Strong yet tender
hands gripped her upper arms, encouraging her sit up.
Dizziness assaulted her while agony stabbed her brain. She
placed her palm to her head.
Lynch stayed her action. “Easy. The bullet grazed you.”
She blinked to clear her vision, and Lynch’s worried face
came into slow focus as he squatted in front of her. “What are you doing here?”
He yanked his shirt over his head. “Got a text with a
picture of your son threatening his life if I didn’t show up at the Grab-n-Go.
When I did, someone knocked me out. I woke up here.”
“So you’re here because of Wyatt?”
He paused in dabbing her face. “I wasn’t going to let
anything happen to your son, Shaly.”
The pain in her head dwarfed the agony which battered her
heart. Lynch was here, and in danger, to save Wyatt…a kid he didn’t even know.
But should. Because Wyatt was his son…
Lynch stuffed the bloodied shirt into his waistband. “Can
you stand?”
“I…I think so.” She grasped his shoulders as he helped her
to her feet. She teetered then found some semblance of balance. “I need to tell
you something.”
“Tell me later.” He again pressed his shirt to her head.
“Hold this to your wound. Right now we need to get outta here. When soaked,
lighter fluid burns slow, but once it reaches the gasoline, this place’ll go up
like a tinderbox. Can you walk?”
She nodded. “How long have you been conscious?”
“Long enough to know your husband is Blackwell. Definitely
didn’t see that coming.” Lynch lifted Wyatt into his arms and led the way
outside with her stumbling behind.
“What happened to Graham?”
“I tackled him just as he shot you. God…I thought for sure
you were dead.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dunno. The chicken shit ran out the door.” He laid Wyatt in
the sedan’s headlight beam. “Whose car?”
Shasta whipped around to stare at the cabin. The quick
movement roiled her stomach and jellied her knees, but somehow she remained
standing. How could she have forgotten the FBI agent? She looked at Lynch.
“Agent Newman is still inside.”
“Shit.” He shoved to his feet. “Where?”
“Down the hall…in one of the bedrooms I think.” She grabbed
his arm when he started for the cabin. “You’re going inside?”
“Don’t have a choice. Stay put. I’ll be right back.” He
bounded up the porch steps and disappeared through the door.
Shasta dropped down beside her son and cradled his head in
her lap. Did Lynch have a choice? Of course he didn’t.
Stroking Wyatt’s hair, she stared at the door and willed
Lynch to emerge. Time seemed to stop. How long had he been inside? Was he in
trouble? Did he need her help?
She carefully shifted Wyatt off her knees when a crash
snapped up her head. A back room window shattered. Thick smoke billowed out.
Seconds later, a reddish glow appeared in the front doorway.
She vaulted to her feet. A blast staggered her back.
The cabin exploded into a fiery ball of orange and yellow
flames.
Oh dear God—Lynch!
She ran forward, but the intense heat of the fire kept her
back. “Lynch! Lynch!”
An ominous laugh pivoted her around.
Graham walked toward her, his teeth gleaming in a triumphant
grin. “Callan’s dead.”
She held her ground as he advanced. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, come now, sweetheart.” Graham stopped in front of her.
Newman’s gun dangled from his hand. “The fire must’ve hit the gas main.
Callan’s gone, and good riddance.” He trailed his fingers along her cheek. She
jerked away.
Graham blew out a sigh. “There’s no use fighting me. This is
destiny.
Our
destiny. From now on, it’ll just be you and me.” He glanced
at Wyatt, and aimed the weapon at his head. “Once I eliminate the last trace of
Lynch Callan, that is.”
Instinct took over. Shasta sprang, seizing Graham’s wrist in
both her hands. She drove her knee up and into his forearm. He grunted at the
impact then elbowed her—hard—in the midsection. Pain hemorrhaged through to her
spine. She doubled over and nearly lost her grip, but she hung on. She
had
to hang on. She plunged her teeth into the fleshy part of his hand.
He howled and shook her loose. “You fucking cunt. I’ll kill
you for that.” He clenched her hair in a punishing hold, wrenching her head
back.
His wild-eyed, maniacal expression loomed before Shasta.
With all her strength, she fought to keep Graham from pointing the gun at her
face. She kicked his knee in hopes of throwing him off balance. It worked.
Unfortunately when he fell, he took her with him. She bashed the weapon into
his temple.
She hit the ground with a jarring jolt, but barely noticed
the additional pain. She grappled the gun away then scrambled to her feet.
Graham scuttled onto his hands and knees and she quickly jumped out of reach.
She leveled the gun at him. “Move and I will fucking kill
you.”
He chuckled—
he had the audacity to chuckle
—and sat
back. “We both know you won’t shoot me, let alone kill me, sweetheart.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
He fingered where she’d whacked him with the gun then looked
up at her with an amused expression. “So now what? What’s your grand plan? Wait
for the police? The fire department? It’ll be hours before anyone gets here and
then what?”
“You’ll pay for your crimes.”
“What crimes? There’s no proof I've done anything wrong.”
“You confessed to the murder of my dad and the attempted
murder of my brother.”
“Wives can’t be compelled to testify against their husbands,
sweetheart.”
A satisfied smile lifted her lips. “But as you keep
reminding me, you’re not my husband. And I won’t have to be compelled. I’ll
testify. Willingly.”
Graham barked a laugh. “And you think that’ll make a
difference? It won’t.” His expression darkened. “No one and nothing can touch
me. I’m invincible. It’ll just be a matter of time before I’m free. Free to
kill your brother and anyone else who dares get in my way. Because you will be
mine, sweetheart.
You.
Will. Be. Mine
.”
Icy terror twisted Shasta’s heart. If Graham wasn’t stopped,
she and her family would constantly be in danger. But who
could
put an
end to Graham once and for all? No one…except for her…
She gripped the gun in both hands. “Get up.”
Confusion flickered across his face. “Why?”
“Because I have enough knowledge of forensics to know when I
shoot you, the trajectory of the bullet will show you were on the ground while
I was standing. And I don’t want to explain that detail to the authorities.”
His eye twitched. “Guess I won’t be standing then.”
“Fine.” She squatted. “I’ll do it from here.”
For the first time, she saw fear in his eyes. “Killing me in
cold blood? That’s not you, Shasta.”
“But it
is
you, isn’t it? You were prepared to kill
Lynch and my son in cold blood without an ounce of remorse. Christ…” She shook
her head. “I thought I knew you. I
cared
about you. But I was wrong.”
She stiffened her arms. “Good-bye Graham.”
“Shaly!”
The shout turned her head. Lynch came around the side of the
blazing cabin, helping an injured and staggering Agent Newman.
Joy stole her breath at seeing Lynch alive. But in the next
instant, Graham sprang at her and grabbed for the gun. It went off. The recoil
landed Shasta on her butt.
Graham’s expression was one of surprised disbelief. He
looked down at his chest and touched his sweater. His fingers came away
dripping with a dark liquid. His eyes rolled back into his head and he
collapsed in the dirt like a ragdoll.
Dead.