Relentless: A Bad Boy Romance (Bertoli Crime Family #1) (45 page)

“Have you searched his apartment?” I asked, feeling dumb as soon as I did. Of course they had. They were the FBI.

“And his office,” Agent Morgan said. “Miss Rawlings, you're probably wondering why this is being handled by the FBI and not the Atlanta Police.”

“Not really,” I said. “Daddy is a fan of those procedural cop shows, and I know that while they're normally full of junk, there's some information that jives. I'm guessing you have investigations over multiple states?”

Morgan nodded, impressed. “Good catch. That, and the kidnapping gives us the ability to take the lead on this. Miss Rawlings, I'm not going to lie. We suspect Mr. Lake in a series of sexual assaults stretching back at least five years. If the statement Mr. Bell gave us holds water, it may even go back further, although the ones before the use of any drug would be nearly impossible to prove. You're quite lucky, Miss Rawlings.”

“Why?” I asked, a chill sweeping over me as I thought about all those victims, all those women who'd been seduced or assaulted by Chris for his sick game with Lloyd.

“Because a pattern was emerging in our investigations,” Leeds said, geeking out and not realizing how fast her mouth was running away from her. “We think he was getting ready to graduate from taking his thrill from sex to murder.”

I shivered, hugging my knees, and Leeds realized what she'd said. “Sorry,” she muttered, looking around sheepishly. “I shouldn't have said that.”

I shook my head, looking down. “It’s okay. Tell me, is Shawnie okay?”

“She's going to need a little more recovery time, but she’ll be okay,” Agent Jacobi said simply. “Mostly uninjured, but there are a lot of superficial cuts and a separated shoulder from her escape attempt.”

I nodded. “Then how about we wrap this up, and let me go see my friend and hopefully my dad?”

It was Agent Morgan's turn to look sheepish, and he ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. “Actually, Miss Rawlings, you might need to wait for your clothes. Uhm, unless you mind wearing a pair of scrubs or something. I'm sure your stepmother or Mr. Bell will bring a pair as soon as they’re done.”

“Where are they, anyway?” I asked. It was already mid-morning, and I had thought they'd already have been at the hospital. “With Daddy?”

Agent Jacobi shook his head. “No, wrapping up things with Atlanta PD,” he said. “I believe there is a little situation of someone putting cuffs on Mr. Bell that needs to be cleared up. Also, they'll take another statement from him, although we talked with him last night. His story and yours are pretty clear. It all matches what your friend said as well.”

“Then let me get some scrubs, and I'll go see Shawnie. Is there anything else you need?”

Agent Morgan looked at his coworkers and shook his head. “We might be in touch soon. For sure, the prosecutor will want you to be available to testify, but that might be a long time off.”

“That's fine. Right now, I want to see three people: Daddy, Shawnie, and Dane. In that order.”

T
he doctors were actually
super conservative with both Shawnie and Patrick, keeping both of them in the hospital for over a week. I kept myself busy during that time, going into Lake Ford two days after the attack to clean out my locker. As soon as I walked in, I could feel the uncomfortable silence from everyone. Chris's arrest had made not just local but national news, and most of the details that could be released already had been. Of course, the effect on Lake Automotive was immediate and crippling. The lot was as empty as a ghost town, and the repair shop had only one vehicle, an out-of-state Fiesta that looked like it had a blown tire up on the racks.

I felt for the guys in the shop. They knew what had happened wasn't my fault, but at the same time, they couldn't help but blame me just a little bit. After all, Chris had been my friend, and I'd been the one to take him down, which indirectly hurt them. Sure, it's a side of people that we don't like to talk about, but I didn't fault them for it. The negative press would most likely cost them their jobs.

I found Hank Lake in his office, sipping a cup of coffee and looking about twenty years older than I had seen him the week before. The sales manager was with me, mostly to make sure there wasn't a scene. It was the last thing anyone needed. “Mr. Lake? I just came by to turn in my resignation and to hand in my keys.”

Hank looked up and held out his hand, his fingers trembling as I handed over the keys. “Also, sir, um, I'm not sure how to do this, but this other key is to the apartment in the Mayfair Tower. It's only for the main door. I don't have a deadbolt key.”

I set it on the desk and pushed it closer, Hank's hand recoiling as if the metal were poisonous. The sales manager shifted from left foot to right, not sure what to say or do, and looking like he wanted to be somewhere else at the moment.

Hank swallowed and looked up at me for the first time. “Thank you, Bell. I know that it'd be impossible for you to come back to work here, but . . . I'm sorry. Chris is family, but what he did was wrong.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Lake. Neither of us recognized what Chris was up to, and I spent years closer than a brother with him. I'm just glad that it's over now.”

Hank sighed, then looked at me. “So what now?”

“Take care of your family,” I said. “If it were me, after the blow this causes, I'd sell the group, or at least rebrand it. Take the money and make a nest egg for the next generation. As for Chris . . .”

“He'll stand on his own,” Hank said with only a hint of venom. “He gets no help from me. I've got two kids of my own to protect.”

I nodded. “Then I guess this is it. I'm sorry it didn't work out, Mr. Lake.”

Hank stood up and offered me his hand. He may have been hurt, his faith in himself and in his own perceptions shattered, but he was a true man. We shook, and Hank tried to smile. “You're a good man, Dane Bell. Don't ever let anyone tell you different.”

* * *

A
few days later
, I went to the McCamish Pavilion with Brittany, dressed in a suit that I still felt uncomfortable in. Brittany was on my arm, holding a video camera like a young parent at a kindergarten or something.

“If Patrick can't be here in person, I’m going to make sure he can at least see the video,” she whispered to me. We had good seats and could see the whole stage where the ceremony would take place. “And stop fidgeting.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, then laughed. “I guess now, you have someone else you have to teach the social rules to other than Abby?”

Brittany blushed slightly, then patted my arm. “Maybe. It’s just a bit of a habit. And if my stepdaughter is going to see you, I'm going to do my best to make sure you’re a good influence.”

“By the way, they're webcasting this thing too,” I said as I looked at the program. “Didn't you know?”

Brittany nodded and adjusted the camera just a bit on its tripod. “I don't care. This is for posterity. Do you think I’m too uptight?”

I thought about it a bit, reflecting that for a woman who I had literally kicked to the floor less than a week earlier, she and I had come to find a common ground rather quickly. Though if it wasn’t for a near tragedy, I don’t know if that would have been the case. It’s weird how it works like that. As we still had some time before the ceremony started, I took my time before answering. “I think you have good intentions. But I do think that the idea of them fitting in with the culture club has pretty much sailed. As for me, you could work with me for the next thirty years, and I still wouldn’t fit in. No matter how I talked or acted, one look at my tats and I’d be an outcast.”

Brittany thought, then made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh. “I guess you're right. Still, if Patrick wants it, I'll keep doing my best to open doors for him. And I’ll at least drag Abby to at least one social event a year.

The graduation ceremony itself was actually pretty long and tedious, a lot different from the ones I'd attended before. Then again, my high school graduating class was only a hundred and thirty-five people, and graduating Basic Training was quick as well. Both of those ceremonies could have been started, completed, and probably cleaned up in the amount of time it took for Georgia Tech to graduate the five thousand students who were scheduled to walk the stage that day.

The students walked the stage according to a complex system that left me baffled, until I finally had to lean over to Brittany for help. “When is Abs walking again?”

“She’s still got a while.”

There was one disruption, when during the College of Engineering's ceremony, Shawnie was announced. She had just been released from the hospital that morning, just in time to make the ceremony. As she made her way across the stage,
summa cum laude
, a wave of applause broke out. She was shocked, but recovered and stood tall, waving to her supporters as she crossed the stage to shake hands with the Dean of the College before walking off stage.

“I underestimated that girl. Abby was right about her,” Brittany commented.

When Abby walked, she paused to hug Shawnie when she came off stage before retaking her seat, and the ceremony continued. I had to admit I tuned most of it out, nodding off about halfway through the College of Liberal Arts and having to be woken up with a polite pat on the arm in time for the final playing of the alma mater.

Outside, in the craziness that was the post-ceremony group celebration, I found Abby and Shawnie hugging and exchanging farewells, with lots of people in their graduation robes. Seeing me, Abby ran over, jumping into my arms and an embrace. “I saw you up there,” she said, kissing me with a wet smack. “Thanks for staying awake through my part at least.”

“How could I not?” I asked with a grin, spinning her around before setting her down. “Although I know you're going to be doing the same thing in a few years again anyway when you get your Masters.”

“And what about you?” Abby asked with a grin. “You could do a lot of things if you set your mind to it.”

I raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. Me, college? Until I met Abby, I would never have thought of it. “I don’t know about that one.”

Shawnie finished shaking hands with a professor and came over. She seemed in a good mood, but I wondered how long it would be before the vivacious, wisecracking woman who'd impressed me with her wit and her insight the little bit we talked came back. I didn’t know the extent of the details of what she’d been through, and honestly, I didn’t want to know. But she seemed to be doing okay, and that’s all that mattered. “How're you doing, Shawnie?”

She pointed with her chin, where a small group stood looking at us. “My family's here, so I'm doing okay,” she said with a smile. “Dane, I haven't had the chance before, but let me just say thank you.”

I shook my head, holding up my hands. “I should have been faster, Shawnie. Trust me, I think about that every minute.”

She nodded, then shrugged. “We move forward, big boy.”

“So what are your plans?” I asked, putting my arm around Abby's shoulder. A well-wisher came by, greeting Abby and Shawnie as they passed, and Shawnie paused before answering.

“I'm going to take a month or so,” She finally said. “Then I think I'm going to head out West, get a jump on settling in.”

“In the meantime, you know that I've got all the time in the world on my hands,” Abby said. “Maybe a girl's weekend out somewhere?”

“As long as there are no lakes involved, I'm fine with that,” Shawnie said. Someone in her family called her name, and she turned and waved. “All right, guys, I have to get going. Family party and all. I'll give you a call tomorrow or something.”

As she walked away, I looked at Brittany, who was still smiling broadly. “So, how about the three of us changing clothes and getting over to the hospital? I bet Patrick wants to see that video as soon as possible.”

Brittany nodded and patted her camera bag. “Sounds good. I'll drive.”

I
was barely
able to contain my excitement when Daddy came home, assisted up the steps by Brittany and the occupational health nurse who'd been hired to help him during his rehab protocol. Monica was a former Marine drill sergeant who’d gotten into occupational health after an injury cut her time in the Corps short. She was tiny, just over five feet tall, but built like a truck with a ripped six-pack that rivaled Dane's. I'd met her one time before when she came over to stake out her room, as she'd be living with us for the next month. “We're running out of guest bedrooms,” Brittany said in a good-natured complaint. “Pretty soon, Abby, we're going to be kicking you out to live on your own.”

“I guess she can move in with me then,” Dane teased as he helped him down into his easy chair. “Since you can't chase me off right now.”

“I can still use a shotgun,” Daddy growled in good humor. “Besides, I bet that Monica could kick your ass. I always heard Marines were tougher than Airborne.”

“We'll settle that at some point,” Dane laughed, looking over at her.