Targeted (Callahan & McLane Book 4) (11 page)

He was going to die first; he’d made her promise.

She’d looked at him as if he were crazy, but agreed. He’d suspected she thought he was simply making a joke, but he’d been deadly serious. He didn’t want to rebuild a life without her; he was done starting over.

He followed her up the deck stairs, and she pulled out her phone to call the therapist.

“Oh!” She halted before entering the house. “An email from Jayne.” She frowned. “That’s two this week. That’s unusual.”

Mason peered over her shoulder as she opened the email. It started with an explanation from Jayne’s therapist that she was sending the extra email from Jayne because she thought it was beautifully written and showed a great improvement in Jayne’s state of mind.

“Oh, brother,” Ava muttered. She squared her shoulders as she scrolled down to the body of the email.

Mason wondered if Jayne had snowed the entire staff at the recovery center. He knew as well as Ava that someone like Jayne didn’t make “great improvements” this rapidly. What Jayne did was adapt to situations and figure out how to use people to get what she wanted. Didn’t her therapists see that?

Dear Ava,

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sitting here in my room and I’m overwhelmed by the decades of hell I’ve dragged you through. I see it so distinctly now. You were always the stable and good one, while I ran wild and tried to stir up everyone around me. My brain and body craved both physical and mental stimulation, and it felt good when the people around me were upset. It gave me a rush of energy that I could make that happen. I understand now that I was sick. It’s no excuse. I should have known what I was doing was wrong. Actually I did know it was wrong! I just didn’t care to stop it. It felt too good. It gave me something I needed.

How clear everything looks today. It scares me that I might not see it tomorrow. I know it’s the medications that free my brain, take away the need for the constant stimulation. It scares me that my future is reliant on a pill bottle. What if they stop working? What if my body compensates for the chemicals and I go back to the way I was? Sometimes the future is scarier than my past.

Mason snorted. He’d seen what Jayne had done in the past to Ava. It was amazing that Ava wasn’t in a nuthouse.

Sheer force of will had kept Ava’s head above water.

I’m not asking you to forgive me. I realize that’s a huge step. All I want you to know is that I can see it now. I see it all.

“No, you don’t see it, Jayne,” Ava muttered. “Forgiveness is the easy part. I’ve had to forgive you over and over because if I don’t then I can’t move on with my life.”

I won’t hurt you again.

Love,

Jayne

Mason read it again, searching for the subtext that Ava had taught him to look for. “Is she going to try suicide again?” he asked bluntly. “Because that’s the only way I know of that she won’t hurt you again.”

“I don’t think so,” Ava said. “That last line is a bit dramatic but not in the usual Jayne way. I’m trying to figure out what’s happened that makes her feel the need to apologize.”

“Has she ever said anything like this to you before?”

Ava was quiet for a few moments. “Not exactly. Usually this sort of thing would spill out of her when she was drunk and regretting something she’d done. I will say her ability to experience regret has diminished over the years. In high school she used to have huge bawling sessions where she moaned about the things she’d done and beg me to forgive her. Looking back, I suspect it was her way of reliving the event and reiterating that she’d managed to rip out a piece of my heart.”

Ava’s matter-of-fact tone told him she’d cut off her emotions to analyze the email. She’d developed the habit of learning from her sister’s behavior instead of being engulfed by it. He hated that Jayne still pushed her into that mind-set.

“I suspect you’re right,” he admitted. “The therapist seems to think this is a big step. You don’t agree?”

“No, not at all.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Jayne will never recover. She will always be searching for the next way to exploit the people closest to her. I think she likes the praise this letter must have earned her from her doctors.”

From any other person’s mouth, those words would have made Mason raise an eyebrow, believing they were too pessimistic. But over the last ten months, he’d learned that Ava knew exactly what she was talking about when it came to her sister.

He wrapped his arms around his almost-wife and pulled her tightly to him. A small shudder went through her as she leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

“I’ll call the therapist tomorrow,” he said. “Consider that task removed from your plate. We still need to know if anyone has been looking for Jayne.”

“Don’t argue with the doctor.”

“I won’t. I’ll tell her how we view the email and let her handle that information as she pleases. I suspect my words will later haunt her when Jayne lets her down.”

“She will, won’t she?” Ava whispered.

“Every time.”

14

B
ingo barked as if a dozen wolves were in the house.

Mason was out of bed and halfway down the hall before he’d fully awakened. He dashed into the kitchen, where Bingo leaped and snarled at the back door. His nails scratched the glass and paint as he threw himself at the door over and over. Seeing no one through the glass, Mason yanked open the door, and Bingo launched himself off their deck. The interior house lights still off, Mason watched as Bingo tore about the yard, barking at the top of his lungs.

Mason saw nothing to make his dog act insane. As he scanned the backyard, he felt Ava stop behind him.

“See anything?” she whispered.

“No.”

“He’s a good alarm. Do we need to call the police?”

His concentration was fixed on the dog, who’d stopped to sniff a patch of grass. “What do we tell them? Our dog is freaking out? Come drive through the neighborhood?”

Ava sighed. “I know. It sounds ridiculous.”

“Bingo’s calmed down. Whatever it was is gone.”

“
Whoever
it was,” Ava corrected. “He wouldn’t do that over a squirrel.”

“I thought he was going to break down the back door. He heard something he didn’t like in the backyard.”

“I hope he scared whoever enough to keep him out of our neighborhood.”

“Now I’m having second thoughts about those prints you saw in the backyard,” said Mason. “It’s possible someone has been prowling around here.”

“I wish the new dog door would get here.”

Mason didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if he liked the idea of his dog in the backyard with someone who could hurt him. Anyone who saw Bingo would see a cute medium-size black-and-white dog. But anyone who heard him first would believe they were being chased by one of the hounds of hell.

“No one can fit through that dog door,” Ava stated.

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” admitted Mason. “I don’t like the idea of Bingo coming face-to-face with a prowler.”

“Afraid we’ll get sued? Because Bingo will kick his ass.”

Mason smiled, knowing she was trying to make light of a situation that was bothering both of them. “It’s twice in a few days . . . assuming someone recently made those prints you saw.”

Ava called the dog back to the house. Bingo galloped across the lawn and took the few steps to the deck in a single leap. He slid to a halt at their feet, his ears forward and his tongue hanging to one side in eagerness. “He doesn’t seem concerned,” she said.

Mason closed the door and locked it. “If he’s relaxed then I say we’re safe to go back to bed.”

“He’s repaid you well for adopting him off the street.”

“He’s a good guard dog,” Mason agreed. “But I’d say he adopted me, not the other way around.”

“Smart dog.” Ava kissed him and took his hand, leading him back to bed.

15

M
ason sat and stared at the huge cross on the wall behind the speaker on stage. He estimated the cross to be thirty feet high and wondered how they’d secured it to the wall. If it fell, it’d be deadly. Guilt flooded him as he realized he’d tuned out the minister’s words of comfort, and he ran a finger between his neck and collar. He hadn’t worn a tie in months. What would Denny think of all the pomp in his honor?

He’d tell them to go drink a beer in his name instead.

Mason planned to do that, too.

He’d been stunned at Portland’s turnout to grieve for his captain. Ava had insisted they hire a town car and driver to transport them to the memorial. Mason hadn’t understood why until they’d headed toward the city on the freeway. Every overpass had been lined with people who’d come to watch the miles-long procession. Signs and banners hung from the rails. He’d known the news stations had broadcast the details of the memorial along with the procession’s route, but he’d never imagined the overwhelming throngs of people. He’d gone weak at the sight of the first crowded overpass, overcome with emotion, and been thankful he wasn’t driving. Ava had made a smart suggestion.

Patrol cars from every police department in the state filled the procession. He also spotted cars from Idaho, Montana, and Arizona. As they’d slowly driven down the street to the huge church, they’d passed beneath three sets of fire truck ladders that’d formed arches over the street, huge American flags hanging between them.

The flags had made his eyes water, and he hadn’t believed anything else could rip his emotions that bare, but it happened again as they walked through the parking lot to the church. A band of rugged-looking motorcycle riders had lined the path for the attending police officers. The leather-and-denim-clad riders had alternated, half facing the walking officers and half standing with their backs to them, but not in disrespect; they’d been watching the crowds for threats.

With the national cop killings leaving police officers across the nation feeling like targets, the unrefined but proud-looking bikers silently made their point. A group of young men in high school football jerseys stepped up to the line and filled in the holes between the bikers, imitating their stance, their chins held high.

Mason’s knees threatened to betray him. Ava gripped his hand, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Inside they managed to get seats near the front, an amazing feat, as it appeared nearly a thousand people expected to sit indoors.

Now he stared at the cross, half listening as Denny’s brother told a funny story from their childhood. He focused on the beautifully carved wood to keep from dissolving into a puddle. If he gave his full attention to Denny’s service, he’d never be able to walk out on his own. On his left, Ray’s wife gripped her husband’s hand as he used a handkerchief with his other. Mason had spotted Duff, Steve, Nora, and Henry in the crowd. Anyone who’d ever worked with Denny had shown up.

His mind drifted to the burial. Denny’s sons had requested a private service, keeping the details from the public and Denny’s coworkers. Mason respected their wishes. He knew that after the publicity died down, Denny’s sons would eventually reveal his resting place to those who’d been close to him. Mason imagined Denny with a hillside site.

Alone.

Most people buy a resting spot for two when their spouse dies. Denny had been alone for a long time. Would his sons buy plots close by for themselves and their spouses? Did children in their twenties think about that sort of thing? Mason didn’t believe so. That meant Denny was alone, not waiting for anyone to eventually join him.

A year ago that would have been Mason.

Christ, I’m pathetic today.

He focused on Ava’s hand in his, moving his fingers to touch the ring on her fourth finger. The promises it held.

I’m a fucking lucky man.

He’d had no idea the service would affect him this way. But Ava had known. She’d shown it in her insistence on the town car when he’d tried to talk her out of it. She knew him better than he knew himself, after only ten short months.

He tightened his grip on her hand and she glanced his way, concern in her eyes.

Yep. Lucky.

Micah had stood along the walkway with his back to the cops. Later, strangers had patted him on the shoulder, slapped him on the back in solidarity, and thanked him for his respect. It’d felt good. He’d liked the spotlight for that moment, but he was happy to blend back in and become invisible again. A few of the other volunteers had given him odd looks, not recognizing him, but he’d known that if he played the part no one would call him out. Something he’d learned from the people who lived on the street.
Show no fear. Act as though you belong.

He’d heard about the email asking for volunteers and it’d been easy to get the right clothing.

The man he worshiped had walked right behind him, his attention on the police officers. He’d felt proud to be providing protection, and the public’s acknowledgment made his chest swell. Then he’d seen the television cameras. He’d tugged his cap low over his eyes, fear swamping him. He hadn’t minded the people with the cell phone cameras, but when the television logos started showing up, he’d fought the panic.

What if he later watched and spotted Micah?

He would question why he’d been there, dressed in clothing that didn’t belong to him.

Chances are slim that he would spot me.

He’d stood his ground, but kept his eyes averted from the cameras, hoping none of them got a good shot of his face. He could probably explain away his behavior to the man, but he wasn’t ready for his spy games to end.

He couldn’t get inside the church, so he settled for watching the ceremony on a large outdoor screen. Hundreds of people had crowded around to watch, but he found it boring. He turned his attention to people watching, his favorite pastime. Many cried. The men were the most interesting: their expressions were stoic, but he saw tears form. They rapidly, almost angrily, brushed their cheeks, while the women didn’t care who noticed their tears.

It was a powerful display of what one person could do to a community. One man’s actions had rocked the city to its core and drawn the attention of national media.

Micah was proud.

The scrutiny was getting tighter. According to the media, the police believed the same person had killed the captain and the trooper from the day before. No mention had been made of the FBI agent and he wondered how long it would be before the media linked them.
Have the police not put it together?

That was a good thing. It meant there was still time for him to keep moving in the shadows.

But there’d come a point when he might have to step forward. A small part of him yearned for the attention it’d bring.

Not yet.

He needed to see what happened next.

“Two more pitchers?” Ray asked. A chorus of agreement sent him to the bar.

Ava relaxed back in the booth and tried not to think about the investigation. The task force had paused for a few hours, knowing it needed to say good-bye. A small group of Mason’s closest coworkers had picked the dim bar as a good place to reminisce about Denny Schefte. Duff Morales had set the tone by telling a story about the time he’d hidden an open can of tuna fish in one of Denny’s desk drawers. For three days their boss hadn’t noticed, although every person who’d stepped in his office had been assaulted by the odor. One of the custodians had finally taken it upon himself to hunt down the source of the smell. They’d later learned Denny had lost most of his sense of smell in his teens. He’d laughed long and hard when the fish had been exposed, considering the joke to have been on everyone but him.

More stories followed, the tone of the group fluctuating between all-out laughter and near tears. The men had taken turns buying pitchers of Coors Light, the only beer Denny would drink. For years they’d harassed their boss about his taste in beer when he lived in one of the craft beer capitals of the nation. Denny had never caved to their pressure and drank the weak beer with pride. Ava sipped at her glass, amused that today the other men were downing it with gusto.

Next to her, Ray’s wife Jill downed her glass of beer. Ava had been slightly intimidated the first time she’d met Jill Lusco. Gorgeous, blonde, tall. And, according to Ray, a perfect mother. But she’d turned out to be fun and down-to-earth. Ava refilled her glass before Jill could ask for more.

“How are the wedding plans?” Jill asked, tapping her glass against Ava’s in thanks for the refill. Her words were slightly slurred and Ava suspected her own words sounded the same. The first few pitchers of beer had gone down very easily.

Ava glanced at Mason, but he was deep in conversation with Duff. She snagged a piece of the baked pretzel and dipped it in the cheese sauce before answering.

“I can’t pick a freaking location,” Ava admitted. “Everything feels wrong. Too big, too small, too fancy, too plain.”

Jill nodded in sympathy. “It’s hard getting started.”

“Where’d you and Ray get married?”

“It was different for us. I was only nineteen, so my parents’ church was the logical choice.”

“Nineteen?” Ava tried not to squeal the word. “You were a baby!”

“High school sweethearts. Corny, aren’t we?”

Ava looked at Ray Lusco. The linebacker-size cop was a snappy dresser and wonderfully transparent about his feelings. Ava and he liked to discuss
Project Runway
episodes, nearly making Mason’s eyes roll back in his head. She thought Jill was very lucky and told her so.

“You’re good for Mason,” Jill stated, leaning close. “I’ve tried for years to set him up. That old-fashioned silent type can be very appealing, but it only works with the right couple. I’m glad he found you. I didn’t want him to be lonely anymore.”

“Do you think he was lonely?” Ava asked.

Jill nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes. He just didn’t know it.”

Ava grinned.

“Where does Mason want to get married?” Jill asked.

“He says whatever I want is what he wants. That it’s totally up to me.”

“He’s not helping at all?” Jill looked horrified.

“He’s not Ray.”

“But still, some input would be helpful. He thinks he’s helping by staying out of the decisions, but that’s making it harder for you.”

“Maybe,” Ava admitted. “But every time my wedding planner suggests a location, I try to picture the two of us in a ceremony there and I can’t. It feels wrong.”

“Perhaps you need to go to the county courthouse.” Jill’s sad eyes indicated that would be a tragedy. “Take the planning out of the equation.”

“That doesn’t feel right, either,” Ava muttered.

“Do you want to get married?” Jill whispered confidentially, leaning inside Ava’s comfort zone.

“Yes!”
Why does everyone ask me that?

“Oh, good. You had me worried for a moment. I think you guys are a great match, but I know sometimes things aren’t what they seem on the surface.”

Ava reassured her that she and Mason were solidly on the same path, but doubt poked at her brain with its nasty red-hot spikes. What was her issue?

She looked deeper, asking the hard questions that she’d always avoided.
Is the age difference an issue?

No. Twelve years was a drop in the bucket. And it would only get smaller as they got older.

Am I scared of this level of commitment?

No. She was done with all other men. He’d ruined her for anyone else.

“Mason doesn’t want to have more kids, does he?” Jill asked, interrupting her deep thoughts. “How do you feel about that?”

Aha.

That one stung a bit. “I’m okay with that,” she slowly replied. “I’ve never really had any maternal urges, and I can’t imagine Mason raising a high school student when he’s in his sixties.”

Jill’s gaze drilled all the way into Ava’s brain; she didn’t believe her.

Little frilly dresses. Minnie Mouse. Shiny black shoes. Disney princesses.

Ava swallowed. “I don’t want to discover that my sister’s mental illness has been passed to my children.”