"This is Mary. You remember Rico?"
Betsy nodded. Derek's right hand man for years before she'd even come into the picture, Rico had been a calming influence on Derek, though no one really knew why. He was brusque, bad-tempered and was constantly hitting on any female within spitting distance, including Betsy. His death had hit Derek hard.
"Mary is Rico's kid. Her momma asked me to take care of her for awhile. I told her we'd be happy to. Figured our Ainsley would appreciate having someone to play with."
"This isn't..."
Derek held a hand up, then put Mary on the floor. "Why don't you go play in your room for a bit, okay? I'll come get you when we're done talking." After a tentative look at Betsy, she ran off, and Derek paced the center of the room.
"You know what I want," he said, stopping in front of her. "I want what we had - what we should have had. I want my wife, and my daughter, and for all of us to be together. Happily ever after, and all that crap. And that's what I'm going to get, dammit. That's what I deserve."
Betsy stood up, meeting his gaze straight on. "Happily ever after for who, Derek. For you? Because there wasn't anything
happy
about us when you went to jail. There's nothing
happy
about your husband almost killing you. There's nothing
happy
about spending all that time in the hospital, wondering if the jury's going to let your husband go free so he can finish the job. My happily ever after started the day they put you behind bars, and I'll be damned if I'm going to give it up now."
* * *
Ian tugged at the ropes one last time, making sure the goon who'd nearly shot him wasn't going anywhere. He hoped Derek had heard the shot, and assumed he was dead. His only chance at getting Betsy out of there alive was the element of surprise. Ian tucked the other man's gun in the back of his waistband just in case, and then stepped carefully up the back stairs and let himself into the cabin.
Careful not to let the back door slam behind him and staying low, he moved into the hall, thankful for the thin rug that muffled his steps on the hardwood floor. Finally reaching the corner, he crouched and peered into the living room, heart pounding in his chest as he watched Betsy tell her ex that she didn't want his happily ever after. Derek's grip tightened on the gun in his hand, his finger moving to the trigger, and when he started to raise his arm, Ian didn't hesitate.
"Hold it right there," he said, his own gun pointed at Derek's chest as he walked into the room. "I'd suggest you drop that weapon before I make sure you can't ever pick one up again."
Derek laughed, an evil sound that crawled up Ian's spine and threatened to make him shake.
"You don't want to do this, preacher. Someone's gonna get hurt bad, and it ain't gonna be me." Before Ian could guess his intentions, Derek reached out and grabbed Betsy's wrist, pulling her hard so she stumbled against him. Pinned against his chest, Betsy struggled to breathe as he squeezed a thick forearm against her throat.
The gun rested across Betsy's middle, Derek's finger still on the trigger as he fought to subdue the wiggling woman in his grasp. Ian hesitated for a second, though it seemed like an eternity. Betsy's lips were moving, mouthing the words he needed to hear in order to proceed.
Do it
.
He raised the gun and pulled the trigger in one smooth motion, his arm never wavering as the shock traveled up to his shoulder and back and the sound echoed in the room. Derek's eyes widened briefly before a perfect round red dot appeared on his forehead, and then he was falling backwards, taking Betsy down with him. They landed on the floor with a thud and Ian ran over, pulling Betsy up off the floor and into his embrace.
She clung to him, burying her face in his chest as he held her and watched the blood pool underneath Derek's head.
"Are you okay?" he asked, gently running his hands over her arms and back. She nodded, swiping at the tears on her face and then glancing over her shoulder at the body on the floor.
"I can't believe you shot him." She stepped back, then her eyes widened before she turned to look toward the staircase. "The little girl - I have to find her. And Ainsley..."
"Go find them. I'll call the police." Ian pulled out the cell phone and dialed 9-1-1, hoping the nightmare was finally over.
* * *
Betsy ran toward the stairs and started up, relieved to see Mary waiting at the top. Tears streamed down the little girl's face as Betsy scooped her up and hugged her tight.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Everything's going to be fine." She pulled her head back so she could look at Mary's face. "Do you know where Ainsley is? Is she here?"
Mary hesitated, then pointed over Betsy's shoulder. Turning, Betsy saw a partially open door on the other side of the cabin. She ran to it, only vaguely aware of Mary's cries growing louder. Setting the girl down in the hall, she nudged the door open with one foot and hoped no one else was in the room. A small figure lying in the center of a bed caught her eye and she dared to hope as she crossed the room in three strides. Relief turned to horror when she saw the bright red stain spreading under the girl, and the blood seeping too fast from a hole in the center of her little chest.
"No no no no no!" Betsy grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed and pressed it to Ainsley's wound, even though she knew it was far too late. Feeling for a pulse, she didn't turn when heavy footsteps approached and strong hands closed over her upper arms, pulling her away.
Sirens grew louder as Ian wrestled her away, his arms reaching out to wrap her little girl in the blanket and scoop her off the bed. Numb, she followed, picking Mary up again as they hurried downstairs and out to the front porch. Laying Ainsley on the hardwood planks he pressed the blanket into her chest with both hands, his lips moving silently as they waited for the ambulance.
It was no use, Betsy knew. She hugged Mary as an ambulance, two sheriff's cars and a work truck with a firefighter insignia on it all pulled up to the house. Paramedics ran out, brushing Ian aside to tend Ainsley, but it wasn't long before she saw one of them check his watch after the other shook her head.
Deputies guided her off the porch, one of them taking Mary from her. Everything was blurry, moving in slow motion as a white sheet was laid over Ainsley's body. She looked around, trying to find Ian, but he seemed to have disappeared. Voices kept asking her what happened, if she was okay, what her name was, but she couldn't seem to find the words. Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. A bottle of water was pressed into her hand. She followed directions, ducking her head when an officer guided her into the back seat of his cruiser.
At the station, she followed obediently to a bright room and took the offered seat at a cold metal table. Two suits came in and sat across from her, exchanging a certain look before one of them spoke.
"Ma'am, we're very sorry and I know it's hard, but we really need you to tell us what happened in that cabin."
Betsy shook her head, tears seeping out onto her cheeks at the truth. She'd told Ian to shoot. It had been her words that killed Ainsley.
"We shot my daughter," she said, her chest squeezing tight as she spoke the words.
The interrogator looked up, eyebrows raised. "The girl..." he glanced down at the papers in front of him, then back up at her. “Ainsley Watters was your daughter?"
Betsy nodded, flicking helplessly at a tear. "Biologically speaking. The Watters adopted her as a baby. I...it was the only way to protect her. I had to make sure she was safe, and now..." She shook her head, taking the tissue offered by the as yet silent detective. "It didn't matter. None of it mattered, in the end."
One of the men cleared his throat, the sound of papers rustling loud in the too-small space. She looked up to find them looking at each other, a silent conversation before they turned back to her. The first man - he'd mentioned his name when they came in, but she couldn't remember it - laid his pen down on the table and leaned back in his chair.
"Maybe you could start from the beginning, ma'am. Who were the men in the cabin, and why were you all there?"
Betsy wiped her nose, breathing a few times to compose herself. The detectives' expressions implied they were expecting an answer, but even in her grief she knew better. She'd been here before, in another life.
"I want my phone call. I'm not saying anything without my lawyer." Harley had better pick up the damn phone. Surely his well-paid team of lawyers would know what to do for her and Ian.
Dark, disapproving scowls gave her a strange sense of satisfaction as the two men gathered their files and walked out the door. She relaxed in her seat, as much as she could, and prepared herself for the inevitable wait. It would be awhile before they either brought her a phone, or took her to one. Trying to block images of Ainsley out of her head, she wondered where Ian was, and what he was doing. She hadn't seen him since the cops had cuffed him back at the cabin, but she knew he'd be blaming himself too.
Again she thought about that moment, the single point in time when she'd lost everything. Replaying it in slow motion, she saw herself giving Ian the okay. The blast as the gun went off, a sharp crack as it entered Derek's forehead, the world off kilter as Derek's muscles contracted around her.
A second shot from somewhere close by as she and Derek hit the floor.
The door opened and she looked up, trying to re-focus on the present. A tall, clean-cut man in an expensive gray suit and a maroon shirt walked in like he owned the place, laying a briefcase on the table.
"Ms. Majors?" he said, waiting for her nod to continue. "I'm Bruce Swenson, your attorney. Your brother sent me." He held out a hand, his grip firm around hers when she shook it. Pulling back, he took a notepad and tape recorder out of the case and sat across from her, perching reading glasses low on his nose. Finding a pen, he rested his forearms on the table and looked at her over the lenses.
"First things first," he said, pushing a button on the recorder. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened at the cabin, starting with when you arrived."
Chapter 13
Betsy shook her head. "First, I'll need to speak with Harley. They haven't given me my phone call yet. And no offense, but I don't recognize you, so I'll need a business card too." She waited patiently, holding the man's unblinking stare with as firm an expression as she could muster. Harley's lawyers were old school - they'd been around the block. This guy looked like he'd just taken the bar, and worse, he reminded her of the kind of suits Derek used to keep around for dubious effect.
Long fingers reached out and turned off the recorder. "Here's my card," he said, pulling one out of his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to her. "Your brother's a little tied up right now, but if there's someone else you want to call, I can arrange for that."
"Why?" she asked, leaning forward. "What is Harley doing? Tell him I need him, that it's important. He can't take three minutes to talk to his sister?"
Swenson tilted his head thoughtfully. "When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Majors? There's been a lot going on at the ranch - you're telling me you haven't heard about any of it?"
Betsy's stomach flipped over, and a new wave of nausea hit her. "I've been...a little busy myself. What happened? Is he okay?" She looked up at the large one-way mirror, then at the door. "I need to get out of here. Can you make that happen?"
Swenson nodded. "Just tell me what happened, and we should be out of here in no time." He turned the recorder on again and leaned forward, pen poised above a yellow legal pad.
Rubbing her face with her hands, Betsy sighed. Whoever he worked for, he was definitely a lawyer if the card he'd given her was correct, and all that mattered right now was getting out. She sat back and started talking, the whole story tumbling effortlessly from her lips. It was a surreal feeling, laying it all out like that, and she could almost believe that it had happened to someone else. When she got to the end though, she was back in that bedroom, looking down at Ainsley and her heart broke all over again.
"I loved her," she choked out. "I only wanted to keep her safe."
Swenson turned off the tape recorder. "That's enough for today," he said, handing her a tissue. "We'll need to talk more once you're feeling up to it, but this is a good start." He put the recorder and his notes in the briefcase, shutting the clasps with a loud snap that made Betsy twitch.
"I can go home now?" she asked, watching his stoic face closely. "What about Ian?"
The lawyer checked his watch. "Mr. Mitchell should be about done with his interview as well. The detectives will want to speak with you for a minute, but I'll be here the whole time. They don't have any evidence that you were involved in the shooting, so you should be able to leave very soon. Mr. Mitchell is a different story - because he was involved in a shooting, they'll probably want to hold him as long as they can." He picked up his briefcase and went to the door. "I need to step out for a moment and get the detectives."
Betsy nodded, knowing she didn't have any other option. Swenson was back in ten minutes with the same two detectives, who were much more subdued with the lawyer's presence. Twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of the station, watching Swenson drive away.
* * *
Ian let out a long sigh and left the Sheriff's office. His body ached as he strolled into the parking lot under the stark yellow streetlights, and he wondered where Betsy had gone and how he could find her. The detectives had said she was released hours ago, and his heart hurt that he couldn't have been there for her. They'd held him until they could confirm that the bullet that matched Ainsley's wound had come from a gun that matched the caliber of Derek's, clearing him of the murder. Even so, he still felt responsible. He should have waited, should have paid more attention to Derek's position...