Mississippi Blues (40 page)

“I don't care.” Her eyes glowed with happiness. “You're all I need.”

He tugged her close and wrapped his arms around her. How he had gotten so lucky to find her? “Come on. Let's get married.”

She smiled at him and they went inside.

In a matter of minutes, they were man and wife.

Jace kissed his bride. Although the future wasn't certain, he knew he had a great new start. He still had to be officially cleared by the state, but he didn't have to return to Angola. Better, they had settled a large sum of money on him, so he had some time to find what he wanted to do.

He shook the judge's hand and turned to his bride. “Ready?”

“Completely.”

As they walked down the hall leading to the Chief's office, Lindy stumbled.

“You okay?” Jace asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

She blinked rapidly and gave her head a quick jerk. “Yeah. I'll be all right. I'm so sorry for what the Chief did to you.”

“He hurt you, too.” Jace would do anything to take that pain away.

“Not so much,” she said bravely. “You're the one who suffered the most.”

“It's over now.” He led her through the door into the sunshine. “And it's a brand new day.”

• • •

“May I see Trey?” Summer held her breath, not sure if he still wanted to see her. She had been at the hospital the whole time he was in surgery and by his side every minute he was in the hospital. They hadn't talked much because he had been too doped up. The bullet had gone through into his shoulder, lodging there. The doctors had taken it out; assuring him he would have full use of his arm and hand.

Why she worried was because the Chief had gone to his office, spread out Jace's letters and shot himself in the head. She prayed Trey wouldn't blame her for the Chief's actions.

Etta waved a shaky hand. She appeared to have aged by at least a decade. “Hi, honey. Mister Trey is upstairs in his old room. Go up if you want.”

Summer went toward the stairs. “How is he?”

“Mendin' fine.”

Wrinkling her nose, she went up the wide staircase and down the hall to Trey's room. She knocked lightly and entered. In a big bed near the window, Trey lay still, apparently asleep. Moving across the room, she kicked off her sandals and sat in the chair nearby.

He opened his eyes. “I thought I was dreaming about an angel.”

“Not today.” She reached for his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better, but pretty good now.” A weak smile lit up his pale face.

“Do you need anything? A drink? Pain pills?” She glanced around for them.

He tugged her close. “Just you.”

She blinked back sudden tears. “Being around me almost got you killed.”

He struggled to a sitting position. “Are you kidding? That crazy woman was going to murder your mother. I couldn't let that happen. I've already done so much to your family.”

Summer put her finger over his lips. “Hush. That's over now. You did what you had to do at the time. No rational person would've thought their own mother would kill someone.”

He took hold of her hand and moved it. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered. A deeper kind of pain than physical swam in his dark eyes. “If the Chief had only listened … ”

“Trey, stop. There's no way any of that is your fault.” She wasn't going to let him blame himself. He was a pawn in all this.

“Can you forgive me?” His husky voice grated like gravel in rattling around in a cement truck.

“There's nothing to forgive you for,” she insisted. “You didn't know.”

Her heart jumped a few beats. This man had always been the only one for her. So much lost time to make up for. She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. “I need you, Trey.”

“Enough to put the past behind us?” His eyes filled with hope. “The Chief wouldn't say he was wrong or that he was sorry before he died. It's as if he couldn't make himself admit what he or Mother did. I hope he's found some kind of peace.”

“Trey, don't. I love you. Not the Chief, you.” She kissed him, trying to erase the image of the Chief's death out of his head. “You're not like him.”

“No, but I can't help but feel responsible,” he said. “If I hadn't been so stubborn and listened to you, a lot of this could've been prevented.” Wrapping his good arm around her, he pulled her half on top of him.

Careful not to hurt him further, she said, “Trey, it's taken me all these years to admit that you did what you had to do. You're an honorable person and you had to tell the Chief you saw Jace with the knife. You did what was right. There was no way you could know what would happen. Besides, Mama's actually doing a lot better. She stepped outside, to the garden today. Facing her demons was the best thing that could've happened.”

“Thank you for understanding.” Trey brushed her hair back. “I hope MiLann makes a full recovery.”

“It looks like we're going to be related by our siblings,” Summer said. “Jace and Lindy got married.”

“Lindy called me, too,” Trey said. “She put Jace on the phone. I told him I'm happy for them.”

“Yes, me too.” Summer's eyes filled. She couldn't blink them back fast enough and a few slipped down her face. “Everything's good.”

“Not everything.” Trey wiped her cheeks with his thumb. “It must be quite a shock to find out all that about Glory. Did you have an inkling she was Soloman's daughter?”

“Never.” She blinked back tears. It would take a long time before she felt better. “I'll miss her. I'm so sorry she was so damaged by her father.”

“Jody did some checking. Turns out Soloman was a grifter. He stole from wealthy women all over the south. He knew who my mother was from the minute he set foot in the bar.” Trey hugged her close. “Soloman dragged Glory around with him her whole life. She wasn't with him that night because she had stayed in New Orleans to work her own job. The police caught her and she spent the next two years in prison. The minute she was released, she made her way here to avenge her father.”

Summer gave her head a little shake. “Your mother killed Soloman because of what he did to Mama. Glory killed her and the others for what she thought they did to him. Buford is going to be paralyzed from the waist down. We all paid. Jace, you, me. Even Glory. All because of our parents' decisions. So much death and destruction.”

“We have a chance to pick up the pieces,” he said against her hair.

“Lilah and I are going to try and keep the shop going, but it won't be easy. She told me Jody took over the Chief's job. The city council will have to approve him, but I don't know why they wouldn't go for it. Jody is a great guy.” Summer lifted her chin and watched him to gauge his reaction.

“No matter what happens, we have each other,” Trey whispered in her ear. “I love you, Summer. I will love you forever.”

She sat up a little and said, “I love you, Trey.”

“Prove it,” he said. “Marry me?”

“Only if we can do it today,” she replied. “Because I don't want us to lose another minute.”

He kissed her.

“Can you do this?” She slipped her hand under his T-shirt.

His eyes drifted shut. “Uh-huh.”

She moved her hand lower and slid it inside his pajama pants. Her hand circled his penis. “What about this?”

“Barely.” A smile played around his lips.

After a few slow strokes, she asked, “Am I hurting you?”

“Terribly.”

Her hand quit moving. “I can stop.”

His eyes flew open. “Only if you do want me to die.”

She stood and slipped out of her clothes. Then, carefully, she slid his pants past his hips. “Are you strong enough for this?” She dropped her own clothes on the floor.

“I'll force myself,” he ground out.

Summer straddled him and guided his penis into her. Carefully, as so not to injure him, she leaned forward and touched his lips with hers. He circled her neck with his good arm and held her close. She rocked her hips.

He thrust up and she thought she was the one going to die.

Their bodies caught and held a rhythm.

She cried out as she came in a shuddering finale.

Moments later, he too came.

She slumped forward, breathing heavily, his good arm around her waist. In a minute she rolled off him. He held her snuggled next to him. “Don't go anywhere.”

“I won't. Never again,” she promised.

Falling in love with romance novels the summer before sixth grade, D'Ann Lindun never thought about writing one until many years later when she took a how-to class at her local college. She was hooked! She began writing and never looked back. Romance appeals to her because there's just something so satisfying about writing a book guaranteed to have a happy ending. D'Ann's particular favorites usually feature cowboys and the women who love them. This is probably because she draws inspiration from the area where she lives, Western Colorado; her husband of twenty-nine years; and their daughter. Composites of their small farm, herd of horses, five Australian shepherds, a Queensland heeler, nine ducks, and cats of every shape and color often show up in her stories!

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Safes are as mysterious and alluring as a woman.

Strong yet gentle to the touch.

Equally as tempting.

Yellow crime barrier tape billowed in the humid breeze as it surrounded Samuals Safe and Lock Company like an animal pen. Only demented animals, Rafe thought, would commit such a sordid murder. He had experienced many, far too many, in his ten-year career.

“Special Agent Costillo, FBI,” Rafe announced, flashing the leather bi-fold containing his credentials.

“Yeah, we've been expecting you,” answered the uniformed Miami policeman standing guard at the crime scene, swiping his sweaty brow.

When a federal crime involved safes, Rafe was often a part of the investigation. He was the FBI's top expert on safes and vaults. Connections at the FBI's Miami field office knew he was in town visiting his family and informed him of the crime scene.

He had been involved in mob-hit cases where the victim had been locked in a safe and tossed in a lake, a new take on cement shoes. Incidents where people were murdered for the contents of a safe or vault were not uncommon. Having three legendary safe technicians murdered and stuffed in safes in the span of three months was unusual. Having one occur in the city of his birth while he was visiting made him uneasy.

Homicide detectives met him as he crossed over the tape and entered their territory.

The front office of the safe and lock company was typical for the business. A service counter was equipped with key duplicating equipment and key blanks.

Fingerprinted glass display cases featured the newest in security gadgetry and brass door locks. Modern metal safes and safe cabinets of various heights lined the walls, cardboard placards displaying features and price tags. Everything was a bit dusty, the air a bit stale, and the plank floors scuffed and worn. The shop was not unlike his father's. The thought alone made the hair tingle on Rafe's neck. Knowing that the victim could have been his own father made his blood chill. These murders were in familiar territory, in a world where he grew up, in a business he knew all too well, with victims with whom he could personally identify. He swallowed hard to get the bitter taste of anger out of his mouth.

“Back here,” a detective in a rumpled tan suit motioned. He led Rafe through a doorway toward the back warehouse.

Heavy metal safes in shrink-wrap sat on wood pallets awaiting shipment. A rusted yellow forklift was at the ready. Used safes, some ornately painted, and some cast iron stood forlorn in a dark corner. Others were stacked in boxes. Johnson bars were propped against the cinder block walls.

Rafe followed the detective toward the back wall of the warehouse where a six-foot tall, double-door Mosler stood. The safe's chipped army green paint revealed its 1940s vintage; the drop handles its make. Its thick doors were open. Nickel alloy compression bars glimmered as the detective flashed his Mag Lite in the safe.

Though empty, and devoid of shelves, the compartment above an open money chest revealed puddles of blood. Streaks of burnished red smeared against the sides, back, and inner doors of the large safe.

“The body's at the coroner's,” the detective said without emotion. “Forensics have been out and have taken samples.”

“What were the signs of trauma?” Rafe asked, noting the blood and powdered residue from fingerprinting.

The detective shook his balding head. “No visible signs of gunshot or punctures. Only one weird thing.”

“What's that?”

The detective looked at him, steely gray eyes turning to glass. “Three of the fingers on his right hand are missing.”

“What three fingers?” Rafe asked, though he knew the answer from reports on the New York and LA murders.

“Thumb, forefinger, and middle finger,” the detective answered. “Severed clean and nowhere to be found.”

“The fingers a safeman uses to manipulate safes open,” Rafe muttered. “I gather Mr. Samuals was right-handed?”

“We questioned his employees. Yes.”

Rafe sighed.

“Since you guys have been called in, this isn't an isolated incident, is it?” the detective asked, staring at him.

Rafe met his gaze. “I'll have to review the coroner's report and forensics before making a judgment.” From experience, he knew the answer.

• • •