When the Heart Lies (27 page)

“Don’t you look like a million dollars this morning. Oh wait, make that two million. Xavier’s handling things now. I wonder when he’ll figure out Nick is my son, and Max is my grandson? I bet you’re surprised. What a fool he’s been. Well, keeping him in the dark was profitable. As long as he didn’t find out about Nick, Angela kept the hush money rolling in. In a few hours, the ransom will be in the account Angela set up for me thirty years ago. Every dime’s still in the bank, plenty of money. She can’t deny me now. Once we get far enough away, we’ll tell them where you are. If we bother to keep you alive, that is.” He gave her a belligerent, half-cocked grin.

“You and Angela? I find that hard to believe, but then again, I find it impossible to believe I’m standing here.” Did he really think some hush money would lure Angela into his arms? He was delusional. She gave them a coy smile. “Do you want more coffee?” The pot of drug-tainted coffee was nearly gone.

“Yeah, I’ll take another cup,” Remy said through sleepy, hung-over eyes.

“I’ll take a little, too, and put some whiskey in it, I’m celebrating.” Skewing his head with a smug look, he lifted his cup in affirmation.

“I second that,” Remy said.

Feeling extremely bold, she emptied the remaining coffee into their mugs. They voiced no complaints about the flavor; she’d worried they might find it bitter from the pills. The thought of Wayde even thinking he was related to Max made her ill. The empty pot gave her courage, and she became brave enough to taunt him back. “I hate to ruin your family tree, but Max isn’t a part of it. He has no hillbilly in him.”

Wayde let out a sinister growl and looked away.

“He’s dead now anyway, we can just pretend he never existed,” Remy said.

The decanter slipped from her trembling hand. She watched it drop to the floor.
Did it bounce once or twice before it finally burst into a million tiny shards of glass?
Wayde’s laughter broke her trance. Her blood churned thick with anger and a bloodlust she’d never felt before. It was what she needed to carry out her alternate plan—the one she’d hoped she’d never resort to using. Max being dead changed everything. In shock, she didn’t scream or cry, but went on auto pilot, calculating what her next moves would be.

“So, did you ever decide how you’re going to kill me?” Wayde harrumphed with gusto and slapped Remy’s arm.

Appearing unmoved by the news of Max’s death, she tapped her thumb against the top of the carafe handle she had bent and picked up without thinking. “Yes, your death is imminent.”

He torqued his head mockingly. “What kind of harebrained scheme did ya come up with?”

She tossed the carafe handle back to the floor, into the pile of glass. What difference did the mess make? “Let’s talk about something else, Wayde. I’m sure there are many more important things to discuss than your death.”

“I get it now. You’re going to squawk me to death.” His smile twisted, and the roar of Remy’s laughter cropped up, mingling with his own.

Her gaze was unflinching. “That’s just phase one.”

Chapter 18

Jackson and Jim had been on the road for at least an hour before Olivia began to blow up Jackson’s cell phone with calls. He didn’t answer. She would’ve told him to wait for instruction, and she certainly wouldn’t have approved of Jim going along. He called Xavier to let him know what was happening and asked him to field the information to Olivia. He would get to Kinsley quicker without the bureaucracy of the department. Timing remained critical. From previous experience, he knew that money handed over didn’t always produce the desired outcome.

Jim remained the perfect tagalong: quiet and focused on getting them to their destination.

“Jim, we need to get to the cabin as quickly as we can. Once we get off the interstate, you should take over the driving. You’re familiar with the roads and can travel them faster. I have some water in the cooler in back. We can stop up here at this gas station if you want something, or you need to take a leak. I need to check voicemail before we get to the cabin.” He had no doubt Olivia wanted to string him up by now.

“Yeah, I can drive. Whatever I can do to help.” Jim’s entire face tensed as he fretfully slid his hand up and down his leg. “I wish I’d asked if she was in some kind of trouble with Wayde. Those two are the kind you guys you try to avoid, if you get what I mean.”

Jackson gave him an understanding nod, imagining guys like Jim spent their whole lives pussyfooting around guys like Wayde and Remy.

“I sure hope she’s okay, and they end up where they belong.” Not saying anything else, Jim got out of the truck, slammed the door, and headed for the restroom.

Jackson dialed his voicemail while he waited for Jim to return. Ten calls, all from Olivia. He listened to the first message. “What the hell, Jackson, pick up your God damn phone. You’re giving me messages through Xavier now? This is so like you to go off after her half-cocked. Why don’t you let me do my job?”

She must have been at her desk when she phoned because the slam of the receiver sounded undeniably harsh. If she hadn’t left Le Grand immediately after making the call, and he had waited, he’d be four hours away from Kinsley instead of less than two. He looked down at his phone and, click, scroll, click—deleted all of the messages.

~ ~ ~

In the distance, Kinsley watched the scenario—Wayde and Remy clamoring to tell one another about how they would spend their new fortune—her stoically masking her pain and
abiding their belligerent ramblings, for the sake of the ruse. With each sip of her brewed retribution, their words slurred. The scene played out like a dewy slow motion film clip. Time began to dragged as the pills began to take effect, and talk became only snippets, caught between their lags in and out of consciousness.

Wayde shook his head, appearing confused. He gave it a more forceful shake, pushed his cup nearer to her, and buried his face into his hands. “I need some more coffee.”

“I’m going to lay down for a bit,” Remy said and staggered like a sloth from the table into his room.

“What?” Wayde watched Remy stumble away. Then turned to her and glared suspiciously. “What the hell is wrong with us?” He wobbled, trying to revive himself. “What’s
goin’ on?” His head swayed and dropped at the chin.

She laid her hand against the side of his face as if to comfort him. “This is phase two, darlin’.”

A twinge of fear shone in his eyes. She lifted her hand from his face and returned a fast blow, slapping his head down onto the table. When she imagined this moment, she’d seen herself panicking, running from the cabin, crying hysterically, and searching for someone to rescue her. But the scene wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. She felt strong, clear, and—focused.

She checked for money in Wayde’s wallet and stuffed what little he had into her pocket. Without hesitation, she clutched the gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans, put it into his hand, wrapped her hands around his, and fired. She emptied the chamber into the bedroom door. The gun dropped onto the table, and she hurried into the kitchen and lit the portable Coleman stove. She grabbed the heavy iron skillet sitting next to the sink and hurled it into the boarded window directly above the cooking area. The skillet bounced down off the counter, jarred the stove, and fell to the floor with a thud.

She’d seen herself doing this several times after Remy told her Max was dead. It was just like watching a movie as she pulled the propane connection from the stove, making it appear the skillet had compromised the connection unintentionally. Moving much more rapidly, she returned to the table and picked up the pack of Marlboros. She stuffed two in her mouth and lit them. She lifted Wayde’s head, stuck one between his lips, and took a long drag on the other. The one between his lips was merely for kicks. She lit the pack and tossed the burning remains to the floor. When the pack flamed brightly, she tossed the empty carton on top and it ignited. After picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, she took a good look around. She’d learned to survive today, on her own. After exiting, she glanced back, closed the door behind her, and began to walk in the direction of the road.

For having no idea where she was, she believed she was in just the right place: the present. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been there. Years had passed her by while she lived for the future or the past, never quite being in the moment. The only emptiness in her was for Max, but the loss didn’t seem tangible. He couldn’t be dead. She would have sensed he was gone.

If she felt Max was dead, she would have stayed with Wayde and Remy and finished the damn cigarette she was choking on. She tossed the thing aside with disgust. The sweltering heat beat down on her, slowing her pace. The sweat sheathing her body was sticky with no breeze to dry it. That, combined with her empty stomach, made her light-headed. About ten minutes later, she heard the explosion; it made her still. She bent at the knees and waist, falling to the ground. Her shaky arms held her up as she puked violently. Raising her head again brought new waves of nausea, but the little content that had been in her stomach was long gone. She sat down by the side of the road and riffled through her bag. Wiping her mouth with a dirty T-shirt, she took a mental note. The next time she had to kill someone, she should stock water for the getaway. After resting a while, she stood, brushed herself off, and continued walking for about an hour. When she could go no further, she sat in the grass on the side of the road, she hurled again, just a little, but still amazed anything at all was left to come up. Then dry heaves, until she lay weak in the grass. This time, when she closed her eyes to rest, she fell asleep from exhaustion.

~ ~ ~

The roads were getting rougher. Jackson and Jim had been on dirt for the last hour. He was glad Jim came along; he may never have gotten this far without him. Nothing was marked. His last conversation with Xavier had been hopeful. Wayde called earlier that morning, and Xavier wired the ransom into the account Angela had set up for him years before. He had also relayed their current GPS positioning to Olivia, and she informed him she would be catching up soon by helicopter.

“How much farther?” He asked Jim.

“Almost to the cabin now. Three miles or so down this road.”

Jim had never asked one question, never reveled in the idea of being involved in a rescue. He was a good guy and a lot smarter than he let on.

“Thanks Jim, for what you’re doing.” Not many people would’ve gotten involved. And if they did, they would’ve gotten in the way.”

They gave each other a man-to-man nod, and Jim drove on.

About a mile down the road, Jackson grabbed the dash and popped his head out the window, peering up into the sky where smoke billowed. “What the hell?”

“Shit, that’s the cabin. I’m almost positive,” Jim exclaimed, stepping on the accelerator.

When he glanced over at Jim, he was mopping the sweat from his brow.

“Stop! We passed something in the road. I think it was a person.”

Jim spun the truck around, doing a one-eighty, and headed back in the opposite direction.

A split second later, Jackson hollered out again. “Right here!”

The truck came to a halt, and they jumped out. The something in the road was Kinsley, passed out cold. Jackson ran to her, taking her into his arms.

“Jim, get some water over here. It looks like she’s been here a while. Kinsley, wake up.” He shook her, but she didn’t rouse. “Kinsley?”

Jim rushed to them and passed Jackson an open bottle of water.

Jackson poured some over Kinsley’s head. “Kinsley, c’mon baby, wake up.” Her eyes opened briefly. “That’s right, open your eyes.” He put the bottle of water up to her lips.

She started to sip and then lifted her hands to the bottle, pouring the water into her mouth and gulping it down. When she’d had her fill, she looked up, squinting from under the visor her hand made. “Jackson?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

She stared at him intently then down at herself and back up again, appearing confused and listless. There were no outward signs of physical trauma. Her pupils were equal and reactive. Her speech was fine. He even checked her pulse; it wasn’t weak or rapid. Showing no serious signs of shock, she simply looked exhausted and dehydrated. But the face she was making …

“Kinsley, what’s wrong?”

“I think you’re sitting in my puke.”

Relieved, he laughed softly, wrapped her head his arms, pulled her to his chest, and covered her head with kisses. “Hey Jim, get some blankets from the back, and lay ‘
em out in the truck bed.”

Jim laid out the blankets. Jackson picked her up, and Jim hopped up into the truck to take her from his arms and lay her down.

“Well, hello, beautiful,” Jim said.

She opened her eyes, but they began to close again, so she raised her brows to hold the droopy lids open. “Café Jim?”

“Yes ma’am, at your service.”

She smiled as her eyes drifted closed again. He laid her down, and she drifted into a semi-conscious sleep.

Jackson checked her again. The best thing for her was to rest until EMS could evaluate and treat her. Any questions could wait until later. She was safe, and that was all he cared about at the moment. He opened his cell and dialed Olivia. She answered right away. He gave her no time to speak and began filling her in. “Hey, where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day.” He looked at Jim and grinned.