With Every Breath (Slow Burn 4)

It mattered little what they thought of her. But soon . . . soon they would know that justice had finally been served when not only Thomas Harrington took his last breath and Eliza either died taking him out, or she spent the rest of her life in prison.

She’d only had a short time to prepare herself, and she was prepared. She’d trained and been trained by the best, and she didn’t fear death if it meant Thomas could never hurt another woman. But she hadn’t expected to feel so painfully empty, soulless and already dead on the inside.

And so lonely, she ached.

Knowing she was merely delaying the inevitable, she turned away from the steps of the courthouse, recalling another image of when she’d left the courtroom after the sentencing and had been swarmed by reporters, cameras and microphones. All of which she’d ignored, desperate to be away from a place that had caused her so much shame, anguish and heartrending guilt.

It, like so many other dreams, haunted her at night. Never the same one in a row. But each one eating away at her little by little, night by night, taking a piece of her soul until there was barely any left. When the nightmares became too much to bear, she simply didn’t sleep and instead, remained awake, drinking coffee on autopilot as she went back over her mission, absorbing every detail, no matter how minor, and planning for every conceivable scenario.

It was ingrained in her memory. There would be no forgetting it. She could recount it verbatim down to the most minute detail. But she studied her notes, and there were stacks, as a way of atonement. A reminder to all those women that they hadn’t been forgotten. Not by her. Never by her.

She knew each of their names. Whether they were married, single, had families, or like her, had no one at all to even notice she was gone and to grieve for the loss of her. She already had personally drafted letters to each of the victims’ families or loved ones ready to be mailed. Anyone she could find that a once vibrant, beautiful woman belonged to. And she would explain that justice was finally being served and apologize for her part in Thomas’s madness. At least the victims’ families would have confirmation instead of bitter resentment that he was alive and free while their loved one was dead.

Those letters would be mailed right before she took Thomas down in case she wasn’t alive to do it after. Then and only then would she carry out her crusade, and she would not fail, no matter the cost, no matter if she went down with him. In the deepest, darkest recesses of what remained of her soul, she wanted final rest and freedom from the oppressive burden she’d carried for so many years.

Dragging her jacket more firmly around her to shield her from the now much colder drizzle, she walked slowly back by the diner, her work done for today. Now, she waited. And anticipated the feeling of redemption when Thomas Harrington ceased to exist.

At the end of the street was a mail drop. A sharp stab of pain slashed through her chest at the reminder of the letter she’d mailed to Gracie. She’d mailed it from Kansas, taking an indirect route to Oregon so no one could track her, her purpose to send anyone coming after her in the opposite direction. And they would come. But while they were chasing dead ends in the Midwest, she would be in Oregon doing what she should have done long ago.

It wasn’t the smart thing to do, but she couldn’t drop off the face of the earth having Gracie thinking Eliza was angry with her. She owed her this much for saving her life. And she hadn’t lied to Sterling about the surprise involving Gracie’s school for impoverished children. She’d gifted her entire savings to Gracie’s cause because Eliza would have no use for it since she’d either be dead or in jail.

Her letter had been a goodbye and not a very subtle one. She’d asked Gracie to tell Tori, Ari and Ramie she loved them and considered them her dearest and only girlfriends and she’d made only one request in regard to her male coworkers. She’d asked Gracie to tell them she was sorry for letting them down, for failing them. But for Dane, she’d included a smaller sealed envelope and simply asked for Gracie to personally deliver it to her partner and the best friend she’d ever had.

She closed her eyes and hunched down, shielding her face from the rain as she began the half mile walk to the house she’d rented. A hotel wasn’t an option and the town only sported an aging bed and breakfast and a motel that she wasn’t surprised to see was still likely being used for the nightly hookups and drug binges, where dealers and buyers met and, for a price, the management looked the other way. And since it was owned by the chief of police’s brother-in-law, there wasn’t much to worry about as far as it being raided.

Once, after a late shift at the diner, she’d left at two in the morning to walk to the home of the elderly woman she sat for during the day and had been blocked by two potheads, high as a kite and looking to score with an easy target. They’d already reserved a room at the seedy motel and had been waiting in the shadows for her to cross their path.

Thomas, who’d been courting Eliza for several weeks, had materialized out of nowhere and quickly put the fear of God in the two drug addicts, threatening to tear them apart if they so much as looked at Eliza again.

Thomas had a mild manner about him. He didn’t appear to be a badass capable of taking down one, much less two, drug users strung out on God only knew what, but there was something in the way he carried himself, the absolute confidence and determination that made others steer clear of him. The men that is.

Women were utterly charmed by him, and Eliza had been no exception. She’d found it wildly romantic and sweet that he would defend her so veraciously and then sweep her into his protection, vowing that no harm would ever come to her. And so he’d eaten supper at the diner most nights and sat in the corner until Eliza got off and then he’d walk her back to the house of the woman she sat for, with stern instructions to rest and be careful.

Oh how easy a target she’d been. Even without his psychic abilities, he would have manipulated her with ease. It wasn’t difficult for a young girl who had nothing and came from nothing to be overwhelmed by a handsome older man who genuinely seemed to care about her and respect her. He embodied everything she’d never had, never hoped to have, but wanted with everything in her young romantic heart.

He’d been the consummate gentleman, never acting inappropriately, but then he had the benefit of knowing her thoughts, her cynicism and her doubts and so he knew exactly what not to do in order not to lose her faith in him. She’d never had a chance once he’d targeted her. Every action, movement, thought or gesture carefully orchestrated by plucking what she feared most and longed for most right out of her head.