Two had died. But there were more that needed to pay. More that had to suffer the pain of the brand and feel the sharp tip of the knife.
Perhaps if they all suffered and died, perhaps then Lou could finally release the pain that had haunted her for far too many years. Perhaps …
Garrison found Macy LaPorta behind her desk at Firehouse 20. She’d long since been promoted to administration and could have left behind the shift work, but she’d chosen to work ten hours a week in one of the station houses in her district. She liked keeping current, liked remembering what it felt like to battle the blaze head-on.
He knocked on her door and she glanced up from a pile of paperwork. The frown creasing her brow deepened. “What can I do for you?”
Garrison moved toward her desk and dropped a file square in the center. “I’d like you to have a look at pictures taken of a fire.”
She arched a brow, studying him a beat before she dropped her gaze to the file. “This fire happened almost ten years ago.”
“I know.” He gave her a recap of the case.
“I’m not sure what you want from me on this one.”
“I honestly don’t know either. It’s just the more I read the case file, the more I question the results.”
She pursed her lips as she flipped the pages. “Point of origin was near the fireplace.”
“That’s what the report says. I want to know your thoughts after you’ve had a chance to read the file.”
“Do you think this fire is linked to the one on Monday night?”
“I don’t know.” He’d been going nonstop since Monday and, despite a few extra hours of sleep, fatigue nipped at him like a hungry animal. “Just have a look. ”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Garrison nodded his thanks and headed out of the station house. As he slid into the driver’s seat his cell rang. “Garrison.”
“It’s Vic Jones, with the Bureau of Prisons. You called about Eva Rayburn.”
“I did.” Garrison closed his door and loosened his tie. “She’s moved into my city. And we’ve had a couple of murders that I think might be linked to her.”
A chair squeaked as the man seemed to lean forward. “She a suspect?”
“Not now. Two of the women who testified against her are dead. What can you tell me about her time in prison?”
“She was a model prisoner. Took every class she could and read every book she could get her hands on. Worked in the prison library and tutored other inmates in reading and math. Kept to herself.”
“Did she have any visitors?”
“None. Which is unusual. Most of our inmates have someone that visits.”
“Letters?”
“None sent to her, but in the beginning she wrote her share of letters.”
“To whom?”
Papers rustled in the background. “To the same three women: Lisa Black, Sara Miller and Kristen Hall.”
Grim tension fisted in his gut. “I assume they never responded.”
“Not one word.”
“What did she write them about?”
“She kept asking for more details about the night Josiah Cross died. She wanted to remember killing him but she couldn’t.”
The lunch crowd had slowed. Eva had maybe three tables left, which she expected would clear out in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. As she loaded the chocolate dessert on a tray, she checked her watch. By three she and King could take a break before the dinner rush.
She hefted the tray and moved to the table of four women. They’d ordered a couple of rounds of drinks and no one at the table felt any pain. She’d overheard one say it was a divorce party for the tall brunette on the inside left side of the booth.
But like all women, they wanted just a bite of dessert. Hence, the one piece of cake and four spoons. She moved toward the table, which suddenly erupted in laughter. Eva set the cake in the table’s center and laid out clean spoons and napkins in front of each woman.
Smiling, she turned. A quick check on table six and she’d take a break. But as she turned, she noted a man had been seated at table eight. Crap.
Moving toward her newest customer, she raised her gaze. Her greeting died on her lips when their gazes connected. For a moment she imagined a ghost stood in front of her. Time had leaned out his face. His hair was shorter and dark horn-rimmed glasses covered sharp blue eyes. The startling familiar features jerked her breath away and when she did claw in air, she spoke before she thought. “Josiah.”
“Micah,” he said.
Her mind tripped, stumbled and then righted. She realized the sharp blue eyes held curiosity and sadness, not hate and anger. “Sorry. You caught me by surprise.”
A shy smile lifted the edge of his lips. “Sorry, Eva.”
“It’s been a long time.”
His gaze traveled briefly over her frame. “You look great.”
That made her laugh. Micah had been as kind as Josiah was cruel. “I smell like the day’s special and I think I’m actually wearing some of it.”
Absently, he picked up the salt shaker and set it back down with precision next to the pepper. “You wear both well.”
An unexpected softening left her feeling exposed. His family had brutalized her and stolen so much of her life. Only a fool felt anything more than fear for this family. “So what brings you here?”
“The cops told me about Lisa and Sara.”
“Very sad.”
He knitted his long fingers together and rested them on the table. “I’d think you’d still hate them both.”
“I carried the hate for a long time, but it just got to be too heavy.” She glanced around, not comfortable discussing any of her past, especially here, where no one knew about her. “I’ve been back about six months.”
“I wished you’d called me and told me.”
That caught her short. “Would have been kind of weird, don’t you think? Considering the history.”
His expression darkened. “I always wanted to tell you how sorry I was. I never realized Josiah would ever go so far.” The last word held an edge of anger that she’d never heard from him before. “I should have seen it coming. I should have known he was up to something.”
There’d been a million warning signs of Josiah’s behavior and they’d been ignored or covered every step of the way.
He tapped his fingertips together. “I was his twin. At times, I could just about read his mind. I knew he had a thing for you.”
She remembered how Josiah stared at her when he visited the house. His gaze would linger so long her skin would itch. She glanced around and, realizing none of her customers needed her, she sat across from Micah. “Why me?”
“You were smart, strong and you were helping Kristen succeed. The stronger she became, the less she needed Josiah. He resented that.”
Anger cut through her. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Father sent me away during the trial.”
“What about before or after? Your father’s lawyers made it look like I provoked the whole thing.”
“My silence is what I feel worst about. That’s why I’m here. To say I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Micah, ‘sorry’ sounds slim and meager.”
“I know, but I’m truly sorry. I’d do anything to make it up to you.”
Bobby rushed down the stairs and bolted into the room. For the first time the kid seemed filled with pure joy. For an instant she marveled. He was acting like a kid. A strong urge to protect Bobby welled inside her. She would safeguard what she could of his childhood.
His close proximity to Micah sent tension coiling around her chest. Micah had done nothing to her, but he was a Cross and as her mother used to say, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
When the boy darted into the safety of the kitchen she finally could say, “The
best thing you can do for me is just leave King’s and never come back.”
“I want to make it up to you.”
“That’s impossible.” A customer yelled “Waitress” and she gratefully glanced toward the group of women who now looked anxious to pay and leave. “Micah, I’ve got to get back to work.”
Before he could respond, she moved to the table of women. She barely registered what they said. Instead, she was aware of Micah’s gaze on her. It seemed to bore into her and leave her skin tingling with worry and fear.
Mindlessly, she handed the women the check and waited as they argued over who was going to pay. When one woman finally pressed a credit card into her hand, she smiled and turned.
Micah had left.
She prayed she never saw him again, but deep in her heart she sensed the Cross family wasn’t finished with her.
Chapter 13
Friday, April 7, 12:15 P.M.
Angie was running late when she arrived at Branford’s Coffee Shop. Another late night. A little too much wine to block out feelings that haunted her. And she ended up with another morning that was too short on time. She’d not had breakfast and now that she was out of court she was starving.
Bells jingled above her head as she dashed through the front entrance past packed tables to the front counter. A tall, slim man with blond hair, ice-blue eyes and pale pockmarked skin smiled at her. “Do you suppose you can cut your day any closer?”
“Brad. “ She dug in her huge Prada purse and fished until she found her wallet. She slapped a ten on the counter. “I’ll get the usual.”
“Afternoon, Ms. Carlson.” He lifted a coffeepot, filled a to-go cup and then dumped two sugars into the hot brew. “So what got you this time?”
“Don’t ask. And instead of a ham sandwich, just make it a plain bagel and toss in a ginger ale.”
“Ginger ale? You mock cola drinkers.”
“Today, I take back every smart-ass comment I’ve ever uttered about cola drinkers.” Just the smell of the coffee sent her stomach tumbling. She’d not have bought a coffee at all if he’d not poured it.
He nested the lid on top of the cup. “You feeling all right?”
Angie wrinkled her nose. “Just got a bug. I’ll live.”
Brad nodded. “I hear there’s one going around.”