Aftermath (46 page)

The rage on her face dissolved into bone-deep grief.

“I’ve seen what you’re only imagining. You’re scared for Ariana. More scared then you’ve ever been in your life.” Amanda lowered her voice. Wasn’t sure the words were for Lilly only. “Lashing out at people won’t help. Least of all your brother. And giving away Jonas’ secret—.”

“I would never.” She sagged against the wall behind her, thumb and forefinger pressed against her eyes.

“They’ll find her, Lilly.” Jonas hobbled around the corner, his casted hand braced along the wall as he went. He looked better than he had in days. Color covered his face, the bruises still evident, but fading.

Lilly wiped her eyes and pushed from the wall. Sucked a wet breath inward. “You shouldn’t get up by yourself. You could fall. Or tear something. Or…”

Jonas pulled her into an awkward hug. “You’ve got the best team working for you. They’ll find her.” His eyes connected with Amanda’s, a silent don’t-prove-me-wrong in his gaze.

___

IF BAKER JACKSON had been trying to cease their conversation, he’d won, in the most basic form. And with a long-ago ended fight, brought to life with careful words that had kept Beth awake well into the early morning hours.

Larry Catsky ever share any of his case details with you?

A shudder ran through her body. Had her stilling as if the man might appear out of thin air, from beyond the grave. Sit down next to her and…

She shifted on the hard cot and pulled the photo from beneath her pillow. The predawn light and the prison’s dimmed lighting highlighted brown hair and eyes. A smile that made the photo come to life. Beth resisted the urge to trace it or wonder about the child’s—teenager’s life.

Or the one she’d had prior to her disappearance.

Something thick lodged in her throat.

Amanda had seen her grab the picture on her way out. Hadn’t stopped her. Hadn’t said anything. Only watched her with something a kin to…

Pity.

A lethal dose of acidic bile charged up her throat. Had her rising to a sitting position and sucking in a couple of deep breaths.

Beth wasn’t a kid anymore. Didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for her. Or taking her side. That ship had sunk before she’d hit her twenties. She didn’t need to wonder about a kid who didn’t know she existed. Wouldn’t claim her if life depended on it.

Like mother, like daughter.

Besides the encounter with Amanda and a brief shower that counted more as a sponge bath, she’d been allowed no out of cell liberties. As far as she could tell that was equal among all five women, for the last thirty-six hours and had no end in sight.

Which meant she’d spend the remainder of her life right here. In this cell. Only to be moved to another, more confined cell in a matter of days, at the Central Prison.

Maybe sooner.

She stood. Stretched her neck. Made herself place the photo on the lumpy mattress. Dropped to her hands and toes in a plank. Pumped out push-ups as if she’d slept a full night. When the muscles in her arms and chest started burning, she kept going.

She’d told Amanda that Paige didn’t belong in the group of missing girls. Did Beth really believe that?

Or had she been too quick to discredit what her eyes saw, in hopes the information might change?

Maybe, instead of blaming the past or other people for your actions—labeling yourself the victim of crappy circumstance and therefore right in every venture—you stand up and fight.

What did that really mean, anymore? Fighting was a concept meant to harm another person, in order to stay safe, if necessary. It had nothing to do with a bunch of missing girls.

Not in her world.

A loud bang bounced through her cell. Made her jump up from the floor. A male CO—Hanes—entered the room. Ratcheted up the temperature inside a few degrees. Beth backed up a step. Didn’t allow herself the luxury of moving any farther.

The light flicked on. Beth blinked through the temporary blindness.

The female line-backer CO entered next. “Cell toss, hon.” She smacked her gum. “Hands on your head. You know the drill.”

Beth complied. Knew where the opposite led. There’d been plenty of cell tosses in her stay, here.

Never in the early morning hours, however. It couldn’t be later than three-thirty.

A heavy dose of fear tangled her insides. The move to death watch was inevitable. A reality she’d pushed to the back of her mind labeled
the end.
And if she didn’t dwell on it, it couldn’t hurt her.

Couldn’t seize the air going into her lungs. Nor make all her muscles freeze. It was another event, in a lifetime full of them. They’d get there. And she’d survive.

Except, there wasn’t any surviving death.

Under the rug
.

While Hanes flipped her pad and pencil off her small writing table in typical jerk-wad fashion, Line-Backer Babe patted her down. Came back empty handed.

Hanes inspected around the toilet and then proceeded toward the bed. The picture glared like a beacon on the rocks bordering the ocean. He zeroed in on it faster than a kid notices candy left within eyesight.

“I didn’t approve this.” He slapped the picture against his hand, then proceeded to shred it as if it were nothing more than a receipt he didn’t want getting into the hands of a bum.

All while she fought the urge to beg him to stop. To scramble and pick up the pieces before their order was lost. A feature gone in a hasty and hateful tear.

Like your actions tore lives apart?

She didn’t move. Didn’t want to think about the words. Instead, she watched the remains of a child that should have been hers rain to the hard floor. Bit the tip of her tongue. The image was burned in her brain. She didn’t need a picture.

“Thank you, Hanes. I’ll take it from here.” Dexter appeared in the doorway, tall and in command. He wasn’t wearing the standard issue prison uniform, but a charcoal grey V-neck that brought out his violet eyes. Dark circles lined the area beneath them, as if he hadn’t slept in a few days.

The blank look was firmly in place. He stepped forward as the CO’s moved back with an almost choreographed grace, both of them watching her like a cat eyes a mouse. As if waiting for a misstep that would lead to her in chains.

The toe of Dexter’s shoe rested on the broken parts of her daughter’s face. He bent down and picked them up. Inspected them as if they meant something to him.

Same as Amanda had done. Instead of looking in from the outside and seeing the tornado swirling closer, Beth was inside. Protected in the cellar, for once.

Even shelter could become a prison.

As if he could read her mind, those violet eyes trapped her. “You’ve got an opportunity, here.”

“Do I?” The words were part rasp as she struggled to keep her eyes on his. And away from the dilapidated paper in his hands.

“Let’s take a walk.” He turned away from her and took a few steps before turning back. “I’d prefer not to use restraints. Any reason I should rethink that?”

___

ANY OTHER WALK, like the one she’d shared with Dexter, through the prison hallway to the dayroom, would have produced anxiety-riddled worms in her stomach. The need to flee the moment or fake it until she could do so. Even Beth’s deceased husband had caused the near-strangling emotion, when in close proximity, on occasion.

With Dexter, there was a strange peace. And she knew better than to trust it.

“So some girls are going missing. What am I supposed to do about it?”

Dexter repositioned the laptop in front of her, then returned to a standing position beside her, at one of the tables in the dayroom. Folded his arms across his chest as if that would ensure her compliance.

The skin on one forearm was raised and puckered in an irregular pattern. It led up past his elbow, to the short-sleeved shirt he wore.

“You’re not in uniform.”

Line Backer Babe shifted, her hand smoothing over her taser.

“And you’re not cooperating.” Agitation bloomed on Dexter’s face. He pressed his lips together. “All you have to do is tell me how you located those girls.”

“After the fact, you mean?” Even though the need to use the laptop, in front of her, was strong, she pushed it away. “I saw a news article about the girl who went missing in Jonas’ hometown. End of story.”

He circled the table and sat down across from her. “That’s a lie. I watched you maneuver those girls as if shifting them into order.”

Something heavy dropped into her stomach. She’d not had access to any news for a few days. Had something happened? “And two conversations in the past year-and-a-half make you an expert?”

As if in prayer, he rested his bent elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of his face. That penetrating gaze locked on her as if he could divulge every secret without a word.

Some strange sensation wiggled into the empty spaces. She didn’t look away. Had stood up to worse and survived. Except those things—the past—had been bad. And this was something else.

“How old were you when you decided no one would ever be able to love you for you.”

What? Beth clamped her lips together and resisted checking for smirks on the CO’s faces. The swell of anger rising in her chest was familiar, but couldn’t find purchase over the shame doing battle.

It wasn’t true. She hadn’t decided anything about love. It had never been present. Desiring something she’d never had was her definition of insanity. “Don’t go feeling sorry for me, Chaplin, over some words in a diary.”

“Whatever you wrote there isn’t my business.”

“You’d be the only one to think so.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have any preconceived notions about your actions.”

“By actions, you mean how I blew up all those buildings?”

He flexed his jaw and took in a slow breath. “I believe you made conscience decisions and calculated the risks involved.”

“Very clinical.” She opened a browser on the laptop. Was it his? And why not make her use the one in the corner? “What you’re saying is it’s not justifiable.”

“Not even a little.”

She glanced up at him. How was she supposed to compete with such honesty? She leaned closer. “You think I’m looking for absolution?”

“No. That would require you to understand what you’ve done and how it affects others.”

“You just said—”

He held up a hand, his entire body tense. As if he were holding back an explosion of words and much more. “I said you
calculated
the risks.” He paused. “You never once thought of anyone outside of yourself or your pain.”

Oh, check mate. “If you haven’t read the diary how would you know anything about my pain? We don’t sit around sipping tea while talking about our feelings.”

“Remember having a loose baby tooth?”

She sat back. Blinked.

“You’d wiggle it around, even when it wasn’t quite ready. Your mom might have insisted you leave it alone and it would happen with time. But you kept on doing it, because it hurt so good.” This time he leaned closer, one arm braced on the table, now. The other extended toward her as he jabbed his index finger into the table, in front of her. “You destroyed all those lives to get to something you would have had anyway, if you’d have opened your eyes.”

The swirling tornado was back, taking the house from above her. She clicked the keys, in front of her. Focused on bringing up a few news stories. Confirmed that there’d been two more bodies.

“And you could still have it—the kind of love you’ve been looking for your entire life—if you accepted it.”

Heard it all before. Jesus saves. God cares. So, where was he during her childhood? When Paige was taken from her. When she lost her second child? When her patients didn’t survive trauma? Not around. Not making sure she had the kind of
love
she was looking for.

“And up until a few days ago I would have said you were a selfish coward.”

Beth paused. She knew what came next. The tongue lashing wouldn’t even hurt. Even though she’d expected Dexter to be different, because he
seemed
that way. “Heard it.”

“Why’d you jump across the table and stop Mrs. Vera from attacking me? It wasn’t a reflex. You thought about the dangers. You saw it happening. You could have let it. Maybe gained access to freedom, however limited.”

I couldn’t stand to see you hurt.

She clenched her hands and took a slow breath in. No. That wasn’t true. She’d reacted. Plain and simple. And Dexter could kiss off.

“I did something nice. I’m pretty sure that and aiding the police with this investigation will magically poof me into heaven, right? Excuse me while I hurl.”

“This investigation has no bearing on your future. Help or don’t. That’s on you. You can’t earn your way into heaven. You can’t erase any wrongs you’ve done. You have an opportunity. And you don’t deserve it. Nobody does.”

“I’ve accepted the fiery pits of hell. I understand where my actions will take me. People understand that’s what will happen to me when they inject the drugs into my veins in a few days. Why would God be any different?”