Don't Cry (38 page)

“You think you have it all figured out, don't you?” Audrey knew that she couldn't expect help from anyone, that she was on her own, as she always had been. Only she could stop Garth from killing her.

As if sensing her intention to either flee or attack, Garth dropped down and reached for the gun lying beside Hart's body. Audrey dove forward, hit the floor with a painful thud, and while gasping for air, she grabbed Garth's hand as he clutched the 9mm.

Garth might be over fifty and not quite the man he had once been, but he was larger and stronger than she was. Unless she could find some advantage over his brute strength, there was no way she could take the gun away from him. Their struggle ended quickly, despite Audrey giving it everything she had. He wrestled the pistol away from her grasp, slammed the grip against her head, and jerked his hand back and into the air. Pain shot through the side of her head as blood seeped out of the burning gash and trickled down into her eye.

Suddenly she felt the muzzle against her belly. Acting purely on survival instinct, she head-butted Garth in the nose. When he yelped and jerked back, she reached down and grabbed his gun hand with both of her hands. Before he regained his equilibrium, Audrey found an unknown strength born of desperation and fear. She managed to turn the pistol away from her belly for only a second, but a second was all she needed. Garth pulled the trigger just as she gained momentary control. The weapon fired. The bullet went straight up and grazed Garth's shoulder and then sliced through his cheek. Moaning in pain, he shoved Audrey away from him as blood seeped through his shirt and jacket and dripped from the hole in his cheek.

Clearly disoriented, Garth stared at her as he rose to his feet and staggered backward. He aimed the gun at her where she lay on the floor.

By God, he might kill her, but she wasn't going to just lie there and do nothing. She struggled to stand and somehow managed to get up on her feet, fully intending to go down fighting.

Behind her the front door flew open. She kept her gaze on Garth's hand as she lunged toward him. Gunfire exploded in her ears as the bullets zipped past her. Garth grunted and clutched at thin air as bullet after bullet entered his body. Suddenly a big arm circled her waist and threw her face-down onto the floor before the man who covered her with his body aimed and fired one final time; but only after Garth had pulled the trigger of his own weapon one final time.

Audrey could barely breathe. The man lying on top of her was big and heavy, his own breathing ragged.

“Are you all right?” J.D. asked her in a hoarse, throaty voice.

“I—I think so.”

He rose up and off her, grabbed her forearms, and dragged her to her feet. She swayed. Dizzy and slightly disoriented, she slumped against J.D. He slid one hand around her waist and used the other to holster his gun. And then he wrapped both arms around her and held her so tightly that she thought he was going to break her in two.

Holding on to J.D. for dear life, she turned her head and looked at Garth's bloody, bullet-riddled body lying on the floor, his 9mm still in his hand, held in a tight death grip. She jerked her head back around and buried her face against J.D.'s chest. As she shuddered uncontrollably, he kept her secure in his arms.

She lifted her head and looked up at J.D. “He killed Hart and he was going to kill me. If you hadn't shown up when you did…” The trembling began again.

He stroked her back, soothing her. “You're safe. He can't hurt you.”

“I have to tell you…Garth…Garth killed Hart because…because…” She felt as if she couldn't breathe.

“You can tell me later. For now, don't talk, honey. Don't do anything except let me take care of you.”

In the distance, Audrey heard the wail of sirens. The police would be there soon. And an ambulance. Garth had called 911 after he killed Hart.

“Oh God, oh God!” She clung to J.D. as the reality of what had happened replayed itself in her mind.

Hart was dead. Garth had killed him.

Garth was dead. J.D. had killed him to save her.

Tam came and took Audrey home from the hospital that night. The doctor had wanted her to stay for observation, but she had wanted to go home. She had bruises and abrasions, a mild concussion, and three stitches in her temple where Garth had slugged her with the grip of his gun. And her clothes were stained with blood.

They had taken her to the hospital in the ambulance. She had gone alone. J.D. had told her not to worry, that he'd handle everything. He had stayed behind, of course, because he had to explain what had happened and why he had shot and killed Garth. Tam had arrived less than ten minutes after Audrey had been admitted to the ER, and Geraldine and Willie had come rushing in only a few minutes after their daughter. Audrey had answered their questions and Willie had told her she wouldn't have to make an official statement until tomorrow.

Nothing seemed real. She felt as if she were inside one of her worst nightmares and that eventually she would awaken. Hart wouldn't be dead. Garth would not have tried to kill her.

But it had not been a nightmare. It had happened. Garth had killed Hart and then J.D. had killed Garth.

Hours later, after her release from the hospital, Audrey and Tam sat side by side on the sofa in Audrey's living room. Tam had turned on only one lamp. They spoke in hushed tones, both of them in emotional pain and shock. Audrey kept reliving what had happened, trying to come to grips with the truth from the past and the horrors of the present. They talked and cried and sat silently. And sometime in the morning, they both fell asleep on the sofa.

Audrey woke to the sound of the doorbell ringing.

“Stay put,” Tam told her as she went to the door.

Early morning sunlight peeped through the wooden blinds.

Audrey's head throbbed. Her eyes were swollen almost shut. Emotional pain radiated from her heart and transposed itself into a physical ache that spread through her entire body.

Before she could ask Tam who was at the door, J.D. walked into the living room. She tried to stand. J.D. grabbed her the moment she was on her feet, swept her into his arms, and sat down and held her on his lap. She curled her arm around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.

When she heard the front door close, Audrey knew that Tam had let herself out, leaving her alone with J.D.

She lifted her head and looked at him. “Tam knows I'll take care of you,” he said.

She sighed deeply, allowing J.D. to give her the tender, loving care that she so badly needed.

 

During the weeks since Hart's death, J.D. and Zoe had stayed with Audrey, one of them never far from her side. A man she had once disliked and thought a carbon copy of her father had shown her how very wrong she had been about him. He had held her when she woke from nightmares about Garth trying to kill her. He had kissed away her tears when she mourned her brother's death. And he had given her the comfort and pleasures of their slow, sweet lovemaking, each moment together a reaffirmation of life itself.

The police had found Blake's little body buried beneath the rosebush in the backyard where they had played as children, she and Hart and Blake. Her father and Grace planned a memorial service, and they reburied Blake in the cemetery beside his mother.

When she went to her father after the graveside service, longing to comfort him and afraid of his rejection, he had gripped her hand briefly. And with tears in his eyes, he had looked from her to J.D.

“Take good care of her,” her father had told him before he'd turned and walked away.

It had been more than she had expected, less than she wanted. But J.D. had pointed out later that it was a start; and given time and patience, there was hope that one day she might have a better relationship with her father.

A week after they reburied Blake, they buried Hart near Blake and Enid. Her father and Grace had attended the funeral, as had Geraldine and Willie. And as difficult as it had been for Audrey to say good-bye to her stepbrother, it had been even harder for Tam. She had wept for her lost love, wept for Hart's child that she had aborted, and wept for foolish dreams that would never come true. Marcus hadn't come to the funeral with Tam, and Audrey hadn't asked her best friend why her husband wasn't there. But afterward, Tam had explained.

“We've separated. I've moved back home with Mom and Dad, at least for a while.”

“Oh, Tam, why? You two love each other.”

“I—I told him about Hart. And about the baby.”

“I thought he would understand.”

“He did. Marcus was wonderful.”

“Then why—?”

“I left him. He didn't leave me. I have to work through some things on my own. I have to decide if I love Marcus enough to build a life with him, enough to have his children.”

 

Audrey had arranged for Garth's burial and paid for everything. He was the third family member to be laid to rest in a month's time. And oddly enough, saying a final farewell to a man she had thought of as her uncle had been almost as difficult as saying good-bye to Hart. She had been consumed with a barrage of mixed emotions about so many things the past few weeks. Porter, who was now confined to Moccasin Bend for further evaluation. Her brother Hart, who would remain forever in her memory. And Garth, who had condemned them all to live a lie for twenty-five years.

J.D. told her she was a damn saint.

“Someone had to do it,” she said.

“Yeah, but why does that someone always have to be you?”

“Because some of us are born to do these things, to take responsibility, to be the caretakers. You should know, my darling J.D., because whether you want to admit it or not, you're one of us.”

“Why the hell would you say a thing like that?”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Because it's true. Just look at the way you accepted responsibility for Zoe.”

“Of course I did. She's my daughter.”

“Uh-huh, she is. And look at the way you've been taking care of me for weeks now, not to mention that you saved my life.”

“Damn right I did.” He pulled her into his arms. “You're my woman. I'd move heaven and earth to protect you.”

She lifted her arms up and around his neck. “Do you still
think
you love me?”

He grinned. “Yeah, honey. I still
think
I love you.” When she glared at him, he laughed. “And I
know
that I'm crazy about you, that I want you more than anything in this world. God, woman, don't you know I love you?”

“Yes,” she told him. “I know. But I needed to hear you say it.”

Right then and there, Audrey realized exactly what else she wanted from J.D. She wanted them to spend the rest of their lives together.

I'll give him six months to propose to me, and if he hasn't by then, I'll just have to propose to him.

Dear Reader,

 

When I originally plotted
Don't Cry,
I envisioned it as a single, stand-alone novel, a book to give my readers a break from the Powell Agency. While writing Audrey Sherrod and J.D. Cass's story, I became so fascinated with them and the people in their lives that I realized I wanted to tell my readers more about these interesting characters. I wanted to write a sequel. So, at this point a second book featuring Audrey and J.D. is tentatively planned and if my plans come to fruition, you can expect
Don't Say a Word
(working title) to be released in 2012.

 

At present, I've begun work on the next Powell Agency novel and the second in the Dead By trilogy.
Dead by Morning
(working title) is set for a May 2011 release and will feature Powell agent Maleah Perdue and former FBI profiler Derek Lawrence as the main protagonists. Those of you who have been following the Powell Agency novels are aware of the animosity between these two strong, stubborn characters. Forced to work together yet again to track down a killer who is murdering Powell agents and members of their families, Maleah and Derek must set aside their differences in order to unearth a deadly secret that threatens everyone associated with Griffin Powell and with Maleah's best friend, Griff's wife Nicole. The third and final Dead By novel, tentatively set for release in December 2011, will feature Nic and Griff and reveal all of the secrets from the mysterious past that Griff shared with Sanders and Yvette Meng.

 

I always love hearing from readers. You may contact me through my Web site at www.beverlybarton.com or by writing to me in care of Kensington Publishing. While visiting my Web site, you can enter contests, sign up for my e-mail newsletter, and check out a list of all my books and my upcoming appearances at book signings, speaking engagements, and conferences. Also, go online and take a look at my new Beverly Barton Official Fan Page on Facebook: www.facebook.com/beverlybartonfanpage.

Warmest regards,
Beverly Barton