Her Dying Breath (45 page)

“Your mother was trading sex for drugs. But the dealers decided they wanted you, too,” her father said, his tone harsh with disgust.

“But Jo-Lynn fought for you that night,” Agnes continued. “They raped her and beat her, but she finally managed to get you both out. You were bruised, battered, dehydrated.”

“You had a fever and were so dirty,” her father interjected. “No telling when you’d had a decent meal.”

“You were skin and bones,” her mother said. “Sheriff Bayler called us, and we came to the hospital. When I saw you—” Agnes paused to swallow back more tears. “It broke my heart. You were so tiny and frail and…terrified. You had nightmares for weeks.”

“When you were released from the hospital, we started paperwork to legally take you away from her,” her father said.

“Jo-Lynn was furious at us, at me,” her mother said. “But I was angry at her for making you live that life. I decided then that if I couldn’t save her, I would save you.” She squeezed Brenda’s hand. “So we let my sister go and took you in as ours.”

Her father stroked her cheek. “Try to understand how hard it was for Agnes,” he said. “She had to give up her sister to save you. But if you want us to help you look for her when you’re feeling better, we will.”

Tears blurred Brenda’s eyes. All those memories of life with the homeless woman—eating garbage, freezing to death, sleeping
in alleys, and eating from Dumpsters—had been real. Memories. Not just bad dreams.

Her mother had chosen drugs over her.

Yet Agnes had loved her and given her a good life. And now she’d saved her again, giving up her own kidney to keep her alive.

“No, I don’t need her.” She clutched Agnes’s hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I have my mother right here.”

Tears flowed down Agnes’s face. “Oh, Brenda…”

“I love you, Mom.” Brenda swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “Thank you for loving me back.”

Agnes pressed her cheek against Brenda’s hand. “I love you, too, Brenda. Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” Brenda said softly. “I owe everything to you, Mom. Thank you for being my mother. For showing me what being a mother really means.”

Her mother hugged her, then laid her head against Brenda’s hand until Brenda drifted back to sleep.

But this time, a peace fell over her. She knew who her real mother was. The woman who’d been there for her all along.

She would never forget it again.

“His name is Germaine Webber,” Jake told Nick as he led him to the interrogation room. “He showed up in the system—prior for assault and battery. After he left the military.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Nick mumbled.

“How’s Brenda?”

“I called the hospital on my way, and they said she’s stable. I’m sure her family is with her now.” A family he wasn’t part of—and never would be.

Jake opened the door, and they entered, Jake taking a seat across from Webber.

The man was a big brawny guy who looked as if he’d just stepped from a wrestling match. Chunky hands and short, stocky body. Scar on his left cheek. Some kind of tribal tat on his arm, and a cobra winding around his beefy neck.

“We have your gun, Webber,” Jake began. “The bullets from it match the slugs the doctor removed from Brenda Banks.”

Nick crossed his arms and remained standing, looking down at the man with a scowl. “Who hired you to shoot her?”

“Who says I was shooting at her?” Webber growled.

Nick and Jake exchanged irritated looks.

“Then who were you shooting at?” Jake asked.

Webber shrugged.

Nick rapped his knuckles on his chest. “At the two of us—a sheriff and a federal agent?” He wouldn’t have put it past the Commander to put a hit on his sons.

A seed of panic flared in Webber’s eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

Nick slammed his fist on the table. “Then what the fuck do you mean?”

Webber’s breathing sounded choppy in the ensuing silence. He unfolded his fists, then folded them back again, studying the hair on his knuckles. “All right, yes, I was supposed to shoot the Banks broad.”

“Who hired you?” Nick asked, barely controlling the urge to beat the sense out of the man.

Webber chewed his lip. “What are you going to do for me if I tell you?”

Nick grabbed him by the neck of his tattered T-shirt. “I’m going to let you live instead of murdering you before you get transported to prison.”

Webber’s eyes widened, and he coughed and looked at Jake with panic in his eyes.

Jake simply shrugged. “I can step out if I need to, Agent Blackwood.”

“Hell, no, don’t leave me with this nutcase,” Webber wailed.

“Then tell us who hired you,” Nick bellowed.

“I don’t know.” Webber threw up his hands in warning when Nick reached for him again. “I swear to God. I received a text offering me ten thousand dollars to kill that reporter.”

Nick’s chest tightened. “You bastard. Who sent the text?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Webber said, his voice breaking. “I picked up the first half in a gym locker that night. I was supposed to get the rest when the job was done.”

“And the payment?” Jake asked.

“Hundred-dollar bills.”

“Did the message say why this person wanted Brenda dead?” Nick asked.

Webber shook his head. “I didn’t ask. I figured she was nosing around in something someone didn’t want her to know about.”

Jake silently cursed. “Do you have the phone?”

Webber rolled his fists again. “Cops took it when they brought me in.”

“Where are you supposed to pick up the money?” Nick asked.

“He was supposed to text me the drop-off place when the job was done.”

Nick snapped his fingers. “Jake, get that phone and have him set up the meeting. I’ll call the mayor and have him talk to Brenda. We’ll issue a statement that she didn’t make it last night. Then we’ll set a trap to catch the person who ordered the hit.”

There were two suspects at the top of his list. One—his father.

The second—the senator.

Although Jordan Jennings, the reporter who’d tried to run Brenda off the road, also could have hired a hit man.

“And let’s question the Jennings woman,” Nick said. “She could have sent the text to get rid of Brenda.”

Seven adjusted the straps on her silky black dress, fluffed her hair, then carefully applied her lipstick.

Ruby red. The color of blood.

The need for vengeance swelled inside her, and she slid on her black stilettos, grabbed her clutch, and headed into the country club where the senator was hosting the benefit auction for his favorite charity—the children’s hospital in Knoxville.

A bitter laugh bubbled in her throat. How ironic and fitting at the same time. He was raising money to help sick children, when years ago he’d spearheaded the project that had destroyed so many children’s lives.

Piano music filled the ballroom, drinks and appetizers floated around on silver trays, and diamonds glittered on the women. Chatter and laughter echoed through the room.

She slipped inside and mingled with the crowd, not surprised that Mrs. Stowe looked haggard. Less than twenty-four hours ago they’d buried their son.

But if the woman had stood by and allowed her husband to torture children, she deserved to suffer.

The senator stood out in his expensive black suit, the silver hair at his temples highlighted by his power-red tie. Well groomed, she was sure, just like his cover-up.

But the truth was about to come out.

She watched him chat and smile as he greeted the guests, although his face showed the strain of grief. Perfect.

She grabbed a flute of champagne and sipped it, then removed her phone and sent him a text.

There once was a man who stood by

And watched the little kids cry

So his son had to pay

For his father’s cruel way

And now it’s his own turn to die…

A waiter walked by and she took a canapé from his tray, watching the senator over her drink. The moment he read the text, his jaw snapped tight, and he scanned the room.

She smiled to herself, then wove through the horde of people entering the ballroom and made her way to the west wing to wait. A man exited the men’s room, and she ducked inside to make sure no one else was there.

Then she made her way back into the hall, stepped into a corner, and hid until the senator passed, frantically texting as if to ask who’d sent him the limerick.

Padding quietly on the plush carpet, she walked up behind him and pressed her knife into his back.

“Step inside the men’s room,” she murmured in a low voice.

He twisted his head around to see her, but she dug the tip of the knife deeper. “Don’t try anything, Senator, or I’ll leave you to bleed out on this floor.”

“You won’t get away with this.”

A sarcastic laugh escaped her. “I don’t care. It’ll be worth it.”

His shoulders reared out, his posture went ramrod straight, and she pushed him inside the restroom, then flipped the lock.

“Who are you?” he asked as he spun around.

“You don’t remember me, Senator?” Her voice was brittle.

He pivoted, his eyes narrowing when he saw her face, but he showed no sign of recognition. “Should I?”

“Yes. You and the Commander made my life a living hell.”

Then she shoved him into a stall and slammed the back of his neck with the blunt end of the knife.

He staggered forward and collapsed onto his knees.

She wrestled him onto the toilet, then tied his hands and feet and began to strip off his clothes.

When she was finished, she’d leave him here dead, naked for all of his loyal followers to see.

Then she’d pay a little visit to Daddy Dearest.

N
ick studied the buxom blonde across the table from him in the interrogation room. “Listen to me, Miss Jennings. Tell us the truth, and we’ll try to cut a deal for you.” Not going to happen, but he’d lie to get what he wanted.

The bravado she’d had walking in faded from her face. “I told the deputy that I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nick shoved the forensic report detailing the paint samples in front of her. “We impounded your car, and the paint matches. There are also scratches on your front bumper that indicate you had an accident, and paint on it matches Brenda’s BMW.”

The young woman fidgeted with the cheap rings on her fingers, her eyes averted. He’d seen her on the news, and she was a B-rate weather girl at best. Her skirts were always too tight, her makeup too heavy, her blue eye shadow more suited to a call girl than a serious anchorwoman.

She’d probably slept her way into the job she did have. “You were angry at Brenda for landing the job you wanted, weren’t you?”

Her eyes cut down to her manicured nails. She was going to lose that privilege in jail.

“So you followed her and ran her off the road—”

“I didn’t intend to kill her,” she cried, then caught herself and slapped her forehead.

“What did you intend?” Nick asked bluntly.

“I just wanted her to be injured enough to have to take a leave of absence.”

“So you could slide into her spot?”

She crossed her legs, tapping her foot up and down. “Yes. I figured once the director saw me outside the station doing some serious reporting, he’d realize he made a mistake and replace her with me.”