The Eternal Engagement (25 page)

CHAPTER 63

Mona

 

“W
illiam Lincoln, get your ass out here right now!”

Mona Lisa stood on the porch, fists on her hips. The nearest neighbors were over fifty yards away. She doubted they'd heard her, but she didn't care.

“Lincoln!” she yelled loud as she could. “I said get your ass out—”

His grandparents' front door opened inward and the screen door swung outward, grazed her arm, hit the side of the house. “I told you not to come back here,” he said, stepping onto the porch. “What's wrong with you? Are you crazy?”

Mona Lisa stepped closer to him. Her breasts touched his chest. She should've prayed for God's mercy and forgiveness for all she'd done, but that wasn't why she was there.

“How could you? After all I've done for you.” She stared up at him. “How could you steal from me? Steal my checks. Forge my signature. For real? You didn't think I'd find out? You think it's okay to steal from me? And you're bold. A hundred thousand and”—her voice escalated—“sixty thousand dollars.” She grabbed his shirt.

He slapped her hands away. “Apparently you got it like that. You wanted to buy me, Mona. Consider me bought.”

“Is that what you think? You've got it wrong. I was trying to help you because I care about you. I love you. You think I'd do all the things I did for you for any other man?” she said, feeling vulnerable.

If he held her right now, she'd melt in his arms like butter on hot bread. Why was she so weak for him? Her money didn't make her a woman. Wasn't as though she was broke. She had over two million dollars that she'd transfer into a new account at a different institution first thing tomorrow.

His strong arms wrapped around her. “You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I promise I'll pay you back. But if things are going to work out between us, you've got to do things my way. And you've got to promise me you'll never lie to me again.”

Her tears drenched his shirt. “I promise. I promise.”

“William, what's going on out here?” his grandfather asked, standing in the doorway. “I heard yelling.”

“I got this, Granddad. She's okay,” Lincoln answered. “Go back inside.”

Lincoln squinted. Held his hand over his brows. His eyes shifted. Left. Right. Left. Right. He bypassed his grandfather. Entered the house, returned holding a handgun. He walked down five steps into the grass yard.

Dust filled the air. Mona coughed. She couldn't identify the car headed toward the house.

Lincoln's grandfather asked, “Why you went and got that gun? Who's that, Grandson?” Not waiting for an answer, his grandfather went inside.

The car sped up, headed directly for Lincoln. He ran back toward the yard. The driver slammed on his brakes, jumped out of the car, left the door open.

“You bad military boy,” Steven said. “Pull the trigger.”

“Steven, what the hell are you doing?” Mona ran toward Steven, begged, “Please don't shoot him. Shoot me if you have to shoot someone.”

Looking over her shoulder, Mona stared at Lincoln. He dropped his gun in the grass. His hands fell to his side. He closed his eyes as though he prayed Steven would pull the trigger.

Steven yelled, “Pick up your weapon, soldier boy!”

Lincoln didn't move. “If you came here to kill me, do me that favor.”

Bracing one hand under the other, Steven aimed his gun at Lincoln. “I'd rather you fight back, but if you want to punk out, that's on you.”

“Steven, don't do this. Not again,” Mona cried. “You've got to stop this.”

“I'll take it easy on you, soldier,” Steven said.

Lincoln fell facedown onto the lawn. Mona raced toward him.

Her body collapsed next to Lincoln's. Her life flashed before her.

If only she had divorced Steven and said, “Yes, Lincoln, I will marry you,” her entire life could've been different.

Her decision to marry Steven had changed her life forever.

CHAPTER 64

Katherine

 

 

T
his was the hardest thing she'd ever have to do.

“Good morning to you, America, I'm Katherine Clinton, and at the top of the news is the update from yesterday's shooting. William Lincoln, a ten-year veteran, is hospitalized. We're glad to report his condition is stable. Also at the same hospital is Steven Cunningham. Steven is on life support. The man identified only as William Lincoln's grandfather was not taken into custody for shooting Steven Cunningham. Steven Cunningham trespassed onto the property with the intent to kill his grandson, and the grandfather shot back with a double-barrel shotgun. We'll continue to keep you updated on this story as we receive more information.”

Katherine removed her lavalier, tossed it on the desk. She ran to the bathroom, leaned over the toilet. Her body was weak. How could she not have sensed that Steven was such a horrible man?

Maybe she was blinded by his kindness. Heaving, she regurgitated her breakfast—one cup of coffee. Her stomach contracted until it was empty.

After rinsing her mouth, she soaked a paper towel with cold water, patted her face. The nausea in her stomach frightened her. She'd felt this way once before.

She'd promised her mother she wouldn't do this again. How was she going to tell her mother that she may have broken that promise?

CHAPTER 65

Lincoln

 

“Y
ou have a visitor,” the nurse said.

Lincoln didn't bother asking who it was, because he knew who it wasn't. Steven. He pressed a button on the remote to elevate his back, straighten his covers. Placed his gown over his bandaged shoulder where the doctor had removed the bullet.

“Okay, let 'em in,” he said.

Seeing her face made him exhale, turn his back to her. “So now you want to see me?”

“I know. You have every right not to want to see me. I came to say, I apologize,” she said, sitting on the side of his bed facing him. “I'm really sorry for all of this. Forgive me. When I heard about the shooting, all I thought about was how you could've died and never had the chance to see your son. And that would've been my fault.” She cried.

“Get off of my bed.” He had no empathy for her. Didn't try to console or hold her. She had chance after chance to do the right thing. He sent her the money she'd demanded. She wouldn't let him talk to his son. He came to Selma. She still denied him his right to see his son. Now she stood by his bedside looking like a rag doll expecting him to forgive her?

“You're right. If I had died without seeing my son, that would've been all your fault. I could've died when Steven shot me. But I'm alive for a reason. I think getting shot for the first time in my life, as crazy as this may seem, has helped with my anxiety. When Steven pointed his gun at me, I wanted to die. I was ready.”

Katherine cried. “Don't say that.” She reached to touch his face.

Blocking her hand, he said, “Don't tell me what to say or how to feel. You don't care about me.”

“That's not true.”

“It is true and I'll tell you why. If you cared about me, you wouldn't have put a price tag on my sanity and my dignity. You have no idea what I went through in Afghanistan. No idea. I'm a proud Marine. I did what I had to to protect you and every damn body else in this country.”

He became quiet. Leaned over, looked at his combat boots beside his bed. Mona had made sure the nurse had them where he could see them when he opened his eyes. His throat ached with sorrow for all he'd done, wondering if God would ever forgive him for breaking several of His commandments.

“You're right, I don't know.”

It was clear. Katherine was confused. He was done talking to her. “Is my son outside?” Lincoln asked, caring more about Jeremiah than Katherine.

“I wanted to see you first. I didn't want to tell him like this.”

He yelled, “This isn't about you! Can't you get that? I need to see my son!”

She tried covering his mouth. He swatted her hand away.

“Don't get upset. I'm going to help you get better first. I'll do whatever it takes to help you get better. Then I can introduce Jeremiah to you the right way,” she said, touching his hand.

“Get out! Get the hell out! And don't come back here or anywhere near me unless you have my son!” he shouted.

He felt the veins in his forehead and neck expand. What the fuck was wrong with her? Didn't she get it? All he wanted to do was meet his son. Hold him. Apologize to him, not her.

Mona may have had a hidden agenda for taking care of him, but Katherine proved one thing to him today: Mona Lisa had his best interest at heart. Mona could've left him in Seattle to seek medical help on his own. She didn't have to pay for his therapy sessions. Although he'd had only one session thus far, Mona had paid for twelve. She could've had him arrested for forgery. He understood her pain and how hurt she must've been to find out he'd stolen from her. He'd never do that to her again. But after all he'd done, Mona still made sure his boots were by his side.

And for that he could only repay Mona Lisa by giving her, and only her, his heart.

CHAPTER 66

Steven

 

“M
r. Cunningham. Mr. Cunningham.”

Steven heard an unfamiliar manly voice echoing in his ear. He opened his eyes to a needle in his arm. A tube flowing up to a plastic bag with clear fluids was connected to the needle. There was another tube, this one in his nose. The heart monitor connected to his finger was stable, but his heart wasn't. Would he die not knowing what true love was?

“Mr. Cunningham, I'm Detective Davenport from the Selma Police Department, and this is my partner. I'm going to ask your parents to go to the waiting room until we're done taking a report.”

“Buttercup, I'll be right back when this here detective is done.” His mother looked at the detective, then said, “My Buttercup wouldn't hurt a soul. I don't know what happened at that William Lincoln boy's grandparents' house, but I sure hope justice is served.” She cried. “Look at my baby.”

His mother cried louder. His father hugged her.

“We'll be back, son,” his dad said, fighting to contain his own tears.

Leaving the room, his parents held on to one another. They'd done all the right things raising him. But every child's mind was independent of its parents. Steven wasn't sure what made him the opposite of his mom and dad.

Looking at the detective, Steven whispered, “Haven't I seen you before?” Steven could hardly move without his neck, chest, back, shoulders, legs, and feet hurting. “Can you get the nurse for me? I, I—” He exhaled.

The detective opened the door, then called out, “Can we get a nurse, please?”

A male nurse rushed into the room. “Are you okay, Mr. Cunningham?”

“I need something stronger for the pain. I'm hurting all over.”

Did he deserve to die this way? He tried to imagine what his victims must've felt before dying. He was the lucky one. Maybe. Another few inches to the left and Lincoln's grandfather would've blown out his heart. Physically, that was. Emotionally, his heart was already gone.

“Here, take these,” the nurse said, handing him four pills.

As long as the medication eased his pain, he didn't care what it was. Steven tossed them in his mouth, washed them down with the cup of water, then leaned back on the pillow.

“I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes,” the nurse said.

The detective cleared his throat. “I'll get straight to the point. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent . . .”

Really, on his sickbed this dude was reading him his rights? Steven closed his eyes. Listened until the detective asked, “Why did you shoot William Lincoln?”

“Who said that?” Steven asked, not willing to admit his guilt.

“He did,” the detective said.

“He's alive? Damn, I'm getting rusty.” Steven didn't care about much at this point except his mom and dad. He didn't want them to know his truth.

“Why don't I think about that while you think about this. The woman that was with Lincoln, Mona Lisa Ellington-Cunningham, is my wife. They were having an affair. She's had an affair on me before. What—”

The detective interrupted, “What you should do is answer my question, Mr. Cunningham.”

“Please, call me Steven,” he said, gasping for air. The tube in his nose irritated him. “I'll get to the point. There's a dead body in my wife's house in Bakersfield. You can have the Bakersfield PD verify this right now. She killed Davis Singletary. I was trying to avoid having this happen again. So you see, I'm really the hero here.”

Steven adjusted his oxygen tube. Gasped. Then continued, “I was defending myself. William Lincoln drew his gun first. There was a gun by his feet. You had to have taken it as evidence. Right?

“You should know that my wife was also involved in the murder of Brian Norris in Macon, Georgia, and Terrence Vince, in Kansas City, Kansas. Now what was your question again?” he asked, glad he'd gotten that out.

Mona probably thought her name was clear, but he was determined to destroy her even if he had to do it from hell. “Oh, and the money she was paid to do it is in her bank account at . . .”

He'd decided to let Katherine be. There was no need to complicate her life any further. She deserved to keep all he'd given her, even if Mona's money did pay for it. If Katherine was wise, she'd keep her mouth shut, keep the money and the car and the cash. Move on with life. Be comfortable.

“Oh, and the clothes Mona Lisa had on the night Calvin McKenny was killed are in her car, in the garage, at our house. I'm done covering up and lying for my wife. If I'm guilty of anything, it's trying to protect my wife.”

Steven gave a description of the car, clothes. He was certain the detective already had his address, but he repeated it just in case.

“What were those names again?” Davenport asked. He watched the detective scribble notes on a pad. His partner did the same.

Katherine must've moved on already. He hadn't heard from her since he'd been in the hospital. His mom had mentioned she'd seen Katherine going into Lincoln's room. Steven knew he was right about her wanting to be with him. What made several good women want the same man? And he couldn't get one good woman without having to buy her love?

Mona Lisa wasn't a bad woman, but he'd corrupted her. Katherine was a good woman, but he'd tainted her. He wasn't a horrible guy, but he'd done horrible things.

“Oh, and while you're taking notes, Sarah McKenny is innocent.” Steven pulled the oxygen tube from his nose.

Detective Davenport opened the door, called out for a nurse.

“Tell my parents I love them.” Steven was feeling no pain. Closing his eyes, Steven asked, “Now what was your question again? Again.”

It didn't matter what the detective asked or what the nurses or doctors would do. Steven decided this was the last time he'd close his eyes. He didn't want his mom and dad to see him being escorted from a hospital bed to prison. If they never took him into custody, his parents would always believe he was innocent. But he wasn't.

For the lives he'd taken, Steven felt he deserved to die, and he was ready.