Last Breath (5 page)

“Any cable news channel, pick one! Shaley! What happened?”

Flicking through channels, I told her. “But did you see everything? Even Cat pushing her?”

“I—I don't know. I was just sitting here, flipping channels, and suddenly there's a reporter talking about Rayne O'Connor—and then this bit of tape—”

“Wait.” The hospital TV landed on CNN. A reporter was talking into a microphone, the hotel entrance in the background. I pushed the sound back on and pressed
volume
to turn it way down. “It's on CNN right now.”

“Okay, I'll get it.” Vaguely, I registered the rustle of her movements over the line.

We fell silent. I leaned forward, gaze glued to the TV. The scene switched to taped footage. Holding my breath, I watched the horrible scene play out. It started choppily, as if the cameraman was running. The picture focused on Mom and Cat. For a moment they disappeared behind the limo as the cameraman ran around behind the car for an unobstructed shot. Then—Cat's crimson face, his camera on the ground. Cat shouting, Mom shouting. Pounding feet approaching as other reporters crowded in. For a moment all I saw was jarring bodies.

“Shaley, no!” Mick's shout sounded on the TV. Still I saw nothing but shirts and arms and heads as the cameraman fought for a clear shot.

This is when Mick shoved me back into the limo.

My right hand clenched. For once I wanted a cameraman to have found his target. “Come on, come on.”

The camera jerked and aimed directly toward Cat. In that instant, rage twisted his face—and he rushed Mom.

Brittany gasped.

My limbs went cold. I wanted this on film, but I didn't want to see it. Yet my eyes couldn't tear away.

Heart pounding, I watched my mom stumble … the car hit. Screams erupted from the crowd. My own figure tore out of the limo toward Mom—

I wrenched my focus from the screen.

For a moment, Brittany and I couldn't speak.

Vengeance sprouted in my chest and grew like some voracious weed. “It's on camera,” I said through clenched teeth. “We have the proof
on camera
.”

Cat was going to fry.

Brittany sniffed. “How is she?”

“In a lot of pain. Three fractured ribs and a broken wrist.”

“Oh.” Empathy tightened Brittany's voice. “What about Cat—where did he go? Did they catch him?”

“He ran. But they will. If they don't, I'll go out and hunt him down myself. And Ross said he's going to sue
Cashing In.
”

“I thought you said it's hard to sue those guys because you all are famous.”

“This is different. Their photographer caused an
accident
. Plus, because of this, we have to cancel the tour. Can you imagine how much money that's going to cost the band?”

Brittany breathed heavily over the line. “Where are you?”

“In the hospital with Mom. She's sleeping.”

“How long does she have to stay?”

I told her.

“Can you come home then?”

“I don't know.” A sudden sob rolled up my throat. “I don't know anything anymore. I just want to be
home
. I just want to be with
you
. And Mom to be well. What
is
this, Brittany? What's happening to us? My life has gone totally
insane
.”

Brittany's voice cracked. “I wish I was there with you.”

“I know. Me too.”

We talked until our tears ran out, then talked some more. Weariness pulsed through me, but I couldn't hang up. Not yet. I crept into the bathroom and fetched tissues to wipe my nose. Collapsed again on my bed.

“There's more, Brittany.” I looked over toward Mom, making sure she still slept. “Something I haven't told you.”

“Like all this isn't
enough
?”

“This is … I don't know. Almost worse.”

I stretched out on my back, staring at the white ceiling. “I told you the cops shot Jerry. Just before he died, he told me something no one else heard.”

My fingers clenching the bed covers, I told Brittany Jerry's final words:
Your father sent me
.

“
What
?” Brittany burst. “What does it mean?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh. Wow.” Brittany exhaled loudly. I could almost hear the wheels in her head turning. “Okay, just … Let's think about this.”

Like a detective, she started firing off questions. It was her logical side coming through, the steely mind that would one day make her a great lawyer. I tried to think straight enough to give her all the details she wanted. My brain was
so
tired.

“Do you think it's true?” Brittany finally asked.

“I don't know.”

“But if it is …”

“I know. If it is, my father sent a killer to us. And somewhere out there, my father's still alive. Maybe he'll try it again.”

“Did you tell your mom?”

“No. First, there wasn't time. She had to perform, and then right after that, this happened. I was going to when we got the chance, but I can't now. It would so upset her, and she's got enough to deal with.”

“The police need to hear this.”

“I know. But how can I tell them without telling Mom?”

“Maybe you could tell Ross.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Yeah, I guess. But that would feel so … I don't know, like having our privacy invaded. I mean, Mom never talks about my father, even to me.”

“You don't know how much Ross knows. Maybe your mom's told him everything.”

“No. She wouldn't. She's just too private about it. Besides, Ross is business. This is personal.”

We fell silent. My head buzzed with exhaustion. Another few minutes and I wouldn't be able to think at all.

I glanced at the clock. After two a.m.

“Brittany, I don't know if I can stay awake much longer.”

“Yeah, me either. We barely got any sleep last night.”

“And I don't know how much I'll get tonight. Probably as long as Mom's medication keeps her asleep. When she wakes up, she'll be hurting.”

“Poor Rayne.”

We both sighed.

“I'll call you in the morning, okay, Brittany?”

“Okay. Good night.”

We clicked off.

I turned my head toward Mom—and got a shock. Her eyes were open and troubled, her head turned toward me. Lines crisscrossed her forehead.

“Mom?” I shoved myself into a sitting position. “You're awake already?”

“You know how I am with pain medication.” Her voice was weak. “Takes a lot … to knock me out for long.”

“But—how long have you … ?”

“Long enough to hear what you didn't want to tell me.”

8

H
e stared at the TV in his cheap motel room, anger churning in his veins.

Just that afternoon he'd stepped out of jail a free man for the first time in eight years. Man, the feeling! Sun on his skin, fresh air. He could go where he wanted, eat what he wanted. Sleep in a real bed.

Sizzling with anticipation, he caught a bus for the short trip into Phoenix.

At midnight he sank down on the edge of the bed, shoes off, tired to the bone. He flipped on the TV—and saw Rayne O'Connor screaming at a photographer.

Three times, the cable news channel played footage of the scene.

“Rayne O'Connor is now in Denver's St. Joseph's Hospital, reportedly with multiple cracked ribs,” a perky blonde news anchor said. “She is expected to have a full, though long, recovery. This on the very same night that Rayne's sixteen-year-old daughter, Shaley, was taken hostage by Jerry Brand, a man hired to drive one of the rock band's buses. Brand is the alleged killer of two men on tour—Tom Hutchens, hair stylist and makeup artist, and bodyguard Bruce Stolz. Police fatally shot Brand during the rescue of Shaley O'Connor …”

His mouth had fallen open. His fingers clenched the TV remote.

Now here he sat, jaw hardened to granite, a buzz in his head.

The police had to be lying.

But the last few times he'd tried to call Jerry to check in, Jerry hadn't answered his cell phone. Had the man been avoiding him on purpose?

Now Jerry was dead.

“… no official word yet on the Rayne tour, which is scheduled to continue for another month.” The reporter's voice pierced his consciousness. “But given the popular singer's injuries, it is expected to be cancelled. And now to—”

He switched the channel, seeking other cable news stations. Once again, Rayne's face filled the screen.

Eyes narrowed, he listened to every word of the report. When it ended he found a third station running the story. And a fourth.

He flipped channel after channel until he saw no more. He punched off the TV.

The rage simmered in his stomach, building to a full boil. He shoved off the bed and strode around the small room, fingers pressed to his temples.

What had Jerry done? Now there'd be more cops than ever around Rayne and Shaley O'Connor.

That afternoon he'd walked out of jail to the inheritance left by his grandmother. The sale of her small Phoenix home had netted Franklin a profit around $50,000. He'd only withdrawn a few hundred to stay in this cheap place for one night. He had plans for the rest of the money.

After the bank he'd gone to the DMV to renew his expired driver's license.

He flung himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He'd waited years to get to Rayne and Shaley O'Connor. Now, thanks to Jerry, it would be harder than ever. But he'd do it.

Denver. That's where he'd be headed tomorrow. St. Joseph's Hospital in Denver.

9

I
stared at Mom, my brain going numb. She'd
heard
my conversation with Brittany? My throat convulsed. “Mom—”

“It's okay. I had to know.”

I pushed to my feet and crossed to her side. “But—”

“You really expected to deal with this alone, Shaley?”

“No. But I just … I would have told you later.”

“The detective asked you what Jerry had whispered to you just before he died. You told him, ‘Nothing important.' ”

“I couldn't say the real words then.” I slipped a hand over my eyes. How to explain what I'd felt at that moment? For years I'd begged for answers about my dad, and there I was, supposed to blurt out terrible words about him to some detective I'd never seen before in my life? “I knew it would upset you and … I don't know, the words just balled up inside me. I couldn't talk about it then.”

Mom's eyes clouded. I bit my lip, wishing she'd say something—
anything
. If she hadn't been doped up on pain medication, she wouldn't be taking this so quietly. “So … do you think Jerry was telling the truth?” I asked.

Mom stared beyond me, brow knitting, as if she peered into a bitter past. “Why would he say something like that if he didn't know your father?”

“I don't know.”

“A person's last words are important. With his last dying breath, he chose to say that to you.”

I ran a finger along the bed cover, feeling its fine ridges. Mom was saying what my gut had been telling me. I couldn't even figure how I felt about that. Part of me wanted Jerry's words to be a lie. How could I cling to the hope of any goodness in my father if he'd sent Jerry to our tour? But if it was true, at least my father was out there somewhere, and he
knew
I was his daughter. Mom had always claimed he didn't. Maybe there was a good explanation for what he'd done. Maybe he didn't know Jerry was so messed up in the head …

Mom's eyes slipped shut.

I touched her shoulder. “Are you in pain?”

“Not as long as I don't move.” She tried to smile. She focused on me, her eyes glazed. “Tomorrow you have to call the detective who interviewed you after Jerry was shot and tell him this.”

Detective Myner, the short, gray-haired man with the hard-worn face. Could that really have been just eight hours ago?

My vision blurred. “You always told me my dad doesn't know about me.”

“I … didn't think he did.”

“Do you think he'd want to hurt us?”

All these years of begging her to tell me about my father. Had she kept quiet because she knew he hated her? That he was nothing but a lowdown, murderous criminal?

“Shaley. You
will
call Detective Myner tomorrow.”

So much for an answer. My eyes blinked hard, trying to chase the tears away, but they spilled onto my cheeks. I nodded. “Okay.”

Mom swallowed. “Can you get me a drink?”

“Sure.” I poured some water from her pitcher into a glass. “Here's a straw.” I picked it off the tray and inserted it into the glass. Held it to her lips.

Mom took three long drinks, then closed her eyes. I put the glass back on the tray and gazed at her.

Just yesterday we'd fought about my father. The age-old resentment in me could so easily erupt. I
deserved
to hear some answers. Who was my dad? Where did he go? Why had I never seen him? But Mom would never tell me. I only knew one detail. While they were dating he'd often give her a single white rose wrapped in green cellophane and tied with a red ribbon. To this day that symbol seemed sacred to her, although she'd never told me the full story behind it.

Mom's eyes opened. We gazed at each other, silent communication flowing between us. If she wasn't in a hospital bed, all banged up, we'd probably be fighting over this right now. I'd be accusing her of almost getting us killed through hanging on to her secrets. She'd be stubbornly refusing to talk …

For the first time it occurred to me that maybe some good could come out of this terrible accident.

“Mom.” I rubbed her shoulder. “Answer me.”

Her mouth turned downward. “The person I loved would never want to hurt us. But that person went away long ago. If he sent Jerry to us, he only meant us harm.”