The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings Book 2) (54 page)

“The autopsy did show evidence of a stroke,” the detective broke in. “Because of the brain tumor.”

Edward nodded. “I watched him suffer. I don’t have a cell phone, and I thought about going into the house and calling nine-one-one, but you know what? I decided not to. It was funny … the way he contorted up like he did?” Edward curled one of his hands into a claw. “It was like what I do. When I’m really hurting and the pain meds haven’t kicked in yet … it felt good to see him like that. Fair. Right. And I can’t tell you when exactly I came to the decision that I really was going to kill him—I guess when it became apparent he wasn’t going to die right then and there.”

Edward shrugged. “Anyway, I went over to the Red & Black truck I’d driven in—it’s the one that’s parked behind Barn B right now. The keys are in it, and I figure you boys in blue are going to want to take the thing with you. So … yes, I went over and backed the truck up. There’s a winch attached to the outside of the cab. There was some rope, and I hog-tied him, attached the hook, and dragged him into the bed because I knew I wasn’t going to be strong enough to lift him myself. Then I drove down to the shores of the Ohio. That was the hard part. I got him out of the truck, but pulling him along the ground? I hurt my ankle badly—to the point where a couple of days later, she”—Edward pointed to the blonde—“had to call Dr. Qalbi out to see about it.”

Lane frowned as the blonde seemed to recoil, but then he refocused on his brother.

“But wait,” Lane interjected. “He fell off the bridge.”

“No,” Merrimack said. “He didn’t. Or at least, there is no footage indicating whether he did or he didn’t. The security cameras that were supposed to be operational weren’t on that night—part of a number of glitches the city
has had since the thing newly opened. So we have no footage—and given the poor condition of the body, extended time in the river would account for the extent of the damage to the extremities and torso.”

Edward nodded. “So I got him over to the edge of the water. We’d had so much rain, the current was strong. I found a big stick and started to push him in … but then I went back to the truck, got a hunting knife, and cut off his finger. I wanted the ring. He screamed when I did it, so he was clearly alive, but he could barely move so he couldn’t fight me. Then one last shove with the stick and he was gone. I threw the knife in after him, kept hold of the finger, and drove back. I buried it underneath my mother’s bedroom window because he had treated her with disrespect their entire marriage—he’d had at least one child out of wedlock that we know about, and he fucked your soon-to-be-ex-wife and got her pregnant! I just … so yes, I did that thing in the ivy bed, and then came back here. I live alone, so no one knew I’d even been gone, and no one knew I’d waited for him, either.”

“But then the finger was found,” Merrimack said.

“That was when I knew I had to do something. I came to the visitation hours and snuck away to the business center. I went to the security room, signed into the system, erased the footage from that night, and waited to see if you guys would figure it out.”

“And we did.” Merrimack looked around at the other officers and nodded. “We got you.”

“So take me down and let’s get this over with.”

There was a lull, and Lane couldn’t believe it, but he thought he heard his phone ringing out in the car—no, wait, it was in his pocket. He silenced the thing without looking at it.

“Come on,” Edward said impatiently. “Let’s go.”

All at once, the officers got organized and Edward rose to his feet. Merrimack insisted on handcuffs, which was ridiculous, and then Edward was being led out the door.

But he stopped in front of Lane. “Let this be, Lane. Don’t fight this. You know what he was like. He got what he deserved, and I don’t regret it in the slightest. You need to take care of Gin, Amelia, Miss Aurora, and Mother, do you hear me? Don’t let me down.”

“Why
did you have to do it?” Lane said hoarsely. “You didn’t have—” “I take care of my own. I always have. You know that about me. My life’s over, you know that as well. I’ve got nothing left, and he was the one who took it all away. I love you, little brother. I always have and I always will.”

And then they were leading Edward down the shallow steps, across the grass, over to one of the squad cars. He was helped into the rear, his balance bad with his hands behind his back, and Merrimack got behind the wheel and started the engine.

In the wake of the departure, Lane just stood there, staring at the dust that rose up in their wake.

As his phone began to ring again, he looked over at the blond woman. “What did you say your name was?”

Even though she hadn’t spoken.

“Shelby Landis. I’m one of the hands here.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m his brother Lane. I think I saw you here before?”

“Yes. You did.”

He looked over at Ramsey. “What do we do now?”

The tall man ran a hand down his face. “That was a helluva confession, and it fits. The whole damn thing … makes sense. And all things considered? I think your brother’s going to jail for the rest of his life.”

Lane looked back out the open door.

When his phone started ringing a third time, he took it out and almost threw the fucking thing on the ground.

But then he saw who it was. “Lizzie, listen, I—”

The unmistakable sound of sirens was not all that muffled, and Lizzie had to speak up. “Miss Aurora’s being taken to University Hospital downtown. I found her collapsed and barely breathing next to her bed about fifteen minutes ago. Oh, God, Lane, I don’t think she’s going to make it. You have to come to the ER. I’m in the ambulance with her now—where are you?”

He closed his eyes and felt that sensation of falling all over again. “I’ll be right there.”

E
asily
the longest day of his life.

Then again, Lane thought, as he and Lizzie finally dragged themselves over to Easterly’s kitchen door at around seven o’clock that evening, it wasn’t often that his brother got arrested for murdering his father or his momma went into a coma.

And yes, once again, they’d had to enter the estate through the back way because there were too many news crews at the main entrance.

“I’m starving, but I don’t want to eat,” he said, even though complaining hardly seemed fair.

Lizzie had been through as much as he had. Even more so, considering she had been the one to find Miss Aurora.

“I’m exhausted,” Lizzie said, “but I don’t think I’m going to sleep much—”

As they walked into the kitchen, they both stopped.

A totally amazing smell was coming from the stove, and though it was unfamiliar, if Lane hadn’t personally witnessed Miss Aurora lying unresponsive in an ICU bed, he might have thought she was up and about, back where she belonged.

But
no. The person in front of the platters of food was …

“Jeff?” he said.

The guy wheeled around. “Oh, thank fuck. I didn’t think you were going to make it in time.”

“For what?” Lane took Lizzie’s hand and realized, “Gin? Wait, are you cooking? Amelia? What’s going on?”

Amelia spoke up. “It’s
Seudah Shlishit
.”

“The third meal of the Sabbath,” Jeff explained. “Which I’ve cooked even though it’s Sunday, because I’m feeling religious and this is the way I’m choosing to express it. We’re just about to sit down so nice timing.”

“My roommate at Hotchkiss is Orthodox,” Amelia explained. “So I’ve done this before.”

“She’s been a great help.”

“And I’m learning,” Gin said. “Slowly and surely. By the way, Jeff, I set the dining room table—”

“
You
set the table?” Lane blurted.

Okay, that was another shocker.

His sister shrugged like the idea an alien had taken over her body and mind wasn’t actually that big a deal. “Like I said, I’m learning. Oh, Gary told me he was going to do one more sweep of the grounds for any more of those cameramen. I took the shotgun away from him. We already have one of us up on murder charges, let’s not add to that.” When everyone looked over at her, she rolled her eyes. “Come on, people, we better start the gallows humor now or this group is not going to make it—”

Maxwell walked in from the front of the house, some napkins in his hand. “Amen to that, sister. Amen to that.”

Jeff started carrying in food. “Now, traditionally this is supposed to be a light meal, but we’re bending the rules a little. No one’s eaten anything all day, and let’s face it, my mother isn’t here—although she was willing to fly down. Which was kind of scary, actually …”

It turned out to be exactly what Lane needed.

As they all sat around the formal dining room table, which Gin had miraculously set to perfection, it was not Lane’s tradition, either spiritually or familially speaking, but it was warm, and it was real: It was
shelter that had no roof, and sustenance that had no weight, and air that didn’t need lungs for the breathing.

And it was
exactly
what he needed. His heart was mangled, his spirit deflated, his optimism terminated. He had had that one cresting moment at the airport … and then once again, he was sunk beneath a crushing burden.

But as he looked around the table, as he reached out and took Lizzie’s hand, as he saw his sister and her daughter actually speak without yelling at each other, as he stared at his old friend who was still by his side, and looked at his long-lost brother … he knew that he was going to eat this lovingly prepared Jewish food, and he was going to pass out upstairs with his woman …

And he was going to get up tomorrow …

And fight for his momma to live. And fight for his brother to get treated fairly in prison. And fight to keep the company going. And fight to keep the house and the land of his ancestors.

And fight for his family.

He was a warrior.

He had learned that the hard way.

He had
earned
that title the hard way.

As Lane accepted the loaf of bread and tore off a piece, he thought of Edward and had to grit his teeth not to tear up all over again. Edward, in making a final sacrifice that was too great to comprehend, too tragic to contemplate, too horrific to ignore, had actually paved the way for all this.

If William Baldwine had still been alive?

None of this would be happening.

It was hard not to be grateful. Even as this miracle had come at too high a price and with a compromise of morality that almost tarnished the love.

Almost.

At the end of the day, though, a cancer had been rid from the family, and yes, they were all better for it. But, God, the way it had happened.

Lane knew he, personally, was forever changed by all this but, ultimately, as difficult as it was, and was going to get, he was improved. No
matter the ins and outs, and the drama and the pain, he knew he was better off as a man, a brother, a husband … and if God so provided, as a father to his and Lizzie’s children if they were granted that gift.

The nature of the aging process was brutal, though, and yes, he felt like he had lost parts of himself along the way.

The angels had to have their share, however, as was their right and their due.

And at least those parts of his soul would be in good hands, forevermore.

Looking at his Lizzie, he waited to catch her eye. After he mouthed “I love you” to her … he started to eat.

With the rest of his family.

There
are far too many people to thank, as always, and that makes me a very lucky person. But I do want to extend my gratitude to Steven Axelrod, Kara Welsh, and Kerry Donovan, and also Craig Burke and Erin Galloway along with everyone else at New American Library. Further, I need to acknowledge my wonderful Team Waud, my immediate family, and my wonderful friends. And also Nomers, my WriterAssistant. Oh, and Go Cards!