'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel) (17 page)

Wes reached for the cup of coffee sitting near the phone, but
his hand was shaking too hard to hold it, so he gave up and dropped his hand
back in his lap.

“I didn’t lie.”

Linc braced both hands on the desk as he leaned down, and as he
did, he caught a glimpse of the Duggans’ home address on a bill lying on the
desk.

“Yes, you did,” he said. “You said my dad and I didn’t get
along, which was the biggest damned lie I ever heard. I worshipped the ground he
walked on, and you knew it. What I want to know is, why did you lie? Who were
you protecting?”

Wes gasped. “No, no, that’s not... I mean...I knew you and your
dad had disagreed about your relationship with that Walker girl and—”

“That’s another damn lie. My relationship with ‘that Walker
girl’ had been going on for three years. Dad loved her. If he’d been going to
object to our going out, he would have done it when we were way younger, not
when we were about to graduate.”

Sweat was emerging from Wes’s sparse hairline and running down
his forehead. He mopped his face with a handkerchief, then got up and began to
pace.

“No, Linc, that’s not true. You were fighting. He told me—”

“No. Dad didn’t tell you anything, because there was nothing to
tell. That’s how I
know
you lied. Again, who the
hell were you protecting?”

Wes shook his head, too rattled to think.

“Since you can’t find the balls to tell me the truth about
that, I’m guessing you won’t have the balls to tell me the truth about my last
question, either, but I came all this way, so I have to ask. Were you sleeping
with your best friend’s wife before he was murdered?”

Wes’s face turned red, then white, then red again. Linc was
wondering if the man was about to drop dead in front of him when Wes finally got
his wits about him and pointed to the door.

“Get out,” Wes said, wincing noticeably because his voice was
more squeak than censure.

Linc’s eyes narrowed angrily. “That’s answer enough for me. And
know you’ve been forewarned. I was convicted on the lies you and Lucy told. Damn
the both of you to hell and back. You killed the boy I was and destroyed the
future I could have had. I will find out who really killed Dad, and if you’re
mixed up in it, I will do the same to yours.”

He turned away. Behind him, Wes Duggan reeled as if he’d been
sucker punched, watching as Linc strode out of the office, letting the door slam
as he went.

A few minutes later Linc merged back into traffic with one more
stop on his mind. Now that he’d seen the address where Wes lived, it would be
downright rude not to pay his respects to his ex-stepmother—just to see what
happened.

* * *

Lucy Duggan unplugged her curling iron, then leaned
toward the mirror and smiled widely, checking to make sure there was no lipstick
on her teeth. They gleamed as pure a white as money could buy. She patted her
hair, making sure every curl was in place, and eyed the lilac-colored sweater
and cream-colored slacks she was wearing to make sure there were no snags or
lint that didn’t belong. Then she smiled. As Wes would say, she had her war
paint on and looked good enough to eat.

She glanced at her watch. Quarter to eleven. She was on her way
to meet her girlfriends for lunch. They’d recently discovered this charming
little Asian fusion place on the other side of town, and now everyone was
talking about it. Being a trend starter was what she lived for. She stepped into
lilac-colored Louboutins and began digging through her handbag for the car
keys.

She was getting her coat out of the closet when the doorbell
rang. She glanced at her watch again and frowned. Just enough time to get rid of
whoever it was and make her date.

The doorbell rang again. The click-click sound of her four-inch
heels marked the length of her stride.

“I’m coming, damn it.”

When she opened the door to find one seriously huge but
good-looking hunk on her doorstep, her aggravation shifted as she flashed him a
quick smile.

“Yes? How may I help you?”

“You could ask me to come in. It’s cold out here,” Linc
said.

A little taken aback by the familiarity, her mood shifted to
caution. “I’m sorry I—”

“Come on now, Lucy. Surely you haven’t forgotten the stepson
you used to tuck into bed at night?”

“Oh, my God!”

She gasped and staggered backward, hung the toe of her right
shoe behind the heel of her left and fell flat on her butt.

Linc followed her inside, shut the door and grabbed her by the
arm.

“Upsy-daisy,” he said as he yanked her upright.

Lucy was shaking so hard she couldn’t think. She wanted to tell
him to get out, but he’d just helped her up, and she was still struggling
between manners and shock.

“I...uh...”

“I would have appreciated a simple ‘I’m sorry.’ You didn’t have
to fall at my feet,” Linc drawled.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed as she took in the size of the man in
front of her and tried to see the boy she’d known. It was impossible. He looked
a little like Marcus, but better—and bigger, much bigger.

She lifted her chin. “I have nothing to apologize for, and I’d
like for you to leave.”

“Actually, yes, you do, Lucy. You lied, and your lie got me
sent to prison. I thought it only fair to warn you and your husband that I’ve
come back to find out who killed Dad.”

Breath caught in the back of her throat. “That’s ridiculous.
You were convicted, sentenced and did the time.”

“But I didn’t do the crime,” he said softly. “Someone on Rebel
Ridge got away with murder, and I came back to clear my name.” He took a step
forward. “Why did you lie about me?”

“I did not—”

“Shut up, Lucy. I’m not a scared seventeen-year-old kid this
time around. You
did
lie. What I want to know is,
why? Who were you protecting?”

“I wasn’t—”

“Hmm, I can see we’re getting nowhere with this question. So I
have another. How long had you and Uncle Wes been screwing around before Dad was
murdered?”

It felt as if he’d just punched her in the stomach. It took a
few seconds for her to realize they’d only been words. Then it took her another
few moments to regain her senses.

“Get out!” She doubled up her fist and screamed, “How dare you
come back here and accuse me of—”

Linc took another step forward.

She choked in the middle of the word. She wanted to defy him.
She couldn’t let him walk out of here thinking he’d had the last word, but all
she could think was how fast a carefully structured world could fall.

He pointed a finger in her face. “When you close your eyes at
night, think of what you did. With every waking hour of your existence, think of
me digging up the secrets you thought you’d buried for good...turning over the
rocks of respectability you and Wes have been hiding under. The law on Rebel
Ridge already knows I’m back and why...and soon so will everyone who lives
there.”

Her voice was shaking, but from a blind fury she couldn’t
express.

“I want you to leave.”

Linc stared her down. “No problem. I’ve said all I came to
say.”

He turned his back on her and left as abruptly as he’d come in,
leaving the door wide-open behind him, inviting the cold air to enter at
will.

The air was so cold, Lucy thought. All she had to do was take
six steps and close the door, but her feet wouldn’t move. As he was getting in
his truck and driving away, the heat went out and the cold came in. She was
afraid to move, to lose sight of him for fear he would sneak up on her again
when she wasn’t looking. She watched the truck grow smaller the farther he
drove, and the farther he drove, the colder the room became. When he finally
turned the corner and disappeared, she jerked as if she’d been slapped, then
leaped forward and slammed the door.

Her chest felt tight, her breath coming in short, painful gasps
as if she’d been running, and then she slowly turned around, gazing at every
piece of fine art on their walls and the high-end furniture the interior
decorator had placed so carefully to show the rooms to their best advantage. She
looked down at her clothing, running her palms against the cashmere sweater and
then down further to the lilac Louboutins she’d chosen with such pride. They
cost more than her father had ever made in a single year. She’d spent too many
years climbing out of that hell they called poverty to go back without a
fight.

Lunch was off. She had a war to plan and soldiers to recruit.
She picked her purse up off the floor where she’d dropped it, then headed for
her room at a fast clip, with those same high heels still marking the cadence.
She traded the heels for a pair of flats, then turned to her first order of
business: canceling lunch.

She thought about calling Wes, but this wasn’t something she
could discuss over the phone. That left her with only one more call to make. It
was time to phone home. But first she needed a drink.

Twelve

F
agan watched his last customer driving
away and smiled as he pocketed the money. Nearly a kilo of weed, and it was good
stuff. He knew the guy would cut it and make a bigger profit, but Fagan was
comfortable where he was at. It was far less dangerous to be a marijuana grower
and sell to the dealers who peddled it than to be on the streets dodging cops
and getting screwed over by potheads trying to score with no dough. With this
sale and the other two he’d made in the past week, he had a little over three
thousand dollars in the house. The rub was that the White brothers didn’t do
banks, and having money in the house and a brother who would have no qualms in
taking it posed a problem. He needed to hide the bigger part of it, but
where?

He walked through the house a couple of times, looking for a
place that would be off Prince’s radar. And then it hit him. Prince never
cooked.

Fagan headed for the kitchen, dug an empty coffee can out of
the trash, counted out all but three hundred dollars into the can, then started
pulling out pots and pans beneath the counter. When he came to an old enamel pan
his mother had used to cook down her collard greens, he poked the can inside,
stacked a couple of pans on top of it and shoved it as far back as it would
go.

He pocketed what was left of the money and went to get his car
keys. Like it or not, he needed some food in the house. If he got snowed in
again before he made a trip to the grocery store he would be out in the woods
trying to hunt down something to eat, and he was a lousy shot.

He picked up his phone, checking to see if Prince had returned
his call, but he had not. He was so disgusted. How the hell did Prince expect to
learn what was going on if he chose to drop off the face of the earth every time
it suited him? Just as he pocketed the phone, it rang.

“About time,” he muttered as he pulled it back out and
answered. “Hello.”

“Hello. Fagan, is that you? It’s me, Lucy.”

Fagan was dumbstruck. His sister hadn’t called home since their
mama died, which had been a good many years ago.

“Yes, it’s me, and you would have known it if you’d ever called
here before. What do you want?”

“Where is Prince?”

“No idea. I tried to call him last night, but he didn’t return
the call, why? What’s wrong?”

She laughed, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. She
was pissed about something for sure.

“What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Lincoln Fox was just
at my house, threatening me. He said he came back to Rebel Ridge to clear his
name. He’s about to start digging into things that need to stay buried, if you
know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean, but don’t expect me to get
involved,” he snapped.

“You’re involved by blood, you idiot, so don’t go playing all
innocent with me. Here’s what I want you to...”

Fagan felt sick to his stomach. Why did he have to be born into
such a crazy-ass family? Lucy was still talking when he hung up. He didn’t want
to hear another word. He just grabbed his car keys and headed out the door.

* * *

Lucy was in the kitchen screaming into the phone as the
dial tone buzzed in her ear, calling her brother every filthy word she’d ever
heard. She didn’t know her husband had just walked in the door.

Wes was already in a panic about Lincoln’s reappearance and
what he had said. He had come home to reassure himself that he had not been
duped by the woman he loved, but when he heard her tirade, he stopped, listening
to the filth spilling out of her mouth. His shoulders slumped as he closed his
eyes. No matter how much money they had and how fancy their clothes, they were
never going to live down their upbringing. It was the sound of breaking glass
that got his attention. He headed for the kitchen.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” he shouted.

Lucy spun to face him. Her hair was awry, her eyes swollen from
crying. And she was drunk. Again.

He already felt defeated. “We need to talk.”

Her head went back and her chin came up. “I don’t like your
tone.”

“And I don’t like to come home and find my wife throwing dishes
and screaming like a madwoman. Who the fuck were you yelling at?”

She threw her hands up in the air. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing
matters,” she muttered, and headed for the whiskey bottle on the counter.

He cut her off. “No more booze.”

She spun and slapped him, then gasped. She knew the moment
she’d done it that it was a mistake.

“I’m sorry, Wes. I didn’t—”

He jammed his finger against her breast, punctuating every word
with a jab.

“I had a visitor at work today, and from the way you’re
behaving, I’d say you had the same one.”

She was shaking. “Lincoln Fox pushed his way into my house and
threatened me.”

“He was at the dealership, as well. What I want to know is, who
were you screaming at when I came in?”

She blinked. “What does that matter? I’m telling you that
Lincoln—”

“He thinks I lied on the stand.”

“I need a drink,” she mumbled.

Wes grabbed her by the shoulders. “Why would he say I lied? He
and Marcus were fighting, right?”

“Let me go. How dare you treat me like this?”

The knot in Wes’s gut grew tighter. “You answer me, damn it! He
and Marcus were fighting. Right?”

Lucy wouldn’t look at him. “Yes, of course. I said it, didn’t
I?”

He shook her. “Look at me!”

“You’re hurting me!” she screamed, and slapped him again.

He picked her up, dragged her kicking and screaming into the
living room, and slammed her down on the sofa so hard her shoes came off. The
silence that ensued was frightening for both of them.

Lucy was losing control, and Wes was losing his wife, and they
both knew it was happening.

“Did you lie to me?” he asked.

Lucy covered her face and started to weep.

“Son of a holy bitch,” he whispered, and walked out of the
room.

She was sobbing, but when he walked out, she screamed, “Come
back! Damn you, Wesley! You don’t walk away from me!”

When he didn’t return, she shrieked, and then kept on
shrieking, until it felt as if her throat was on fire. She started to get up and
go after him, but she only staggered drunkenly, fell onto the floor and passed
out.

Wes was in their bedroom throwing clothes and toilet articles
into a bag. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he couldn’t be in the
house with this woman when it did. She was passed out when he left, but he
didn’t care. There was a motel across the street from the dealership. That was
as good a place as any to figure out what to do next. His heart was so heavy he
could hardly breathe and walk at the same time. He felt dirty all the way to his
soul. He could just hear his mama’s voice.

You reap what you sow, Wesley. You reap
what you sow.

He’d coveted his friend’s wife and taken her to bed. He’d been
so blind with love—or had it just been lust?—that he’d believed everything she
said. He’d even been happy Marcus had done them all a favor and died, but after
finding out his friend had been murdered, his guilty conscience had shifted to a
need for swift justice. That was how he would atone for his transgressions. He
would make sure the killer was punished. But instead he’d crucified a boy on
account of a lie. What had he done? What the hell had he done?

* * *

Prince was on the run. In a card game, he’d lost every
penny Lucy had given him, then robbed a gas station for a tank of gas and a few
quick bucks. He lit out of Mount Sterling and headed back to the hills. It was
where he felt safest, and he knew a thousand places to hide where the law would
never find him. All he needed was for Fagan to keep him in food until he figured
a way out of the mess he was in.

It was just after midnight when he pulled into the driveway.
Fagan’s truck was parked out front, but the house lights were out. The dogs
started barking. If Fagan wasn’t drunk, the noise was bound to wake him up.
Prince tapped the brakes, checking out the premises as he circled the house,
then drove all the way into the barn and parked out of sight. All four dogs came
running, sounding like they were ready to eat him alive. Already pissed, he
walked out of the barn, shouting.

“Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, and threw a rock at the
redbone hound in the lead.

They recognized his voice—and the threat—and slunk off into the
woods.

Prince kept walking. The back door wasn’t even locked, which
meant Fagan was most likely passed out, either from the weed he’d smoked or the
booze he’d drunk. He hadn’t even put the dogs up for the night. Prince turned on
lights as he went through the house, calling his brother’s name.

Fagan came stumbling out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a
pair of long johns and carrying a rifle.

“What the hell?” he mumbled, blinking rapidly against the
sudden onset of light.

“Put the fuckin’ gun away,” Prince said. “We need to talk.”

Fagan came to himself enough to be pissed. “Oh, so now you show
up and think you can start ordering me around? Why didn’t you return any of my
calls? You have no idea what a damn mess we’re in.”

Prince stopped short. “What are you talking about?”

“Lincoln Fox is back. He’s after blood. Claims he came back to
get justice for his daddy’s murder. He already done challenged me, wanting to
know how I came to be the one who called in the fire at his house that night.
He’s been to the law. They know what he’s doing, I guess, and are letting it
happen.”

“Son of a bitch,” Prince said, and started pacing.

“That ain’t the half of it,” Fagan said. “He showed up at
Lucy’s house today and freaked her out to the point that she called here, trying
to tell us what we were gonna do to stop him.”

“What did you tell her?” Prince asked.

“I didn’t tell her a dang thing. I hung up on her ass. She’s
too damned high-and-mighty to even claim us as brothers until she wants dirty
work done, and then she comes begging. I’m done with all that. I grow and sell
weed. I don’t want trouble with anyone, especially the law.”

Prince stared. “Are you crazy?”

Fagan glared back. “What I am is fed up. The law is after you
for assaulting and stalking Meg Lewis, and I don’t want to think about what
else. Lucy is a bitch. I don’t want anything to do with her. You can take
yourself on out of here for all I care, because I’m not covering up for either
one of you.”

Prince was stunned. “You’d turn your back on your own
brother?”

Fagan shifted the rifle to his other hand. “You didn’t seem to
have any problem getting into trouble and then leaving me here to catch all the
flak.”

This was not the welcome Prince had expected. “Look. We started
out all wrong. What we need to do is—”

Fagan shook his head. “There’s no more
we.
There’s Lucy, and there’s you. I am not part of the equation. I
never was, and I don’t intend to be now.”

Prince was getting desperate, but he wasn’t stupid. Fagan was
the one holding the weapon.

“You still knew everything and didn’t tell. You said Fox
challenged you about calling in that fire?”

“And I told him my two older brothers are the ones who told me
it was burning.”

Prince lost it. He began stomping back and forth in the hall
and waving his arms, screaming to the point that spit was coming out of his
mouth as fast as the words he was spewing.

“You’re a Judas goat! By God, you would turn on your own and
side with the law! I never thought I’d see the day this would happen!”

“I didn’t ask to be born into this fucking family,” Fagan said.
“You can take yourself back on out of this house, and if I never see you again,
it’ll be too soon!”

Prince leaped, ready to take a swing.

Fagan hit him on the jaw with the butt of the rifle, knocking
him to the floor.

Prince rolled to his knees, blood dripping from his chin and
lip, then staggered as he got to his feet.

Fagan shouted again. “You get the hell out and don’t come back.
I mean it, Prince! So help me God, if I see you again I’ll call the cops and
tell them exactly where you’re at.”

Prince couldn’t think straight. The blow had knocked out a
tooth and what was left of his good sense. He wanted to curse his brother, but
when he opened his mouth he found himself sobbing.

“Don’t do this, brother. Please. I don’t have any money, and
I’ve got nowhere to go.”

Fagan was unmoved. For the first time in his life he could see
daylight in being rid of his brother’s constant troubles. He stepped back into
his bedroom, grabbed his wallet and came back into the hall. Prince hadn’t moved
a muscle.

He took out what was left of the three hundred dollars he’d
taken to buy groceries and threw it at Prince’s feet.

“Go find Lucy. She called here wanting to know where you were.
She asked for help. I can guarantee she’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

Prince grabbed the money and stuffed it in his pocket.

“I’m tired and I’m hungry, Fagan.”

“You drove up here like that. You can leave the same way.”

Prince swiped at the blood running down his chin and then
pointed his finger at Fagan’s chest.

“You’ll pay for this.”

Fagan pointed the rifle at his brother’s feet. “I’ve been
paying for all the bad my family’s done my whole life. I’m done. Get the fuck
out.”

Prince turned too quickly and staggered into the wall, leaving
bloody handprints as he caught himself from falling.

Fagan followed him all the way through the house and then
outside into the cold, and he watched until Prince and his pickup came out of
the barn and drove away. Then he went back inside, locked both doors, turned out
the lights and sat up in the dark with the rifle in his lap and tears running
down his face.