Whispers of Fate: The Mistresses of Fate, Book Two (25 page)

Mark cried out, dropping Jane, and aimed at the only target immediately in his line of vision—Tyler. He fired and Tyler fell backward, crashing into a rocking chair.

Tavey watched in mute horror as Tyler went down, her gun still aimed at Mark Arrowdale. “No,” she shouted, and fired twice, center-mass, as she’d been trained long ago by her grandfather.

Mark Arrowdale’s body fell onto his wife, who screamed and jolted away, talking to herself in the corner.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she kept repeating, her eyes far away and glazed, her hands covered in blood.

Tavey ignored her, running over to Tyler. He was cursing, holding a hand to his chest; his shirt was soaked red.

Tavey felt light-headed, but she ignored it and ran, trying not to look at the bodies of Atohi and Bessie as she passed them on the way to the bathroom. She grabbed three towels and ran back to Tyler’s side, pressing the thick cotton to the wound.

“Hold this,” she ordered him, and grabbed her cell phone. No signal.

“Shit,” she cursed, and threw it at the wall, where it shattered. “Okay.” She went to her knees beside Tyler. “I’m going to get Circe to hold this and then I’m going for help. Okay? Okay, Tyler?” He’d passed out.

“Please be okay,” she begged, and stood, ready to run back to the house if necessary, but knowing he wouldn’t make it that long. The sound of a siren made her turn and the sound of boots on the stairs preceded the tall, lean form of Ryan in his FBI tactical gear and vest. Several officers from the sheriff’s department filed in behind him.

“Ryan,” Tavey cried in relief, “Tyler’s been shot.”

Ryan hurried over to Tyler, pressing the towels down. “Come hold this,” he told Tavey.

“Go tell them that we need a stretcher, officer down,” he ordered one of the officers, though he didn’t have any jurisdiction.

He turned back to Tavey. “I have a medical helicopter on the way. The Triplets called us. We were already on our way up here when we heard the shots.”

“How did you know to bring a helicopter?” Tavey asked, though she didn’t care, she just wanted to talk so she wouldn’t cry.

“The Triplets suggested it,” he said, his worried eyes on Tyler’s pale face.

“How’d you let this happen, old man?” Ryan shook Tyler awake. “Come on, stay with us.”

Tyler whispered something. Ryan bent forward to hear and then leaned back with a soft chuckle.

He pushed up his glasses with his free hand and looked at Tavey. “He says it’s all your fault.”

39

FOUR DAYS LATER,
Tavey stood in her family cemetery, her black dress pressed against her legs by the breeze. She wasn’t alone. Raquel, Chris, and a bandaged German shepherd stood at her side. Ryan, Brent, and Thomas stood a few feet back. They’d mourned Bessie and Atohi, laying them to rest side by side in a place of honor in the Collins family plot, and placing roses from the garden on the freshly turned earth. Tavey had also made sure that Chris’s father was included, though he’d never been a part of her life, but he was buried a little farther out, away from the beloveds.

They’d gotten the full story out of Jane—more or less. Talking with Jane had been even stranger than it ever had before.

Jane had explained in a halting, confused narrative what had happened all those years ago, sometimes talking to herself, sometimes arguing. Tavey had watched the interview through the one-way mirror in the interrogation room. Slowly, over the course of several hours, they managed to fit most of it together, all but the most important piece: what had happened to Summer.

“Mark came to the door and said I was the most beautiful woman in the world,” Jane had said, looking around the interview room at the sheriff’s office before dropping her gaze to her bandaged hands.

“He’s right. I was.” She frowned at the bandages before she continued.

“We would go out to the cabin and Charlie would be there with Gloria Belle.” She’d blinked up at the officer interviewing her and swallowed. “He was alive. I think Bessie and Atohi knew. I think they brought him food and stuff.”

She’d frowned. “I don’t deserve this. It wasn’t my fault. He made me.”

The investigator had calmed her down, assuring her that no one was blaming her. They’d been wrong about that. Tavey was blaming her.

“Charlie liked to gamble. Belle liked drugs. They always needed money. Mark had an idea for a real estate deal to get money, and he got Robbie to help, but Charlie had something better. Charlie had met some people who could bring us lots of money. Lots and lots of it.”

The investigator had asked what that was.

“Drugs,” she said succinctly. “He helped some bikers with their drugs.”

She’d shrugged, as if it meant nothing. “I didn’t do that part. I just did what Mark told me to do.”

She’d gone on to explain that Charlie had killed two bikers and stolen some money, planning to run away with Gloria. When the leader of the gang showed up to get his money, Mark had lied, saying that the couriers had never arrived, but that Charlie had disappeared.

“Charlie had disappeared before. The leader of the biker gang knew that, I think. Mark was clever to tell him that we’d never seen the couriers,” she’d reported with a smile that had chilled Tavey. “They believed us.”

She’d stopped smiling when the investigator pointed out that it was a crime to know about a murder and not report it. “I know,” she’d whispered in a small voice, “but I was afraid. Mark promised they would never be found.” She’d sounded annoyed.

She frowned and tossed her hair with one bandaged hand. “I know I should have reported it, but I was afraid they would kill me. I didn’t even see it happen.”

The officer asked her where she’d been, and Jane had frowned, confused. “I was at home. Where else would I be?”

Tavey didn’t know what to make of the backstory, but she had even more trouble with Jane’s version of recent events. She’d claimed that Mark had told her Charlie had died. That they needed to find his body so they could take the money. She said Mark had made her and Rob look, that he’d forced them to dig in the basement. She was sure he’d gone crazy.

Her bandaged hands and bruised face, not to mention Robert Carlson’s dead body, had seemed to support her story, but since Jane was more than half crazy herself, Tavey had a hard time believing it.

She’d said that when Mark couldn’t find the money, he was sure that Belle had moved it, and he’d kidnapped Belle’s momma so she would tell him Belle’s address. Jane hadn’t known Belle had been kidnapped. Tavey actually believed the genuine surprise she’d seen on her face.

“He hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” she’d explained. “Her momma wouldn’t tell him.”

Bessie, I’ll miss you
, Tavey had thought then, letting a tear fall unheeded down her cheek. Bessie had been tortured. Had died—likely an accident—in the middle of the beating Mark had been giving her. Mark had shot Atohi when he’d come to rescue her.

Tavey hoped they were together and at peace. If they had known that her father lived, and it seemed they had, then she was sure they’d protected him out of love—for the boy he’d been if not the man he’d become.

When asked about Summer’s disappearance, Jane had looked blank, as if the question confused her more than any of the others.

“Summer went missing the day after Charlie did. Maybe he took her,” she’d suggested, and Tavey’s hope that some information would come out about Summer died like a spark as it lifts from a campfire. Still, she’d learned that Summer had been following people in the woods, that Abraham, though aware that something had been going on, probably hadn’t been involved in her disappearance. The book that they’d found could have been dropped, maybe by Summer herself, when she’d followed her aunt and the others through the woods. Tavey wasn’t sure. She couldn’t help but feel that the book was a clue somehow, that Summer was trying to tell her something.

40

TAVEY SAT IN
the parking lot of the hospital that bore her family’s name and wondered when she had turned into such a coward. Tyler had been there for four days and she hadn’t gone to visit. She’d spoken to him on the phone briefly about his uncle and how he wanted to handle any funeral services, but they hadn’t talked long. She’d already been chastised by Chris, Raquel, Ryan, and even the Triplets, who’d been spending more time with them while Jane was in protective custody. The FBI believed that if her story about the bikers was true, then she was in danger, but Jane just insisted that she needed to get back to her store to prepare for the solstice celebration.

Tavey had been busy; she’d prepared three funerals and taken Atohi’s shepherd to the vet. He’d been lucky. Most of the blood had been from a graze. He hadn’t been hit directly, and she helped the FBI locate the caretaker’s cabin in the woods. None of which excused her absence from Tyler’s bedside.

She took a deep breath and shoved open the door to the Range Rover, stepping down carefully. She’d worn a dress, a deep blue one, and Italian heels. She had something to say to Tyler Downs, and she wanted him to pay attention.

She reached back in the car for her purse and the vase filled with fresh-cut roses from her garden. They reminded her of the night they’d kissed, of the feel of his hands on her.

The automatic doors to the hospital opened with a whoosh, and a chilly blast of air-conditioning made her shiver in her thin dress.

She knew Tyler’s room number; she’d been calling every day to check on him, and she made her way there without stopping to bother any of the nursing staff. They wouldn’t have tried to keep her out anyway—they knew who she was.

His hospital room door was open, she could hear the sound of baseball in between the click of her heels as she approached.

When she stepped inside, Tyler was already looking in her direction. He shut off the TV with the remote in his hand.

“Tavey. I didn’t think you were coming.”

Tavey swallowed and walked over to his bedside table, setting the vase down gently. “I’ve wanted to, I’ve been—”

“Busy,” he finished for her. “Yeah, everyone’s mentioned it.”

She nodded, about to go into a detailed explanation of everything she’d done so far that week, but he waved her to come closer.

When she was standing next to his bed, he took her hand and she felt tears sting her eyes.

“None of that.” Tyler sounded alarmed, but his blue eyes were amused.

Tavey sniffed. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. It’s my fault you were shot. I was just so mad. I thought he was going to get away. I thought he was going to get away with it and I couldn’t let him. I’m sorry.”

Tyler squeezed her fingers. “That’s probably more ‘I’m sorrys’ than you’ve ever delivered in your life.”

Tavey smiled wryly. “I’m sure you’re right.”

His blond hair was tousled and a light stubble covered his chin. She removed her hand from his grip and gently smoothed the soft strands.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he told her, closing his eyes at her touch. “I’m sorry about how I acted at Abraham’s.”

“It’s okay.” Tavey shook off his apology. “You were grieving.” She chuckled a little sadly. “I, of all people, should understand how people behave when they’ve lost someone they love.”

He opened his eyes. “Do you love me, Octavia Collins?”

Tavey swallowed and nodded. Ridiculous or not, she had always loved him, and considering her stubborn nature, probably always would.

“That’s good,” he said, and closed his eyes again.

Tavey punched him lightly in the shoulder and he grunted, grinning and opening his eyes. He looked at her with so much heat and love that she began to babble a little nervously, and Tavey never babbled.

“I had Abraham cremated, as you asked. We can spread his ashes over his land when you’re better.”

“Thank you.” He picked up her hand again and laid a kiss on it.

Tavey sighed. “I suppose they told you about Jane’s story. Unless we find out what happened to Belle, we may never know what happened to my father, or to Summer.”

Tyler frowned. “Atohi said something that makes me think your father might be dead, Tavey.”

“Really.” Tavey gripped his fingers. “What did he say?”

Tyler frowned and scratched his head. “I asked him if he knew where Charlie was and he said, ‘He’s where he belongs,’ or something like that.”

For some reason Tavey thought of Summer in her dream, sitting on her father’s grave and saying, “In a story, which is a kind of dreaming, the dead sometimes smile and sit up and return to the world.”

Tavey straightened, her eyes widening.

“I know where he is.”