“Lilah,” Cole said, sliding up next to me.
“I need to go home. Alone,” I added. “I need to write down everything I can remember from when I lived with him. I don’t have much time.” I also needed to get my plan ready. Daddy was not going to remain behind bars for long, no matter how confident Booker was. And when Daddy came for me, I needed to be ready. I kicked myself for thinking I could have a life with Cole. What a fool I am.
Cole tried protesting, but I insisted. He let me go, like I knew he would. Cole would never force me to stay.
My lovely gentle giant; so unlike my father.
Chapter 37
This time Booker conducted the interrogation much differently. He never once raised his voice or glared at me, wishing I’d evaporate into thin air. After three hours, he ended it despite the other officer’s protests.
“She’s told us everything. Now we’re only repeating things.” He shut the file and turned off the tape recorder. “Come on, Cole’s waiting for you.”
Over the next week I spent my alone time writing and rewriting my farewell letter to Cole. My time with him was spent making plans about how to decorate the upstairs after Booker finished his part. I knew Cole hoped to keep my mind off everything, but it only made it harder knowing in detail all that I would lose if my father got out of jail. Maggie stopped by on Wednesday and we planned a picnic in Applegate Park to celebrate Booker passing the bar.
When Saturday arrived, I was more than ready for the picnic. I needed a major distraction. Since I had almost two hours before I had to be at the park, I decided to take a bath instead of a shower. I added a handful of herbs to the water and sank down until it touched my chin.
I laid my head back against the edge and allowed myself a short nap. I woke up an hour and a half later, cold and shivering with shriveled fingers. Quickly drying myself off, I pulled on my jeans and a red, white and blue t-shirt. I got a text from Cole telling me he was running behind and would be a few minutes late. Should two people who always run late really marry? I wondered.
Five minutes before I was supposed to be at the park, the phone in my apartment rang. I had no idea who’d be calling me on it since I’d only given the number to . . . Birdie. I leapt for the phone.
“Hello?” I said nervously, sinking into a chair.
“Oh, child, it’s so good to hear your voice again. Listen to me. I can’t talk long. Your father paid his way out of jail. He’s coming to Port Fare. It’s time to put the plan in motion, child. Please tell me you made one like I told you to.”
“Yes. But are you sure? How do you know?” My hand shook violently as I held the phone to my ear.
“Maria called me. She said they estimate it will take two weeks to get there because they have to travel at night to avoid being seen.”
“Birdie—”
“Did you get a gun? I warned you that you’d need to.”
“You know I hate guns.”
“Child, I’d feel much better knowing you had one,” she said, sounding desperate. “Is there a waiting period in New York?”
“I don’t know the gun laws here.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t use a gun on my own father. I just couldn’t.
However, what if I had to protect Cole? Could I then?
Suddenly, an idea hit, and I shot up straight. I may not be able to shoot my father, but there was something I could do to stop him.
“A change in plans, Birdie. And I know exactly where I can get a gun.”
“Wonderful. Put the plan in motion. I love you more than anything. Please be careful. Your father’s very angry with you, Lilah, because he feels you’ve betrayed him. You know how to do this.” She hung up before I could ask anything more.
Waves of fear rolled through me, gripping my heart, piercing my gut. I stumbled past my bed, wanting to curl up into a little ball and cry.
But I couldn’t. I had to act. I had to put my plan in motion, laying false trails. Going to my desk, I pulled out the maps I’d gotten at the bus depot on one of my morning jogs. I stuffed one under the bed, hoping it didn’t look planted. I needed Daddy to think it was left behind accidently. I took half of my summer wardrobe and stuffed it into a suitcase, setting it by the door. The other half I folded up neatly and put back in the drawers. I took out a cute pair of winter gloves I’d gotten on sale, adding one to my suit case. The other I wedged in between the couch cushions, with half a finger sticking up just enough so Daddy wouldn’t miss it. I also took my art supplies, and with two trips I filled my little orange bug with all that no longer mattered to me.
I made one last trip around the apartment, tipping over a bottle of shampoo and setting a quart of milk out on the counter. I wanted it to look as if I’d left quickly, without much warning. Slowly, I walked over to the desk and drew out my letter to Cole, and then sat down and rewrote the last page with my new plan. Pressing it to my chest, I allowed a few tears to fall.
“Enough, Delilah. You’re a Dreser. Do what needs to be done.”
I started to shut the door, deciding to leave it unlocked, adding to the illusion of a quick exit.
Now for the hard part: getting Cole’s gun.
Even with the A/C on high in my car, sweat poured down my back. Nerves. Trying to balance leaving a false trail for Daddy and getting him to follow it was not easy. I needed the gun, just in case. It would be a last resort. A shiver rippled through me as I thought about the plan again. Would I really have the courage to do it when the time came? I pictured Cole’s face. Yes, I’d have the courage.
First things first. I had to create an excuse. “Hi, Cole. I’m running late,” I said into my phone.
“Me, too. As a matter of fact, I just got here. I know,” he laughed, “shocker, right? Didn’t you get my text?”
“Yes.” I laughed. It sounded pathetic. “I’ll be about half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes. Get started without me.”
“That long? Do you need my help?”
“Nope. I’m good.” I pinched my thigh to keep from crying. It didn’t work. The tears rolled down my cheeks. “How’s your head today?”
“Really good. Three days pain free now. I’ll see you soon.”
“Cole, wait. I-I just wanted to say I love you.”
“I love you more,” he said with a chuckle, knowing what I was going to say next.
“Impossible.” I ended the call and pulled off the road to regain my composure. My eyes were too clouded to drive. Finally I gathered myself and drove straight to Cole’s.
Slowly, I dragged myself from the car and made my way to his door. I slid the key into the lock for the last time before nudging it open. Entering the kitchen, I discovered a notebook on the counter. Cole’d been drawing again. A sketch of a brain, with intricate details. He’d made notes along the side about size and surgical instruments, along with suggestions. I pressed it to my chest before setting it back.
I took a kitchen chair and hauled it over to the cupboard and climbed up, removing the plastic container from the top shelf. I opened it, fingering the brass bullets before removing one. Only one. That’s all I’d need. I put the container back on the top shelf, climbed back down, and returned the chair to its place under the table. I slipped the bullet in my purse, before removing the letter to Cole. After rereading it one last time, I put it back in the envelope beside the drawings I’d made up for Booker. I also inserted the ring Cole had given me as sorrow choked me. “Stay focused,” I lectured myself. I paced into the living room and set the sealed letter on the half wall in the entry way, along with my purse.
I took in the house on my way to the bedroom. It still smelled of paint and new furniture. I didn’t look up at the portrait I’d painted, fearing the tears would begin all over again. Walking into the bedroom, I went straight to the closet for the gun. It was on the top shelf and I had to stretch to reach it. It was gone. Frustrated, I blew air through my tight lips. “Where did he move it to?” I mumbled to myself.
; I turned and stopped dead.
“Hello, Delilah. Looking for this?”
Chapter 38
Booker stood next to the bed, wearing a filthy t-shirt, holey jeans, and unkempt sneakers, looking very much like the cat that swallowed the canary. Cole’s gun swung back and forth on his index finger.
“Booker, this isn’t what you think.”
“It never is, Delilah.” He tucked the gun into his belt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Let me guess. You were framed. Or maybe you’re going to play the my Daddy made me do it card. I’ve heard them all.” He stepped toward me and said, “Turn around,” signaling me to put my hands against the wall.
He smelled horrific. I coughed at the gag-worthy odor of sweat and garbage bin. He quickly searched me for a weapon. Since I only wore jean shorts and a t-shirt, it didn’t take long. He then began reading me my rights.
“Booker, please let me explain.” As if I’d not spoken, he continued reciting my rights. Panic welled up inside me, my mind spinning in tight little circles. I had to convince him to let me go.
When he finished he asked, “Do you understand?”
“Yes, but—”
He pointed toward the bedroom door. I glanced over my shoulder as we headed into the living room, noticing he walked with a limp. “Booker—”
“You know where I’ve been all night?” He spoke over me. “I’ll tell you. My team and I were down by the canal, a couple blocks from Applegate Park. Seems some local drug dealers feel homeless people make good guinea pigs for their latest venture.” We marched straight to the pillar in the entry way, and he had me wrap my arms around it before slapping the handcuffs on my wrists.
“Your brother Alan cable-tied Seth to the handle of the fridge before almost killing him and Maggie. Karma, don’t you think?” He limped away, returning with a kitchen chair and set it next to the pillar, motioning me to sit down. I remained standing.
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “My mother would roll over in her grave if I didn’t act the gentleman.”
“Booker, will you let me explain?”
He sat on the couch and pulled the recliner out, setting his right leg on the end, grimacing. “Where was I?” he asked, ignoring me still.
“Oh, yeah, vile drug dealers by the canal. We were close to catching them last night, closer than we’ve ever been. . . Or so we thought. Turns out it was all a set up.” He wiped his hands over his face. “My team was led to believe that we were finally going to learn who the dealers were. We followed our supposed informant to a deserted area, under a cement bridge. A gun fight ensued. When it was over three of my men were dead, another seriously injured. He’s at Port Fare General as we speak, fighting for his life. He’s the youngest at twenty-three, or maybe he’s twenty four.” He shrugged and continued. “If it weren’t for the fact that Seth had finals, Delilah, it would have been him in the hospital. Or worse, dead.” Horror filled his eyes, as if he were imagining the sick scenario.
“I’m so sorry.” Ashamed, I sank into the chair. My father may not have had anything to do with this case, but there were others just like it that he must have been responsible for. How many died because of my family?
“The scumbags got away, well, most did. We did kill one. I chased after another, but slipped and sprained my ankle before I could get him.” He pushed the recliner all the way back and laid his head down, his eyes crimped shut. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork involved when three agents are killed. It’s been hours. I’m exhausted. In fact, I didn’t finish until about forty-five minutes ago. Imagine my surprise when one of my surveillance team stopped me on my way out and told me about a phone conversation he’d intercepted between you and your nanny.” He chuckled. “I’d completely forgotten about the tap on your house phone. But luck was on our side . . . finally.”
He took out his cell phone from his jeans pocket. “I’m going to have to call for backup to take you in. I parked down the street in an unmarked car so you wouldn’t see me, but frankly, I’m in a lot of pain, and probably shouldn’t be driving.”
“No. Please wait. Hear me out. If you still want to turn me in then, you can.”
He slammed his phone down onto the couch and jumped up, staggering. “If?” He laughed harshly. “Oh, mark my words, Delilah, you’ll be going to jail. I won’t fail this time.” He rubbed his wrist. I don’t think he even realized he rubbed at the scars Cole had told me about. “No one I love will die this time because of my inadequacies. I will protect my family.”
His words hit me hard. I sat stunned for a moment. “Booker,” I said quietly. His eyes jumped to me. I could see he regretted his words.
“Spill it. Let’s hear the lies.” Booker leaned against the wall and folded his arms, poker face fully in place.
“You can’t honestly tell me you blame yourself for what happened when you were only sixteen. You were a kid going up against two grown men with guns. No one could have won with those odds,” I said, trying to comfort him.
His cheeks flamed red, his eyes narrowed. “Do not bring my family into this,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “I’m sick of lowlife scum like you and your family destroying lives. Killing means nothing to you. I’ve had it with your kind.”
He peeled himself away from the wall, limped to the arm of the couch, and plopped down. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch your mother and sister being . . .” he shook his head, closing his eyes tight against the memory. “They were beaten to death right before my eyes and I could do nothing but beg. I begged so long and hard, I lost my voice. And still I begged.”
My heart broke as I watched his tortured expressions, the tight jaw, the lips pinched tight, eyes darkened in pain. Cole never told me the details of what had happened, and hearing it now, all my anger for Booker dissipated. No wonder he hated me.
He dropped his head down, shaking it as he continued, his voice now as broken as his expression. “Fast forward eleven years. I walk into Seth’s house and find my best friend tied to the refrigerator door, and Maggie’s battered little body sprawled out on the floor. It was like seeing my sister all over again. Maggie pleaded with me not to shoot Alan, fearing Seth would be killed.”
He limped over to me. “Did Cole tell you why Maggie moved out of my house?” Before I could answer he continued. “No. He wouldn’t. Cole would never betray a trust. Not Mr. Pure of Heart.” He smiled grimly. “My opposite.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw and continued.
“Maggie moved out because I couldn’t keep it together. I had full-blown panic attacks. I’d get up and check and recheck my security system ten times a night. I’d make sure all the doors and windows were still locked. It got so bad I barely slept. I stumbled into Cole’s office at three in the morning, convinced I was having a heart attack. My eyes were ringed; I’d lost fifteen pounds. I was a wreck. When Cole figured out what was going on, he moved in that day with Seth and took Maggie with him. I protested, but he refused to change his mind. I went home that night and slept for twenty-six hours straight.
“But I won this time. You’re going to jail, and Daddy Dearest will be joining you as soon as he gets here.”
“Bo—”
“So what’s the plan? I heard the cryptic phone call. Tell me what the real time frame is.”
“T-two weeks,” I stumbled out.
“Two weeks?” He rolled his eyes. “Right. Is he walking here? How exactly does he plan to get his revenge, Delilah? If you help us, the judge may go easier on you.” Sarcasm laced his comments. “No. There’ll be no deals, Delilah. We have his prized possession in custody. We’ll get him.” He grinned. “Man, I’m sure glad we forgot about the trace we put on your house phone.”
I dried my face on my sleeve. “Booker, please listen. This is not what you think. Daddy’s health’s bad, real bad. I’m trying to lead him out of town. He’ll come after me, I know it. I’m his prized possession, just like you said. Plus, he’s going to be furious I disobeyed him.”
&
nbsp; “Why then do you need the gun? Surely you don’t plan on shooting your own father. You can never tell with drug smugglers, though. If they think they can get out of jail time, they’d shoot their own child.”
“Of course I’m not going to shoot my father. What kind of an animal do you think I am?”
“Please tell me that was a rhetorical question, because you won’t like my answer.” He picked up his cell phone again. Time to play my hand.
“Booker, please. Read the letter I wrote for Cole. It explains everything, my plan, everything. It’s next to my purse.” I nodded to the half-wall.
“This won’t change my mind, Delilah. I’m not Cole. I won’t believe your lies. I’m used to sob stories, the claims of innocence. You can watch some guy pull the trigger, and he, or she, will have a million reasons why they’re innocent.”
“Read it,” I pleaded.
He grumbled under his breath and snatched up the letter, turning it over in his hands. After tapping the envelope a couple times, he poked his finger under the seal and tugged it open, taking out the letter along with the drawings. He immediately tossed the drawings carelessly on the half-wall before removing the ring.
“You’re returning the engagement ring? Not a smart move. This thing’s worth a small fortune.” He held the ring between his thumb and forefinger, flipping it back and forth. His eyes darted to me, and then back to the ring. He shook his head slightly before setting the ring down on the counter. “No,” he whispered to himself.
“My dearest Cole,” he began. “I love you more than—” he dropped his head back. “I’m not reading this drivel.”
“Skip the first paragraph.”
Blowing out another heavy breath, he began again.
“The Touch—”
“And skip the poem,” I said, embarrassed as he read words meant only for Cole.
“Daddy’s coming to town, which means I’m leaving. Don’t try and follow me. I know what I’m doing. He’ll be livid when he learns I’m not here and will try to find me. When I left after my baby . . . d-died,” Booker stumbled, “he spent the next three years tracking me down. That’s why he didn’t get his revenge sooner here in Port Fare. Daddy hates when his children don’t follow orders. I know him. I guarantee he’ll come after me. I know how to stay one step ahead of him. I should, I’ve had to do it enough.