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  “I can and I did.” Milford looked more relaxed than Shel had ever known her to be. “I’m getting old, kid. That’s the simple truth of it.”

  Shel wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to what—take up golfing or knitting?”

  “I’m gonna do some independent work. Kind of like what you used to do, only on the up and up.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Not at all,” Milford said. Shel could see a slow-growing smile on her friend’s face. “I should tell you there’s an open spot on the Naples PD. I could put in a good word for you, but naturally you’re subject to a background check.”

  “That interview would be over before it got started.” Shel practically cut her off.

  “You don’t have a bad record, only a reputation for a bad attitude.” She glanced at Shel’s surprised face. “I was bluffing you about the drug thing. There was only mention of you not following orders given by Internal Affairs. I saw the shooting and the hospitalization and connected the dots. It was a risk, I admit.”

  “A sneaky risk,” Shel said, half-admiringly. She looked straight ahead, muttered, “Bitch.”

  “Yeah.” Milford seemed to take proud ownership of the title.

  “Maybe you’ll be better at this sneaking around business than I thought.” Shel leaned back in her chair. “Thanks for the heads up about the job, but I’ll pass.”

  “You could always pitch in and help me now and again.”

  “Seriously?” Shel gave her another funny look.

  “Playing by my rules, of course.”

  “You and your honor and integrity,” Shel pretended to grumble. She then raised her voice, aiming her words in the direction of the screen door behind them. “She’s not even my boss yet and she’s already horrible to work for.”

  Addison toed open the flimsy door and stepped onto the narrow cement porch juggling three new beers. She set two on the space between them and clicked her tongue admonishingly. Shel grinned brightly at the sight of her, happy to have her firmly on board.

  “She’ll need a contract,” Addison put in, not missing a beat. She plopped down on the cement slab next to Shel’s chair and leaned her head against her shoulder. Her eyes flicked skyward as she contemplated. “And benefits and insurance.”

  “Benefits and insurance…?” Milford nearly choked on the first swig of her new beer. She wiped her damp lips on the back of her hand. “I’m puttin’ no such thing in writing. I’m a small business owner, for Pete’s sake!”

  “You have a license for that sort of thing?” Shel mimicked a line from one of their first conversations.

  Addison gave a casual shrug. “I could probably whip up something that looks as good as—”

  “No.” Shel and Milford firmly cut her off in unison.

  Addison settled back again. “Touchy crowd.”

  “Actually, we’re about to become small business operators ourselves,” Shel announced. She gave Addison’s arm a quick squeeze. “We’re taking over the lease on the gallery. Old guy is retiring. There’s a sweet little apartment over the place. It needs a lot of work, so we’ll live here for another six months or so in the meantime.”

  “You’re kidding me?” Milford was taken aback. She nodded toward the lime-green rental house. “Then why all the trouble of reroofing this one?”

  “In the old guy’s contract, just like the pool.” Shel rolled her eyes. “Your damned integrity is rubbing off on me.”

  “I saw pallets of shingles around back.” Milford scratched her head. “You know what you’re doing?”

  “There’s a kid who helps me during the day, but I’m learning quickly.”

  “And you’ve got the clams to do all that?”

  “Well, while Fortier’s dough is permanently frozen, Miss Kathleen Fortier had a substantial chunk of change waiting for her at a variety of places where she’d consigned her work.” Shel looked proudly at her girlfriend. “There was enough to keep us in rent and school payments for a couple of years.”

  “Sadly, Kathleen Fortier earned more money than Addison James probably ever will.” Addison spoke about the personalities in third person, looking momentarily bummed. She suddenly turned it around, confidently proclaiming, “Still, I’ll stick with Addison James.”

  “You’ll be back on top in no time,” Shel said, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re hanging around.” Milford rose up, adjusting the waistband on her pants.

  “I’ll play shop clerk for a while and if that drives me nuts, I can always pursue a job as a part-time, non-contracted, underpaid assistant private investigator.”

  “That’s a hell of a lot to put on a license.” Milford retrieved her helmet from the front step. “And yes, there will be proper licensure.”

  “So many rules—I’ll go nuts, I swear.” Shel also stood up and shook the cop’s hand. “Thanks again, Milford.”

  “No big deal, hotshot.” She shuffled down the steps and hopped on her bike. In seconds there was nothing left of her but the Harley’s fading rumble.

  Shel sat back down and scooted aside, making room for Addison on the same lounger. Above them, the sky had blurred and was beginning to sparkle with nighttime.

  “You know, I’m actually going to miss this little house,” Addison said. Shel cuddled her close, kissed her.

  “Nah. We deserve a fresh start. All of us.”

  “How’s your back?” Addison looked concerned. “You’ve been climbing around on that roof all day. We just got back, don’t you want a day of rest?”

  “I need to stay busy. It’s sort of therapy for me, swinging that hatchet, stomping around, making noise.” After a bit, Shel nudged her. “I’ve been meaning to give you something.”

  Addison followed her inside and to the bedroom. Shel disappeared inside the closet, her voice muffled as she rummaged through the suitcase there.

  “I found this a while back. I think it belongs to you.”

  At last she reemerged with something shiny dangling from her fingertips. Addison carefully accepted the bracelet and held it up to the dim lamplight. Her lips parted in awe. “Where did you get this?”

  “At the mansion the night Fortier hired me.” Almost reluctantly, Shel confessed, “The palm tree charm is what had me looking for you in Florida.”

  “It’s not a palm tree,” Addison whispered. She took a backward step, sank onto the bed, her eyes glistening over her wide smile. “It’s very old. See how it’s worn around the edges?”

  Shel sat next to her and took a closer look at the charm, nodded.

  “It’s the Tree of Life. My mother designed it for the charity.” Addison moved her finger along the old, worn brass. Her attention then went to the next charm, a tiny frame that contained a baby picture. “And this is my baby picture.”

  Shel was just as surprised. “I thought it was baby Harper.”

  “I haven’t seen this since I was a little girl.” She put her arms around Shel and hugged her close. “This means so much to me.”

  Shel stroked her back. “You deserve to be happy.”

  They were quiet for a moment.

  “You know what else would make me happy?” A playful mood suddenly came over Addison. She gently set the bracelet on the nightstand and lowered her chin, giving Shel the look she most loved. She wriggled one finger, motioning toward her, whispered, “Come here.”

  They kissed deeply, pausing after a moment only to hastily remove and toss aside their clothes, then slid between the sheets. Their fast-advancing passion was quickly halted by the sound of Harper’s cry from the small bedroom. Both women sighed then softly chuckled.

  “I got this,” Addison said, reluctantly slipping out of bed and back into her pajama pants and T-shirt.

  “I just want us to replace all those nightmares with good things.” Shel gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s been a while for her. I guess I was too hopeful, too fast.”

  “Stay hopeful. The therapist says it take
s time.” Addison leaned in, gave her a quick kiss, whispered, “Be back.”

  “Standing by.”

  When several minutes had passed, Shel wondered if Addison had fallen asleep in the child’s bed. Feeling a warmth and almost smugness about her sweet family, she slipped out of bed, pulled on a shirt, and quietly slipped through the house to the smaller bedroom. When she reached the doorway she froze, her smile faded and her stomach lurched.

  Quietly sitting in her bed, Harper’s terrified eyes were fixed on her mother. Addison stood bedside, a man standing behind her, his gun pressed to her head. Shel’s stomach bottomed out, her head felt light, her vision sparkling black. She knew the intruder. His disheveled hair, scruffy face, wrinkled clothing and body odor looked a far cry from his pristine image as Richard Fortier’s attorney, but certainly matched the picture of the villain in her nightmares. Shel was looking at Bobby Buchanan, a.k.a. Bucky, the man who’d shot her.

  He nodded to acknowledge Shel’s long-ago memory. He took a coy tone, even chuckled. “Hello there. Remember me?”

  She said nothing to the man whose eyes channeled coldness and determination for his mission. She’d seen him this way before. Now, his hand gripped the gun pressed to Addison’s temple. The image of her lover’s face seemed to transform to the one belonging to the young mother she’d tried to defend in a seedy undercover apartment years ago. She’d also cried; next could come the part where she begged for her child’s life. It was the scene that played on a chronic loop in her nightmares and she knew its conclusion all too well: they died.

  He seemed to sense Shel’s mental fade. “Stay with me, sister. There’s business to discuss. You’ve got my ten million dollars and I want it—now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “I don’t have it,” Addison softly cried. She looked at her wide-eyed, obviously shell-shocked daughter. “Turn around, baby. Don’t look. Don’t look…”

  Shel couldn’t think clearly, and this time, she had no gun to lose. She heard someone begging for the life of the child, but this time it was coming from her own lips. He laughed and cut her off.

  “A real mind-fuck, isn’t it?”

  It was. She knew him too well. Before her mind had been clouded with Oxy, she’d studied him and knew his MO by heart. When he’d been captured, she’d made herself available to the prosecution to make sure he’d go away for a very long time. Even during her subsequent addiction and work troubles, she’d continued to follow his case. By the time he’d gone to the pen, she’d lost everything important to her.

  “Buchanan,” she said at last, trying her best to remain focused. “Let’s not repeat the past.”

  “No way!” He grinned. “At least not the part where I go to prison. I’ll do better this time, I promise you that. Leave no witnesses—that’s my new motto. I can’t tell you how well it’s working for me.”

  It was obvious they had history, but Shel prayed he wouldn’t spell it out in front of Addison and her daughter. She swallowed hard, nearly choking air lodged in her throat that felt more like a golf ball.

  “Calm down,” she said more to herself than to Buchanan.

  “I’m calm,” he mocked her. “But you don’t look so hot, I’ve gotta say.”

  Addison continued to sob. “I don’t have the money—didn’t you see—”

  “We don’t keep that kind of money. Not at the house—do we look crazy?” Shel loudly stomped all over Addison’s intended confession, as it was clear Buchanan had no knowledge of the anonymous donation. As for news about Fortier, it hadn’t yet hit the papers. She spoke before her girlfriend could jeopardize their precious position, running with a lie that she was creating on the spot. “It’s in a building we rent.”

  He blinked several times, as if trying to decide whether or not she was lying to him. At last, he snarled, “I call bullshit.”

  “Really?” Shel made her best effort to appear confident, but not to the degree that he would harm his primary hostage. She refused to even allow her eyes to glance at Addison’s face. She was in full-on negotiating mode. “You want to toss the place, be my guest. There’s no money here.”

  More blinking and staring. “How about I shoot the kid and then you’ll tell me?” He seemed nervous, spittle flying from his mouth with his rising anger. “Better yet—how about you choose who I shoot first. Will it be this one?” He shoved the gun hard against Addison’s head causing her to cry out in pain. “—or this one?” Buchanan then pointed the gun at Harper. Both women reacted in a flurry of words and pleas that was clearly music to his ears. “Well then. I guess I know who to start with.”

  “You harm her and you’ll not get a thing,” Addison said, her fear having given way to anger. While Shel could appreciate the mother’s willingness to protect her daughter, her eyes dispatched a desperate plea that Addison remain quiet.

  “The money is in a safe, inside a building near the city dock,” Shel said calmly, but firmly.

  “How do I know you’re serious?” His glistening forehead, coupled with the mounting stench emanating from him, said he was worried. He again jammed the gun hard into Addison’s side. “Huh?”

  “We leased a shop.” She scrambled for bogus details. Details made the difference between a believable lie and a poor one. “You’ll see the balance is down ten grand—that’s first and last month plus deposit.”

  He appeared bewildered at the information. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll kill all of you.”

  “The key is in the other bedroom.” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  “Uh-uh,” he shook his head, made his point clear. “Everyone goes.”

  “That’s unnecessary,” Shel calmly insisted.

  He again employed a mocking tone. “I’ll tell you what—they can stay if I kill them. Since you’ve witnessed my work, I’ll let you decide.”

  “Fine, fine,” she hurriedly agreed.

  He harshly pushed Addison down onto the bed. She quickly recovered, moving to comfort whimpering Harper.

  “No time, Mama. Let’s go.” He waved his gun, earning a glare from her. She scooped the child into her arms and held tight to her and followed along as Shel led the group to the larger bedroom. “Get the key—what are you doing?”

  “I’d like my pants,” Shel told him, motioning toward her bare legs. “It’ll raise a few eyebrows if we all march out of here looking this way.”

  He glared at her. “Hurry up.”

  Shel plucked a pair of jeans off the floor and gave him a look. When it was clear he wasn’t planning to turn even slightly to offer her privacy, she hastily pulled on the jeans. Not moving quite as quickly due to the child she wore on her hip, Addison also followed suit, slipping into a pair of shorts she’d earlier discarded. She struggled to button them with her only available hand, speaking comforting words to the child all the while.

  Shel went to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. Her gun box was there, open and empty, her gun still in the custody of the Louisiana Bureau. He stood in the doorway, his gun trained on her, giving her no choice or time to think. She fished out the key and closed the drawer. Perhaps at the city dock they could manage to flag the attention of overnight security. It was highly doubtful they would be armed with anything more than mace. Perhaps she would think of a better plan on the ride, but that also seemed doubtful given the state of her nerves and the preciousness with which she regarded the lives presently on the line. There was no safe at the gallery, and that would make Buchanan plenty mad. Things would end quickly from there.

  She raised the key to show him. He impatiently nodded and glanced over her shoulder at Addison whose quick movements were making him jumpy.

  “Blondie—chill the fuck out.”

  “I’m getting my shoes,” she mumbled.

  “Where you’re going they don’t need shoes.” He again motioned toward the doorway. “Let’s move.”

  She stepped into one tennis shoe but clumsily kicked the other one under the bed. Sh
e got down on all fours and waved her hand beneath the dust ruffle, finally reemerging with the missing shoe. She stood and stared at them, still holding the shoe. Preoccupied by concerns Addison couldn’t possibly fathom, Shel didn’t even blink.

  “Let’s go already!” Buchanan shouted, clearly at the end of his patience. Shel started for the front door, but he crudely grabbed at her shoulder, digging his fingertips into her collarbone. “Back door. No need to draw attention.”

  He’d actually touched on Shel’s deepest fear because she knew something he did not. They couldn’t draw attention to themselves if they marched out the front door and sent up a flare. It was the off season and the neighborhood was empty.

  He herded them out the back door and into the black night. While Shel’s internal panic skyrocketed, Addison’s tears had stopped and she now seemed extraordinarily calm. As she was still wearing only one shoe, Shel wondered if her girlfriend was in shock. It was when they were being roughly ushered down the few steps that Shel caught a glance inside the shoe and suddenly understood the reason for Addison’s cool demeanor. It didn’t do much to alleviate Shel’s worry, in fact, her anxiety hit fever pitch.

  In a seemingly flawless move, Addison dropped the shoe and pointed a tiny revolver at Buchanan. “Drop the gun, you son of a bitch.”

  Though clearly surprised, Buchanan snatched a hand out and roughly yanked Shel to him as he stumbled over the threshold of the door and into the backyard. Recovering his balance, he pressed his gun against Shel’s temple and grinned.

  “Drop it,” Addison repeated, also stepping into the backyard. Even if there was a chance she’d never hit a thing she was aiming for, her look of intention was spot-on. Without removing her gaze from his, she allowed the toddler to slide off her hip and down her leg to the ground. In her most serious tone she said, “Baby, you go around to the front of the house. Mommy’s going to make the bad man go away. Hurry. Run.”

  Shel watched the child scamper past a pallet piled with bundles of shingles. She then disappeared into the thick shrubbery that ran along the side of the house. She felt the gun jam harder against her temple. She swallowed hard and took shallow breaths.