Cole Dempsey’s Back in Town Page 16

  His fiery gaze swung to Cole. “I don’t know who killed her, I swear. If it wasn’t your father, what the hell does it matter now? It wasn’t me, either, but if you go back to Aimee’s body for more DNA, they’re going to find mine. I was there that night, and Skelly knows it. Skelly will turn on me in a heartbeat to save himself. If that original forensic report is authenticated, we’re all going down. Me, Skelly, Ormond. But none of them killed Aimee, and I didn’t either.”

  “We have to find the truth, Drake.” Bryn didn’t know whether she believed him or not about leaving Aimee alive that night. Her head was reeling.

  “You don’t want the truth, Bryn. Trust me, you don’t want the truth. The truth isn’t going to solve anything. It’s going to make everything worse. The truth is going to ruin my career. And it’s going to ruin your mother’s name. It’s all going to come out.”

  Bryn felt the blood drain from her face. “What are you talking about?” She didn’t recognize her own voice, it was so reedy and faint.

  “I want a deal, Bryn,” Drake said.

  “What kind of deal?” Cole asked in a forbidding tone.

  Drake got to his feet, strode across the room to stand behind a table that held a decanter of brandy and several glasses. He put the folder down on the table and poured a trembling glass of alcohol.

  Cole moved his hand from her arm. Bryn watched him pull the cell phone out of his pocket. Her gaze locked with his. His look was grim.

  “Get out, Bryn,” he said beneath his breath and pushed the cell phone into her hand. “Get help.”

  Drake shot back the glass of brandy as Bryn stood.

  “I want the original forensic report,” Drake said. “Without that, everything else falls apart. Especially now that I got rid of Ormond. And for the document, you’ll get what’s in this folder.”

  “What happened to Randol Ormond?” Bryn asked.

  “I called him. I told him he didn’t have a prayer. I told him I was going to kill him with my bare hands if he didn’t disappear. I know through some old friends where his daughter lives. I told him I’d kill her and her whole family, too. He thinks I killed Aimee. He believed my threats. I don’t know where the hell he went.”

  “Get out of here, Bryn,” Cole said again.

  But Drake moved first, streaking his hand inside his jacket pocket. He pointed a gun at Bryn, freezing her in place. Cole took to his feet and Drake swung the gun on him.

  “Drop the phone, Bryn,” Drake ordered.

  She dropped it. It hit the pine floor with a crack and splintered into several pieces. She watched as the battery separated from the cell phone’s body, each part flying in a different direction.

  “Don’t take a step, either one of you.” Drake poured another shot without taking his eyes off them. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bryn, but I wouldn’t mind putting a hole in Dempsey. If I’m going to pay, I’m not going to pay alone.”

  He lifted the glass, took a sip. The storm beat against the shutters and the oil lamp flickered. He tossed back the rest of the glass and set it down.

  “I know you haven’t turned the original document over to Harlan Michel,” Drake went on in a low, terrifying voice that Bryn barely recognized. “And I’ve thought through the possibility that you may not have it here. Maybe you have it tucked away in some bank drawer somewhere. If so, that’s unfortunate because I’ll have to move on to Plan B.”

  Bryn didn’t think she wanted to know what Plan B was. Her friend was holding a gun on her. Her brain felt as though it was on a roller-coaster ride.

  “It’s upstairs in my briefcase,” Cole said suddenly. “I’ll go get it.”

  She swung her head to look at his stern, cold profile. He was controlled, completely controlled. And he was lying.

  Drake gave a bitter laugh. “I think we’ll get it together, Dempsey.”

  “I want to know what’s in that folder,” Cole said.

  “The proof that Bryn’s slut mother and your low-life father had an affair,” Drake said. “And I can promise you, when this story hits, and it’s going to hit big, Bryn’s mother’s name is going to be trashed on every nightly news and cable crime channel in this country. It’s nice, tidy hard news that a former state commissioner and prosecutor conspired with a local police chief and coroner to cover up a crime to save his son, but you know it’s not going to stop there. Twenty-four-hour cable news runs on the seedier side of every story. And this is a juicy one. Plantation owner shoots the man screwing his wife while his friends in high places cover up the crime. They’ll say I killed Aimee. The DNA will fry me and so will Skelly. He wasn’t as easy to scare off as Ormond. But they won’t forget about your mother, Bryn. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “You’re crazy,” she breathed. “You should have told the truth then. It would be over now, forgotten. If you didn’t do it, a real investigation would have uncovered the true killer.”

  “You’re right about that,” Drake said, and now his voice slurred just a little. His silvery eyes went dark. “My father screwed me. He covered up a murder I didn’t commit, trampled the investigation because he didn’t believe his own son. And if he thought I looked guilty then, I look a hundred times more guilty now. Even if anyone can eventually prove I didn’t do it, what the hell good do you think that’s going to do me, Bryn? My political career will be over. Everything I’ve worked for—gone. I knew about the cover-up from day one. Ormond, Skelly, my father, we’re all guilty of obstructing a murder investigation.”

  He took a step toward them and waved the gun.

  “It doesn’t have to happen,” Drake finished. He picked up the folder from the table. He had the gun in one hand, the folder in the other. Did he really think she’d trade her mother’s fifteen-year-old affair for the truth about Aimee’s murder? But the crazy light in Drake’s eyes told her how desperate he was right now. He was at least half-drunk, too. “None of it has to happen. There’s no point. Aimee’s dead. Your father’s dead. It doesn’t matter who killed her. Get me that document and this will all be over.”

  Cole took Bryn’s hand. “Go,” he said. He shoved her a little when she didn’t move. “Go ahead.” He looked at her even as he spoke to Drake. “It’s in my room.”

  God, he wanted her to go upstairs. She locked eyes with him, and she knew he was lying. That document wasn’t upstairs.

  They left the flickering spill of the oil lamp. Drake was behind them and she knew he still had that loaded pistol pointed at their backs. Cole pushed her when she hesitated on the stairs. She took a few stumbling steps, then stopped, looked back at him. Drake stood below, the gun gleaming in the storm-light.

  “Go up the stairs, Bryn,” Cole said quietly.

  He wanted her out of the way. She could see it in his haunted, harsh eyes. There was no document upstairs and that could only mean he was going to try something. He was going to get her out of the way, and he was going to tackle Drake.

  And he was going to get shot. Because if he didn’t, Drake would kill them both.

  “Trust me,” Cole whispered, and in that surreal beat, she knew that’s all he’d asked all along. Ever. It was all he’d asked of her fifteen years ago, and it was all he’d asked of her since he’d come back to Bellefleur. And she’d waited way too late to show him that she did.

  And she didn’t want to show him this way. She reached for Cole’s hand.

  “Hurry up,” Drake ordered angrily.

  Cole pushed Bryn forward. She lost her grip on Cole’s hand and fell forward with a jarring thud.

  In the spinning pearly-dark, she twisted, saw Cole leap toward Drake. The gun fired through the sound of battering wind.

  Fire slashed through Cole’s shoulder. But he might as well have been stung by a bee for all he cared. He hit the foyer floor on top of Drake and the gun skidded sideways.

  He grabbed Cavanaugh by the throat and slammed a fist into his jaw that sent the other man’s head thudding hard against the wood of the floor. Cole’s shoulder screamed a
nd he nearly blacked out, but Cavanaugh wasn’t finished. He swung up, connecting fist to chin, knocking Cole sideways.

  “Get the gun, Bryn.” His voice came out like a scraping, anguished whisper and he was scared to death he was going to lose consciousness. Drake stumbled to his feet and came after him. Cole lunged at him, slamming him forward across the floor. Drake hit the marble table, his head thunking.

  Cole wavered on his feet, watching Drake. The other man slumped on the floor, blood spurting from his head.

  “I got the gun,” Bryn said, her voice wobbling but strong. God, she was so strong. And alive. She was alive. He didn’t care what happened now. She handed him the gun and Cole sank down, a misty dark sliding in and out of his vision.

  “Call 911,” he said.

  As if from a distance, he heard Bryn’s feet move past him. Then she was back. He worked to clear his vision.

  “Dammit! The phones are out!” She ran past him again, to the parlor. She was going for the cell.

  He heard her rustling around, followed by several expletives. “The damn phone broke apart and I can’t find all of the pieces!” she said desperately. “We have to do something about your wound, Cole. At least until I can get to a working phone.”

  They had to get help. He had to keep thinking and not lose it. He really didn’t want to lose it until he’d told Bryn he loved her.

  She’d brought some kind of throw and she tried wrapping it over his shoulder. It might as well have been a doily for all the good it did to stop the blood. She’d brought the oil lamp with her, too. She set it on the rococo table. He struggled to sit back, away from Cavanaugh, where he could at least rest against the base of the steps.

  In the lamp’s glow, her eyes shone scared as she knelt in front of him, and he wanted to hold her so badly, but he couldn’t. If he had to move his shoulder again, he was going to scream.

  “You’re bleeding,” she whispered. “You’re bleeding a lot.”

  Cavanaugh wasn’t moving, but Cole wasn’t sure for how long. He thought about standing up, but he was pretty sure that would do him in. Bryn was right, he was bleeding like a stuck pig.

  “Get help,” he said. “I’m not sure how long Cavanaugh’s going to be out. And I’m not sure how long I won’t be. Get something to tie him up. The phone cord.”

  Bryn’s face went completely white in the yellow lance of the oil lamp. She ran into the office and came back with the cord. She pushed Drake over and wrapped his wrists in the cord and tied it tightly with shaking fingers.

  “I don’t want to leave you here,” she told him with frantic eyes. “Let’s just go. I’ll drive you to the hospital—”

  “Get Brouchard. I’m not leaving Cavanaugh here alone and risk that he wakes up and gets away somehow. We’ll leave Brouchard here with Cavanaugh then we’ll go to the hospital and get the police.” He just managed to keep her in focus. “Go get him now. Take the gun.” He pushed it across the floor to her, the movement searing pain out from his shoulder, into his chest and all the way down his arm.

  “Why?”

  “Because if I pass out before you get back and he gets out of that cord, he’s going to kill me with it.”

  She stared at him for an agonized beat. She took the gun in her trembling grip. “I’ll be right back.”

  He grabbed her face, and it almost killed him. Darkness swam in front of his eyes. He connected with her worried, panicked gaze, let it hold him in the light. “I love you,” he whispered. “Now go!” She blinked shock, tears filling her beautiful eyes. “Hurry!”

  She pushed to her feet, flung open the door and disappeared into the storm.

  Cavanaugh hadn’t moved. Papers from that damn folder he’d carried were strewn everywhere. Agonized beats passed. Cole drew all his strength together, gritted his teeth and reached for the nearest one.

  And he realized all the mistakes he’d made before were nothing compared to the one he’d made now.

  Chapter 18

  The night was a violent stew around her. Rain and wind buffeted her as she ran for her life, for Cole’s life. She pounded her fist against Emile Brouchard’s door, heart thundering.

  “Does your phone work?” she gasped when he opened it. His cottage was dark except for a kerosene lantern in the corner. His old eyes took in her drenched form.

  “It’s dead,” he said. “The storm.”

  “Oh, God.” She’d been hoping, praying. Lightning slashed down again and she shivered under the porch overhang of the cottage. Beyond, she could see her mother’s cottage was dark except for a tiny flickering light in the front window, probably a candle. Her electricity would be out, too, and her phone as well. It wasn’t just the line to the mansion. It must have been a main line on the road that had gone down.

  She grabbed Mr. Brouchard’s arm. “Cole’s been shot. Drake Cavanaugh came to the mansion tonight. I can’t explain everything right now, but I need you to come with me. Now.”

  “You’re not making sense, Miss Louvel.” He didn’t budge. “Are you all right? What are you doing with a gun?” He grabbed her arm with his free one and shook her slightly as if he thought she were hysterical.

  Urgency pummeled in her veins. She wanted to run back to Cole, but Emile had her arm in a tight clamp. He was looking at her as if he was sure she’d lost her mind, and she was sure she sounded like she had.

  “I’m fine!” she cried. “This is Drake’s gun. I told you, he shot Cole. We have to get help. I’ll drive into town with Cole. You have to stay with Drake until the police get here. Take the gun. In case he wakes up.” She shoved the small, heavy weapon into his chest and he let go of her to take it. She didn’t know how to use it anyway and she was relieved to get rid of it.

  She turned to run but he grabbed her arm again. “You’ve got to tell me what this is about, Miss Louvel.”

  “There’s not time. Let’s just go.”

  “Tell me why Cavanaugh shot Dempsey.”

  She wanted to scream. “I don’t have time to explain!” But he still wasn’t letting go of her. “Drake came to the house tonight with some papers he found in his father’s things,” she blurted in a rush. “He was there, the night Aimee died. Hugh Cavanaugh thought Drake killed Aimee. He’d struggled with Aimee and she’d scratched his face. His father knew Drake’s DNA was there and Drake would look guilty. Maybe he did kill Aimee, I don’t know. Please, let’s go.”

  But still he held onto her arm. “Tell me why he came to the house tonight.”

  Bryn blew out a frustrated breath. “His father and Randol Ormond and Frank Skelly got rid of the DNA. But Cole got the original forensic document from Ormond, before it was altered. We’re having Aimee’s body exhumed. Skelly’s going to talk. Drake demanded the forensic report, the original, and he’d give us what was in that folder.”

  “Where is it?” Mr. Brouchard demanded. “The original?”

  “I don’t know! He’s crazy. He shot Cole. He’s still there, Mr. Brouchard. Cole knocked him out, but I don’t know for how long. Cole’s bleeding, badly. He needs help. Let’s go.”

  “What was in the folder?”

  “I don’t know. Something about proof that my mother had an affair. Some papers Drake found in his father’s things. I don’t care. We have to go.” She pulled away from him. “Please.”

  She turned away from the door to run back to the mansion. She had to get back to Cole before he—

  The force of a blow sent her flying. She felt the shocking jolt of pain, then the blackness engulfed her.

  “I wish you hadn’t made me do this to you, Miss Louvel.”

  Bryn had trouble focusing as she opened her eyes. Her head pounded with an agonizing rhythm. Everywhere. Her head hurt everywhere. She heard a voice, but the words were lost in her brain.

  “First Aimee, now you.”

  Aimee. Aimee’s name broke through the mush of her head. Oh, God. The whirling cloud of her vision cleared. Her mouth felt thick, her tongue heavy.

  Emile Brou
chard stood over her.

  A blast of fear spun through her blood. He’d hit her with something hard. Emile Brouchard had hit her, then she’d blacked out. And now—

  Cole. She had to get to Cole.

  Her vision swam as she moved her head. Somehow she had ended up on the floor of Emile Brouchard’s cottage. And he was standing over her with Drake’s gun. And it was pointed at her.

  “If you move, I’ll shoot you,” he said quietly, calmly, as though it was no big deal. “And I really don’t want to do that here.”

  “Mr. Brouchard—” Her voice came out in a scraping whisper. The mist closed in again and she fought it back. “Why?” was all she could manage.

  “Let sleeping dogs lie, isn’t that what they say, Miss Louvel? But you couldn’t do that, could you? You and Dempsey.”

  Emile Brouchard’s short white hair tufted around his head as he peered down at her. The gun never moved from its position directed straight at her heart. Pain shivered through her. Mr. Brouchard looked like a giant angel leaning toward her…with the frigid, pale eyes of a demon.

  “I don’t like it when I have to kill people I care about,” he continued in that oddly calm voice. “I didn’t want to kill Aimee, but I had no choice. I really didn’t want to kill Mathilde, but she was going to crack. She was going to go to the police. She was upset about Cole Dempsey asking questions. She was scared.”

  He’d killed Aimee. And he’d killed Mathilde. His own sister. Her head spun.

  “I was real upset about that accident,” Brouchard went on. “I didn’t want to kill you when I cut those brake lines. It was supposed to be Dempsey.”

  Fear and panic gripped her. Now he was going to kill her. She had to escape, but she had no idea how. Her head felt as if it was going to explode every time she so much as moved it. And that gun was still pointed at her heart.