All I've Ever Wanted - Adrianne Byrd [61]
“He wants you dead now. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is that doing it my way might save my son.”
Max leaned back against his headrest. “So, Lawrence does have him?”
Her lips trembled when she answered. “My son and my grandmother are in danger.”
He exhaled a long, frustrated sigh. “If you do what you’re planning, he’s just going to kill all three of you.”
She knew that, but it didn’t stop a new wave of tears from spilling over her lashes. “There may be a chance—”
“There’s no chance.”
The profound silence that followed echoed with the crushing truth of Max’s words.
“So, they’re already dead then,” Kennedy whispered. Devastated, she turned toward him, and he gently gathered her into his arms as her body quaked with despair.
Chapter 28
Sandra Hickman stared into the bottom of her amber-colored drink and couldn’t remember how many shots she’d had. What had she done? She questioned herself repeatedly. She might as well have pulled the trigger herself that killed Marion. A deep sob tore from her.
Her beloved Marion. Dead. For little over a week, she had tried to adjust to the realization that this time their separation wasn’t a result of another argument, or some knockdown, drag-out fight. He was never going to call. He was never going to walk through the front door again. And it was all because of greed, her greed for money and power.
The judicial system was going to hell in a hand-basket anyway. What did it matter that she took a bribe here or there on insignificant cases?
There were more than a few cases. And they weren’t always insignificant. Sandra cringed from her berating inner voice and lowered her head to rest against the bar’s countertop. How many drinks would it take to shut off her conscience?
When she closed her eyes, she summoned an image of Marion from memory. She thought she’d die from the clarity her mind gave to detail. Even now, in what she knew to be a drunken stupor, she swore a trace of his favorite cologne drifted on the air.
The thought of life without him plunged her further into despair. After all, they were soul mates. More tears fell as she wished like hell that she was the one that lay six feet under at Hillandale Memorial Cemetery, instead of her husband.
He went to the FBI. She shook her head at the realization that even that betrayal didn’t matter. How was it that she stood there, stupefied, when her partner in crime had told her he’d killed her man? It was as if he’d told her the time.
The fact was there was nothing that she could have done. Another sob was wrenched from her soul.
Sandra lifted her head. The cool waft of the air conditioner kissed her tears. Her gaze fluttered over her immaculate home, none of her material possessions filled the gaping hole in her heart where her love had resided.
You could avenge his death. Her sobs stopped and her body went still.
The idea was ludicrous. The repercussions would be severe. Regardless, Sandra warmed to the thought.
“So, you found her,” Dossman said, propping himself up against a stack of pillows, though he could never quite get comfortable. “At least that’s good news. Where is she now?”
“Believe it or not, she’s downstairs getting a cast for her arm.”
“You broke her arm?”
“No, but I could’ve wrung her neck for that little stunt she pulled.”
“Technically, we don’t have a real reason to hold her.”
“Damn technicality.”
Dossman laughed.
“What?”
“What do you mean ‘What’? What’s the real deal with you and Ms. St. James?”
Max folded his arms and thought about not answering his partner’s idiotic question. “There’s no deal, as you put it.”
“You’re in denial.”
“You’re a fine one to talk. What about your secret love affair?”
“I’m not in denial. It’s just none of your business.”
“And my life is an open book. Is that it?”
“It is when it involves a case.”
“Is that right?” Max’s expression conveyed his disbelief.
“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
“I figured as much.”
Dossman shrugged.