Protector - Laurel Dewey [190]
Jane moved toward the front door. Kathy and Heather took a step backward off the front porch, but still held their ground. Jane flung open the door. “What is it?”
“We wanted to come by and see how Emily was doing,” Kathy said, her voice low and modulated.
Jane turned to Heather. “Is that right?”
Heather took another step back, hiding partly behind her mother’s body.
“We want to invite her to watch the July fourth parade with us,” Kathy said, measuring every word with care.
Jane took a resentful step toward Kathy. “She is no longer allowed to be anywhere near your sick, fucked up daughter. Do I make myself clear?”
Kathy’s steely eyes contracted. “Oh, yes. Very clear.” Kathy turned to Heather. “Let’s go.”
Jane slammed the door shut. She watched as they walked down the front path. Kathy stopped for a moment, lingering on the sidewalk as she stole a glance toward the right front window. When she saw that Jane was observing her actions, Kathy took Heather by the hand and walked down the street. Jane turned toward Emily’s closed bedroom door. “Emily?”
“Go away! Leave me alone!” Emily screamed at Jane from inside the room.
Jane debated whether to pursue a conversation with the kid and apologize for slapping her. But she figured it was best to let Emily calm down. Jane walked into the living room, standing with her back to the front windows. After several minutes, she heard a distinctive click from inside of Emily’s bedroom. She turned and realized Emily had just locked her door. Jane stared at the doorknob, distressed that Emily felt the need to lock her door.
Jane headed for the kitchen and sat at the table, burying her head in her hands. The full impact of Chris’ involvement began to hit her hard. Anger melted into betrayal and then merged into disgust. The enormity of the situation overwhelmed her. The man whom she had called a partner, both on and off the job, was responsible for the murder of two innocent people. The second that thought crossed Jane’s mind, she realized that if he killed the Lawrences, he was also the killer of Martha Durrett. Furthermore, it was reasonable to assume that Chris was also involved in the SUV explosion that took out the Stover family.
Jane puffed on her dying cigarette as a fountain of memories flashed in front of her. There was that fateful night outside the Stover’s house. She recalled Chris’ edgy behavior. Jane had disregarded his attitude that night, chalking it up to his usual surly demeanor. But in retrospect, she realized there was more to it. Within the folds of his words, there was a sense of urgency. A desire to dominate. A need to coordinate a deadly deal and not get caught. She broke the memory down minute by minute and then second by second. Stover and his family took off for ice cream in their SUV, surrounded by two police flank cars.
“What an asshole! He really wants to sign his own death certificate!” Chris remarked in a self-satisfied tone as the final flank vehicle drove past their observation car.
Jane remembered looking at Chris and seeing beads of sweat drift across his forehead. At the time, she thought nothing of it. But now it started to fit together.
Chris grabbed his cell phone, speaking in the same cocky cadence. “Yeah, it’s me. I can’t believe Stover was so stupid! He drives off with his family for ice cream so he can get thirty minutes in the outside world! Thirty fucking minutes! It looks all clear from here but hurry up!”
That’s when it hit Jane. All this time, she thought he was talking to an officer in one of the flank vehicles. But now the words had a different flavor. Was it possible, Jane wondered, that he was talking to a lackey who was hidden in the darkness near the Stover’s house?
A lackey who was in place—C-4 bomb in hand—and waiting