Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [129]
“You deserve better.”
Count to ten. To twenty. To one hundred. As high as 459
it takes to stay calm and keep this in perspective.
“I’m gonna say this one time. He is a permanent part of my life. Period. If you can’t handle that, then I will leave. But don’t make me choose. Please. Don’t make me choose.”
Those thoughtful green eyes bored into me: heart, body, and soul. A lump lodged in my throat when I considered I might not be the type of friend or business partner he wanted anymore. I understood, even when I wished I didn’t.
We stared at each other for a long time.
Then Kevin used the charming grin that’d won me over in Mrs. Swigart’s seventh grade English class.
“It sort of sucks.”
“What?”
“That I’m jealous as hell. You’ve found a man who takes you as you are, on your terms. Much as I love you, Jules, and harbored this crazy idea you and I would eventually end up together?” He shook his head. “I’d try to change you. Hell, I try to do it right now—even when you don’t need it. And you, my friend, have always deserved better.” He kissed my forehead. “Now get your ass to work and file something.”
I turned away so he didn’t see the moisture in my eyes.
460
There really wasn’t much for me to do. I hid in my office and smoked, trying to piece together my recent life events.
My father had either helped commit murder or covered it up.
What purpose would jail time serve for him or DJ? Besides to allow Melvin Canter’s actions to ruin yet another family? I vehemently disagreed with Dad’s reasoning and willingness to sacrifice Brittney’s emotional well-being to save DJ’s, but he was a hundred percent correct that if he went to jail, Trish and the kids would lose the ranch.
Truth was, Melvin Canter was a piece of human filth. The world was better off without him because the justice system hadn’t worked—numerous times. So, once again, I was dealing with issues of vigilante justice. Once again, I was turning a blind eye to the outcome. And I’d become well versed in keeping secrets about orchestrated endings:
Bobby Adair.
Maurice Ashcroft.
Roland Hawk.
Melvin Canter.
All dead, none by my hand, but all deaths well deserved, and none mourned.
Was I becoming what I’d once loathed? Passing judgment only when it suited my parameters and ideals?
Acting indignant when it didn’t?
461
If I had the chance to kill Jackal, would I do it?
I had an up close and personal view of his “humane”
execution of Trina. He’d left me to die. Jackal would happily destroy Martinez if given the opportunity. Losing Martinez would destroy me. I’d finally begun to heal from losing Ben.
I’d convinced myself killing the person who’d killed my brother would be easy. It hadn’t turned out that way. I still suffered from nightmares. But not from guilt.
So why did I see Amery Grayson’s murderous actions as wrong? How was what she’d done somehow worse? Even when I wouldn’t feel any differently if I knew she’d whipped out a gun and shot her grandfather rather than leaving him to freeze to death alone?
Were her motives less pure because of the vast amounts of money involved?
Was honor or revenge a more acceptable reason for murder than a financial windfall?
Yes. I don’t know how I’d come to that realization, but it worked for me. I’d colored it another shade of gray. If God, or Buddha, or Allah judged me harshly, so be it. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t allow the legal system to judge Amery Grayson given the chance. As I was getting ready to leave, the intercom rang.
“Julie. Luella’s here to see you. Buzz won’t let her in.”
I stormed out my door and glared at my bodyguard. “She’s fine. Let her pass.”
462
Buzz shrugged and stepped aside.
“Hi, Luella, come on in.” To Buzz I said, “I’m not leaving the door open, so don’t even ask.”
“Coffee?” I asked politely.
“That’d be great. Black.”
When I returned with the cups, she was looking at the picture of Ben and me, taken the summer