Текст книги "Vindicate"

Автор книги: Beth Yarnall

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter 35 Cora

When I first started visiting Beau I never thought I’d get used to the procedures you have to go through to enter a prison. Now they’re almost routine. What’s not routine is the jolt I get when I first see him. Time and repetition have not dulled that moment. It’s a shock every time. It’s no different this time, except the tears burning the backs of my eyes. We’re soldiers in the same war. I want to run to him and hit him hard, throwing my arms around him.

Instead, I walk sedately across the room and sit down across the table from him. I don’t comment on the fresh stitches above his left eye or the cuts on his knuckles.

“Hi,” I say in my most cheerful voice. “How are you?”

“Better than you.” He leans across the table, a line of worry between his brows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I’m smiling, but a tear leaks out. “Everything’s great. You won’t believe what’s happened.”

“Did someone die?”

“No.” I sniff and wipe at my face. “Your case is being reopened. A judge agreed to hear the new evidence. The lawyers of the Freedom Project say there’s a really good chance you’ll be exonerated.”

“Are you serious?”

“It’ll take some time, but you could be free by Christmas.” I’m crying so hard now, it’s a wonder he can understand me at all.

He sits back in his chair and stares off at nothing. He doesn’t speak for so long I think that maybe he didn’t understand me.

“Did you hear what I said?”

He nods. “I just don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

“But it’s not for sure.”

“No, it’s not for sure.”

I tell him how Damien LeFeaux recanted his testimony. I tell him about Mrs. Wheeler and her notebooks. I tell him about the hair found in Cassandra’s bed that’s a match to Paul Winfro. I tell him about Winfro and about how he’s going on trial for attempted murder in Mexico. I tell him about how impressed the people at the Freedom Project were with how easy we’ve made their job.

I don’t tell him about Leo and me. I don’t tell him about Dylan and Cassandra. I don’t tell him that our dad’s in the hospital for alcohol poisoning…again. I don’t tell him what our mom said when I told her Beau could be freed. And I don’t tell him that it was Winfro seeing Beau leave Cassandra’s apartment that night that drove him to rape and murder her, because in Winfro’s mind they were a couple and she cheated on him with Beau.

When I’m done speaking I see something in my brother that I haven’t seen since before Cassandra died—hope. I want to start crying all over again. The rush of relief is so great I nearly sag from it. We’re in the home stretch.

He doesn’t speak for a long time. There’s so much to absorb. I lived it and I still get overwhelmed when I think about it all.

“I don’t—” His voice cracks. He puts his face in his hands and takes a deep, shaky breath. When he lowers them his eyes are red from unshed tears. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh, Beau. I wanted this for you for so long. I’m just so sorry it’s taken almost six years.”

“Sorry? Jesus, Cora. What do you have to be sorry about?”

More than I have words for. There’s so much more that needs to be fixed.

“Thank you for not listening to me when I told you to fuck off and stop investigating. Thank you for being the only person”—he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and takes a breath—“who believed in me.”

I want to reach across the table and take his hand. More than that I want to hold him and tell him everything’s going to be okay.

He rubs his eyes. When his hands fall away I can see that his eyelashes are clumped and wet. “Are you going to get a life now?”

“I have a life.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“What happened with Leo?”

I rub my lips together and look away.

“Ah, shit, Cora. Really? You fucked that up because of me, didn’t you?”

“It’s fucked up, but not because of you.”

“I liked him for you. He seemed like the kind of guy who would call you on your shit.”

I nod. “He did that.” Too well.

“So what happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, I know. I fucked it up.”

“Because of me.”

I don’t meet his gaze.

“Goddamn it, Cora. You gotta stop this shit. Get a life. You’ve put yours off for too long because of me. Go get him back or else I’m not going to talk to you when I get out.”

I jerk my head up. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that. You finally believe you’re going to get out of here.”

“It only took two thousand one hundred and—”

“Fifty-three days,” I finish for him.

He stares at me in disbelief. “Fuck me, Cora. You may as well be doing time in the cell next to me.”

I feel almost as though I have.

“That’s it.” He gets up from the table. “Don’t visit me. Don’t write me. Don’t talk to me until you get your shit together. I have enough to deal with in here without being responsible for fucking up your life too. You’re not putting that on me.” He storms out without a backward glance.

I can’t move. He’s never spoken to me like that before.

A guard approaches the table. “Time to go.”

“Right. Okay.”

I get up and go through the routine of getting out of this hellhole. The drive through the desert is a blur. I don’t remember the songs that played on the radio. I take the wrong freeway and keep going. I’m going to get my life back.

Chapter 36 Leo

I hate my criminal law professor. I should be at a party with my roommate, getting shitfaced. Instead, I’m working on some bullshit side project that gets me an in with him but doesn’t do shit for my grade. The doorbell rings. Finally. I swear. For as many times as we order pizza from this place, they never seem to get it here while it’s still hot.

I swing the door open, my hand on my ass ready to pull my wallet out, and freeze.

“Hi.” Cora. On my doorstep. “Can I come in?” She shifts from foot to foot, her gaze sweeping the interior of my apartment.

“Ahh, yeah. Sure.” I hold the door open for her. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She walks past me and her scent hits me with memories.

I close the door and point to the couch. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

We’re so fucking polite.

We sit in awkward silence. It’s been sixty-three days since I’ve seen her. You’d think her impact on me would’ve been lessened by them, but no. I’m just as fucked where she’s concerned as the day I watched her drive away from Mike’s house.

“I saw Beau today.”

“Yeah? How’s he doing?”

“Good. I told him the good news.”

“He must be relieved.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“I’m glad. I hope everything works out with the hearing.”

“Me too.”

“Why are you here?” I think I have the right to ask that after everything.

She rubs her palms on her jeans. “I came to tell you that you were right.”

“About what?”

“Me. Us. Everything.”

What does she expect me to say? There is no “us” for me to be right about.

I jab a thumb over my shoulder. “I have a project due Monday.”

“Right. Sorry. I’ll get to the point.”

She digs her palms into her thighs. I notice all of her fingernails are bitten down to nothing. The makeup around her eyes is smudged and missing in places. There’s a tear in her shirt. She’s lost weight. And her hair, always so perfect before, is black before the blue starts. But there’s not a woman in the world who compares to her.

She turns her body fully toward me. “What I said to you that day on the beach. It’s true. It’s more true now than it was then. Everything with Beau isn’t settled. The hearing might not go his way. I’m going to take a chance here because if I don’t he might never speak to me again.”

“Is that why you’re here, because he made you come?”

She shakes her head. “No. Beau’s never been able to make me do anything. Pisses him off.”

“I know the feeling,” I mumble.

“Anyway, he said something that was a lot like something you said and it got me thinking. About life and about how I’ve been doing time like him except on the outside. And I realized that even when he gets out I’ll still think of reasons why I can’t move on until he does. It could be forever, maybe. Or not at all, if the judge decides there’s not enough evidence to free him.

“I looked into the future and it scared the shit out of me. I can’t go on like I have been. And I especially can’t go on without you. Because I love you and I want you in my life. I want you to be sitting next to me, holding my hand, when the judge delivers his decision. And I want to go home with you and deal with whatever that decision is. So I’m here asking if you still feel the same about me and if you’re willing to walk through the uncertainty with me.”

My body moves before my brain tells it to. I’m kneeling in front of her, taking her hands in mine. They feel small and strange and familiar all at the same time. She’s crying when I kiss her. I can’t believe I went so long without touching her and kissing her.

“I love you,” she whispers against my mouth.

“Oh, God. I love you too, Bluebird.”

Epilogue Beau

I forgot how stiff shirt collars feel and how dress pants ride up and crush your nuts. I yank on my collar for the trillionth time and glance over my shoulder at Cora. She’s sitting next to Leo on the hard-assed bench two rows back. He’s holding both of her hands in his. I’m glad she finally moved on and got a fucking life. Half of rotting in prison was me wanting to pound the walls and half was me worrying that my screwed-up life somehow screwed hers up too.

My new attorney leans in and whispers something to me. I can’t hear anything she says. If I close my eyes I wouldn’t even be able to say what she looks like. All of my focus is on the judge. He’s glancing through some papers, riffling through them casually, like he’s reading a fucking novel on the beach. Everyone in the room is on pins and needles, and it’s a regular afternoon for him.

He picks up the gavel and bangs it. He blathers on about the justice system and the balances of justice and some other bullshit I couldn’t care less about. One of the takeaways from my justice-system experience is that judges love to hear the sound of their own voices. They love to expound on the greatness of our country’s justice system.

They haven’t been bent over and fucked in the ass by it.

If they had, they might not think it was so fantastic.

I realize he’s addressing me, so I sit up in my seat. I’m playing a role like everyone else in the room. I have to look honest while everyone in the room judges my sincerity. I have to look contrite while everyone tries to figure out if I’m really guilty or not. I have to look worthy while everyone decides if I’m worthwhile.

“Mr. Hollis. I sincerely regret the way in which your case was handled. I hope you find meaning in your experiences and are able to create a life of profound goodness and honor. It is my pleasure to reverse the verdict set down by this court. Mr. Hollis, you are a free man. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America.” He bangs the gavel. “We’re dismissed.”

The courtroom erupts. There’s so much noise. My attorney is saying something about filing this and that. I turn in my seat and find Cora. Her face is streaked with tears. She holds a hand out to me.

I’m free.

After two thousand, two hundred seventy-one days, I’m free.

For Hannah Beth, who left us too soon

And as always, for my husband, Mr. Y, for buying into and supporting every single one of my crazy Lucy-and-Ethel schemes…including the one where I thought I could write a book

Acknowledgments

Oh, wow. Where to begin?

Supreme thanks to my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, who took a risk in showing this series with only three chapters and a synopsis to recommend it. And to my editor, Sue Grimshaw, who saw something in those pages that made her want the books and for helping me shape them into something I’m very proud of. Many thanks to Debra Mullins, Charity Hammond, and Alison Diem. You prop up my words and make me feel like my voice matters. To the ladies of The Keeper Shelf, the mighty, mighty unicorns—you’re my New York. I couldn’t do any of this without you. I’m so very lucky to have the love and support of my parents and sister, who show up for events and book signings and proofread all of my books. If there are any errors, they’re totally on them, not me. And to my husband and sons, who put up with me dragging my laptop on vacations, writing night and day, and eating a lot of take-out dinners. We’re a little bit closer to that pool, boys.

BY BETH YARNALL Recovered Innocence Novels

Vindicate

Atone

PHOTO: SCOTT YARNALL

Bestselling author BETH YARNALL writes mysteries, romantic suspense novels, and the occasional hilarious tweet. A storyteller since her playground days, Yarnall remembers her friends asking her to make up stories of how the person “died” in the slumber-party game Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board, so it’s little wonder she prefers writing stories in which people meet unfortunate ends. In middle school she discovered romance novels, which inspired her to write a spoof of soap operas for the school’s newspaper. She hasn’t stopped writing since.

For a number of years, Yarnall made her living as a hairstylist and makeup artist, and even owned a salon. Somehow hairstylists and salons seem to find their way into her stories. Beth lives with her husband, two sons, and their rescue dog in Southern California, where she is hard at work on her next novel.

bethyarnall.com

Facebook.com/BethYarnallAuthor

@BethYarnall

The Editor’s Corner

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November…wait, it is November, and Loveswept is releasing some of our best books of the year! Check out these fabulous romances:

New York Times bestselling author Marquita Valentine releases her second new novel in her Boys of the South spin-off series Take the Fall series with When We Fall, in which a small-town sweetheart takes a chance on the bad boy who’s always been her hottest fantasy. Another Loveswept New York Times bestselling author, Tracy Wolff introduces her new Hotwired series with Accelerate, where an unassuming passenger is taken for the ride of her life. New York Times bestselling author A. Meredith Walters releases a powerful romance akin to The Fault in Our Stars with Butterfly Dreams. Then, welcome to Thistle Bend! A charming series debut from Tracy March, Should’ve Said No introduces a small town where old secrets are revealed—and wounded hearts are opened to new love. And in a short novel, Rebecca Rogers Maher’s Rolling in the Deep, two kindred spirits share a winning lottery ticket—and discover what it really means to get lucky.

Sports fans were introduced last month to the Aces Hockey series by Kelly Jamieson with Major Misconduct, and this month Kelly releases a holiday romance, Off Limits. Book two in the Recovered Innocence series by Beth Yarnall features a San Diego investigative team with a soft spot for lost causes and a passion for redemption in Vindicate. And Taking It Off, by USA Today bestselling author Claire Kent introduces you to Matt Stokes, the sexy-as-sin male stripper and club owner who knows what it really means to bare everything. Jessica Lemmon’s irresistible Lost Boys series kicks off with Fighting for Devlin the story of a good girl who plays by the rules—and the bad boy who brings out her wild side. And in Cecy Robson’s O’Brien Family series debut, two total opposites find that the flames of desire are still smoldering in Once Kissed.

For historical romance fans, Sharon Cullen’s The Reluctant Duchess ignites as a shy country girl and a hotheaded duke surrender to dangerous temptations. Then it’s on to Scotland for USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Haymore’s Highland Knights and the first book in this new series, Highland Heat, an electrifying tale of class warfare, fierce loyalties, and forbidden love.

I don’t want this month to end! But the good news is December is upon us with more fabulous Loveswept titles. Until then…

Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

Read on for an excerpt from Atone A Recovered Innocence Novel

by Beth Yarnall

Available from Loveswept

Chapter 1 Beau

I walked out of the California Institute for Men in Chino, California, two thousand, two hundred and seventy-one days—nearly six years—after I walked in. I was finally free.

Free.

I don’t have the same definition that most people have for that word. While I’m no longer serving a life sentence for a crime I didn’t commit, I’m far from free. The repercussions of my incarceration blasted every area of my life, pitting or obliterating everything in sight. There isn’t a single thing left unscarred. I don’t have a home. I don’t have friends. I don’t have a job or any qualifications to get one. I don’t have any money. I don’t have the same family I had on the day of my conviction.

And I don’t have Cassandra.

There’s a big gaping hole in me where she once lived. Of all of the things that were taken from me she’s the one thing I can never get back. I left her sleepy, naked, and sated in her bed six years ago, stealing out of her apartment with other things on my mind, unimportant things. I had an early day the next morning and needed to get home. I bent down, kissed her forehead, told her I loved her, and left.

I never saw her again.

She was brutally raped and murdered that night.

I haven’t been able to take a full breath since. Not because of my subsequent arrest and conviction for her murder. That was nothing. Well, not nothing. It’s definitely something. But it’s not why I can’t pull in enough air. There’s a hole in my chest she used to fill. There’s too much space and I can’t imagine or even remember what it felt like to be whole. I’ve been walking around with this big, sucking chest wound since the night she died.

I’m raw yet scarred over. Little things scratch at me, reopening the wound so it never truly heals. A song. The scent of jasmine. A movie. A joke. Her name. I haven’t been able to say her name out loud since I screamed it outside her apartment when her body was found and the place crawled with law enforcement personnel.

I see her everywhere. I get a glimpse of her at least once a day. Every time I turn my head I have to remind myself it’s not her. It will never be her. I won’t get to hold her hand, have her lay her head on my chest the way she used to or make love to her ever again. I can’t call her and tell her about the stupid things that happened to me that day. She won’t ever tilt her head up with the look in her eyes that was only for me. I haven’t laughed in so long I’m not sure if I remember how.

My sister, Cora, thinks I should see someone, a grief councilor. I don’t want to. My grief is all I have left of Cassandra. Cora doesn’t understand that. No one does. I can’t explain it. There are no words for what it feels like to carry it everywhere. I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing holding me together. I walk around, going through the day-to-day of living, relying on those feelings to get me through. What would I have without them? Who would I be? I’m not the same man who left Cassandra’s apartment that night. I’ll never be him again. I shouldn’t be him. I sure as shit shouldn’t want to be him.

And yet…

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be normal. What would happen if I took off this mantle of grief and laid it down? Would I stop seeing Cassandra everywhere? Would the smell of a common flower stop reminding me of her unique scent? Would I forget what she sounded like, her laugh, and how she felt under me? Would I lose her all over again, this time forever?

The air outside of prison not only smells different, it feels different. I’m not used to anything resembling normal life. I’m still on a prison schedule despite having been out a couple of months now. My only rebellion is letting my hair and beard grow. I don’t know who that man in the mirror is. He’s rougher, harder than he was six years ago. He has scars and crude tattoos jabbed into his skin by makeshift prison tattoo guns. He looks like he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything.

That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Cora arranged for me to come to work with her. I think she’s hoping it will give me something to aspire to. I’m lost. I don’t recognize anyone or anything. I don’t know who or what I want to be. There was a time when everything I wanted to do and be was lined up in my head just waiting for me to tick them off like a fucking checklist. Go to college. Check. Get a good paying job. Check. Marry Cassandra. Check. Buy a house. Check. Start a family. Check. Grow old with Cassandra. Check.

None of those boxes will ever be checked off.

I have to create a new list. But where do I start? I’m twenty-four years old. I should be halfway through my checklist by now. Cora tells me I can do or be anything I want. She pushes community and technical college catalogs at me, trying to get me interested in something. At night I lay awake and attempt to imagine my life a year from now. All I see is me still lying on Cora’s couch, still struggling to figure my shit out. I’m frustrating her and myself. Maybe this Take Your Brother to Work Day will give me some kind of direction even if it only helps me realize what I don’t want to do.

I wait outside for Cora, sipping a cup of strong black coffee. I got the taste for it in prison. Before that I never touched the stuff. Cora bought me a coffee maker even though she doesn’t drink it. She’s been good to me. Too good. Better than I deserve. She’s the reason I’m leaning against her car on a foggy San Diego morning, waiting for her instead of sitting in a prison cell wondering why me. She was the only person who believed in my innocence. The only one. Not even our parents—who should’ve stuck by me no matter what—considered for a moment that I could be innocent.

I don’t know who that says more about—them or me. Cora says them, but I’m not so sure. My conviction destroyed my parents individually and as a couple. I haven’t seen either one of them since shortly after being assigned a prison uniform. At first Cora made excuses for them when she visited, and then she stopped mentioning them altogether. We’re supposed to have a family reunion this Sunday. Cora arranged it. She’s the only reason I agreed to go. I’d do anything for her. She’s more than proven she’d do anything for me. She’s done everything for me.

Cora backs out the front door of her garage apartment, her arms full. I jog up the walk and relieve her of the files she’s carrying. She locks the door and turns to me, a big smile on her face. It gets me every time. A combination of joy and surprise like she can’t believe I’m really there. I can’t believe it, either. I hope I never get used to this feeling or that smile. I hope she doesn’t, either.

I follow her down the walk to her car and put her files in the trunk. I stand just in time to see the car keys flying at my face and catch them before they smack into my nose.

“You have to practice sometime,” she says. “Drive us to work.”

I haven’t driven in six years. My license expired while I was in prison. My parents sold my car. “Are you sure?”

She opens the passenger door and climbs in with a wink. I let out a frosty breath in the cool morning air. This is one more thing I have to relearn in my life outside. I slide into the driver’s seat and adjust it for my bigger body and longer legs.

“The mirrors too,” Cora reminds me.

It’s like I’m taking driver’s ed all over again with my little sister as my teacher. I hope driving isn’t as hard as riding a bike. That shit took me too many tries to get right. I’m wobbly like a kid riding without training wheels for the first time. Bike riding is a fucked up metaphor for my life now. Everything is an uphill struggle and scary as fuck. I suck so bad at it I wonder sometimes if I shouldn’t just commit a crime for real this time so I can go back to the predictability and reliability of prison life. I won’t, but the thought is scarily tempting sometimes.

You wouldn’t think being free would be so hard.

I do as Cora instructs and start the car. She coaches me the whole way. I’m relieved when we arrive safely. Driving is a hell of a lot easier than riding a bike. We get out of the car and head into the offices of Nash Security and Investigation. I owe Cora and everyone in this place everything. If Mr. Nash and his son, Leo, hadn’t agreed to help Cora find the bastard who killed Cassandra and worked to set me free, I’d still be sitting in a cell. How do you repay someone who rescued you from hell and gave you your life back?

I juggle Cora’s files that I retrieved from the trunk, open the door for her, and follow her inside. The receptionist, Savannah, looks up at Cora, then does a double take when she spies me trailing behind my sister. Her first, fleeting glance is full of female appreciation that quickly morphs into avid curiosity tinged with fear. She doesn’t want to be attracted to an ex-con, but I’d put money on her panties being soaked at the thought of fucking me. I’m a walking, talking, good girl’s bad boy dream. I’m the guy she bangs once or twice on the quiet just so she can brag about it later to her friends.

I grin at Savannah, following it with a wink and lick of the lips. She gasps and presses her hands to her chest, her cheeks red. If we were alone I bet I could take her right there on top of her desk. Wouldn’t even have to pull her panties all the way down, just push up her skirt and pull them aside. She’d shower after, feeling sullied, later she’d jack off reliving it. I’m not even the slightest bit tempted by her or any other woman I’ve met since I got out. Another way my life’s fucked up.

I set Cora’s files down where she directs me. Her office is small with two desks in the middle facing each other. It’s an odd arrangement, but Cora likes it this way I guess.

She gestures to the desk opposite hers. “Have a seat.” She sifts through her pile of files until she finds what she’s looking for, then pulls it out and comes around to where I’m sitting. “I thought maybe I’d start you off with some simple searches.” She twitches the mouse, bringing the computer screen to life. “These are the search sites we use.”

Clicking on the top three bookmarked sites, she brings them up, explaining how they use them and what information they can provide. She has me do some easy searches, then leaves me on my own. I don’t suck at it. I’m actually quite good. And I like the work. I’m halfway through the searches Cora wanted me to do when Savannah sticks her head in the door.

“Your ten o’clock is here,” she tells Cora, her gaze darts to me then back to Cora.

“Thanks, Savannah. Want to sit in?” Cora asks me. “Take a break from the computer?”

“Sure.” I stand and stretch.

Savannah jumps and squeaks, then disappears from the doorway.

Cora’s mouth bends into a frown. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her lately.”

“Don’t you?”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Leave it.”

I follow Cora into the reception area. Savannah blocks whoever it is she’s talking to so I can’t see who it is, but whoever they are they’re small, much smaller than Savannah’s five-nine frame. Savannah shifts, revealing a pastel confection of a young woman about Cora’s age.

All lace and silk, she’s sweet looking in her soft colors like she just walked out of a Sunday church service. But the look in her eyes is wary…guarded…jaded, reminding me of angry, hard prison stares. This chick’s seen some shit. More than that, she’s experienced some shit, has maybe even done some shit. She’s a survivor. This I understand. I recognize her in the same way I recognize the new man that stares back at me in the mirror.

Her costume is nearly perfect. I bet if I sniffed her she’d smell like baby powder and lemons. I edge closer to her. She catches me with a sudden flick of a glance, freezing me where I stand. Everything about her shouts back the fuck off. It only makes me want to draw closer. Who is she? Who or what made her this way? And why does she look at me like she knows who I am? Not the TV news segment me, but the real me, the Beau deep, down inside.

For the first time since I got out of prison I don’t feel alone. There really are others out there like me. One of them is standing mere feet in front of me, regarding me with the same guarded, expectant look I’m wearing. And she’s beautiful.