Deadline (Sandra Brown)

congressman’s favorite person.”
    “You’d hit Amelia.”
    He winced, but he didn’t defend the abuse. “Daddy was afraid the old man would be out to get me. He said we needed to nip it in the bud.”
    “So you nipped it.”
    “I knew his schedule, knew when he would be in the house alone.”
    “How’d you coerce him into taking the pills?”
    “Daddy gave him a choice. Take the lethal dosage, or stand by and watch Amelia die slowly and in agony. He was going to die, no matter what, but if he wanted her to live, he would fake his suicide. The old man tried to reason, then to bargain. He wound up pleading, but in the end he swallowed the pills. We waited there until we were sure his heart had stopped.”
    “And left him for Amelia to find.” Dawson wanted to strike him, to beat him senseless for the grief he had caused her, not just over her father’s death but over everything he’d done for a stupid, fanatical, baseless “cause.”
    “‘Cause,’ my ass,” he muttered. Carl Wingert’s treachery was propelled only by his ego, his sick, sociopathic delusions of grandeur. Dawson was suddenly consumed by rage. He grabbed Jeremy’s hand as though he would arm wrestle him right there atop Jeremy’s chest. “You also need to answer for killing Stef.”
    “Stupid move. I acted without thinking.”
    “That’s not going to hack it as a defense.”
    As though he hadn’t heard Dawson’s remark, he continued. “I’d been cooped up here for so long, to get out of here and actually do something felt good.”
    “It felt good to kill a young woman?”
    “I thought she was Amelia.”
    “You wanted to kill the mother of your children.”
    He turned away from Dawson’s accusatory glare, and his chest deflated as he expelled a long sigh. “If I had to think about it, I couldn’t have done it. So when I saw her—the woman I thought was her—it was like Providence. A sign. Something. If I acted on impulse and did it right then, I’d be done with it and not have to think about it anymore. That’s what went through my mind.”
    “Fucking twisted mind, Jeremy.”
    “Tell her that I’m sorry.”
    “I doubt she’ll believe that.”
    “Probably not. Not after everything I’ve put her through.” His gaze turned introspective. “My boys will be ashamed of who their daddy was, won’t they?”
    The answer was so obvious that Dawson didn’t need to state it.
    “I was jealous of you for playing with them on the beach,” Jeremy continued. “I watched from the boat. Where’d you get the football?”
    “Found a bag of beach toys in the rental house.”
    “Grant’s got a good right arm for a kid his age.”
    “For a kid of any age.”
    “Hunter’s better at soccer.”
    “He’s got some moves.”
    “They’re good boys, right?”
    “They’re great boys.”
    “Do they ever talk about me?”
    This man didn’t deserve his pity, his compassion, not even one of those magnanimous white lies. But to tell the harsh truth to a dying man…“All the time,” he heard himself say. “They’re proud of your service to your country.”
    Jeremy knew he was being lied to, and looked at Dawson in a way that silently thanked him for the mercy. Then he closed his eyes and Dawson feared that he’d lost consciousness or soon would. He shook his shoulder. “Don’t pass out yet. Tell me where Carl went.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “He left me here to die. You think I give a shit about where he went?” Again tears filled his eyes.
    Dawson did in fact believe him when he said he didn’t know his father’s whereabouts. A man who would abandon his dying son wouldn’t bother to tell him where he was going. He battled another onslaught of pity. “Jeremy, where’s Flora?”
    His eyes jerked into focus on Dawson’s face, then he made a raw, sobbing sound. “Don’t ask me—”
    “Where is she, Jeremy? Is your mother still alive?”
    Another harsh sound erupted from him. “Leave me alone. I’m dying.”
    Dawson gripped his hand more tightly. “Tell me, damn you.”
    “I—”
    “Tell me!”
    Just then they heard the clatter of a helicopter approaching. Dawson ran to the door and looked out. The trash can was emitting a thin ribbon of smoke, and it had worked as a signal. The helicopter appeared, hovering barely above the treetops. He stepped out of the cabin and waved his arms over his head, then went back inside and knelt beside the sofa.
    Jeremy’s head had lolled