Deadline (Sandra Brown)

to killing Darlene Strong and Stef. He said to tell you that he was sorry.”
    “For mistaking her for me?”
    “Sorry for wanting you dead.” He repeated everything that Jeremy had told him about killing Stef on impulse. “He said that if he’d had time to think about killing you, he wouldn’t have been able to.”
    She absorbed all that, then, her voice thick with emotion, asked, “Anything else?”
    “He talked about Hunter and Grant.” He related that exchange.
    Choking back tears, she said, “He denied himself so much joy.”
    “His decision. He chose Carl over them. Over you.”
    “Yes, he made his decision. But unfortunately he’s not the only person affected by it.” She looked at him imploringly. “How will I tell my children about their father’s crimes? About Carl? I must, I know that. But I’m afraid that once they know about their bloodline, it will haunt them and dictate how they live the rest of their lives.”
    “Yes, it sucks. And, no, it can’t be undone. But it can dictate their lives in a positive way. They’re made of good stuff, too. Their gene pool also includes you and your father.”
    Her nod of agreement was thoughtful, made absently, but he regained her attention when he took her wineglass from her hand and set it on the table beside his. Then he clasped both her hands. “Amelia, your dad didn’t commit suicide. They killed him.”
    By the time he had finished telling her what Jeremy had confessed, tears were streaming from her eyes. The tracks of them reflected the meager light coming in through the open shutters, painting wet, silvery streaks on her cheeks.
    She pulled her hands from his and placed them over her face, sobbing into them. “How horrible for him. Oh, God, how horrible.”
    He moved to sit on the arm of her chair and rubbed comforting circles on her back. “You had to be told, and I wanted to be the one to tell you. I knew it would break your heart, but also relieve your mind. Try to forget the horrible part. The last thing your father did was also the best thing he ever did. He demonstrated just how much he loved you.”
    “He spared my life.”
    He turned her head to face him and used his thumbs to wipe the tears off her cheeks. “Jeremy could have taken that secret to his grave. Much as I hate giving him credit for anything, that confession is proof that he did care for you. Even loved you, I think. He knew you had agonized over your father’s supposed suicide and wanted you to know that he hadn’t deserted you. I think Jeremy empathized.”
    “How so?”
    “Floral Stimel is dead. She’s buried out there beneath the cabin. They’ve got a forensic team working to exhume her body now.”
    He could see the understanding in her expression as she said quietly, “His mother.”
    “Yeah. For all her misdeeds, Flora was still his mother. It upset him to talk about her. I think he loved her, too.”
    “How did she die? When?”
    “Jeremy’s time ran out before he could tell me.”
    She stared into his eyes as though trying to see into his deepest being. Then her fingertips lightly stroked his eyebrows, his cheekbone, the side of his face down to his jawline. “You were kind to him, weren’t you?”
    “He was dying.” He thought he would end it there, with that simple statement of fact, but she continued to look at him as though knowing there were ambiguities he needed to express.
    “I thought if I ever got near him, I’d want to kill him for everything he’d done. Especially to you and those boys. I wanted to hate him. But he was a broken man, Amelia. And, yeah, I felt sorry for him. Because he was a victim, too. Left to the couple who reared him, he probably would have gone a different path.
    “But Carl destroyed any chance Jeremy might have had to lead a normal, happy, and productive life. It all goes back to Carl. He’s the villain. And I intend to tell him that to his face.”
    She flinched. “What do you mean?”
    “I’m not going to give up on getting a one-on-one with him.”
    “Once he’s captured, you mean.”
    He left her and, going to stand at the windows, peered through the slats of the shutters. “I wonder where the cowardly bastard scuttled to after leaving his son to slowly bleed to death.”
    He felt Amelia move up behind him, but he didn’t turn around.
    “You’re not thinking of trying to run him to ground.”
    “I doubt I’d be that lucky twice.”
    “Lucky?” She took him by the arm and turned him around