“Know my rights.”

“Good. Now, you’re charged with trespass, breaking and entering, assault and battery. There’s the little matter of stealing a license plate, illegally displaying it on your motor vehicle. You’ve violated your parole six ways to Sunday, so you’ll be serving out the remaining two years on your sentence before we even get to the other charges I just mentioned.”

Lee eased a hip on the foot of the bed in what might have been mistaken for a friendly gesture. “And all that doesn’t address the upcoming murder charges. The local cops found Eliza’s body, Bigelow. Found it just where you left it, on the floor, the head on a pillow, tucked up in a blanket and covered with a sheet. And with clearly visible signs of physical assault.”

“Accident.”

“Is that gonna be your line? You accidentally beat your wife to death, left her on the floor, then drove here to attempt to, what, accidentally beat Zane to death?”

“She fell. Eliza fell, hit her head. Subdural hematoma.”

“Did she fall on her face first? They sent me a picture.” Lee drew out his phone, kept speaking as he brought it on his screen. “Did she manage to fall on her face, then crack the back of her head? That’s some trick.”

He turned the phone around, shoved it in Graham’s line of vision. “You hit her, and more than once from what they’ve already determined, and she hit the counter in the kitchen—her blood’s on it.”

“Fell. She fell. Subdural hematoma.”

“So you just let her die?”

“Nothing to do. Too late.”

“You didn’t call for help?”

“I am a doctor,” Graham gritted out.

“No, you’re not. You’re a violent criminal whose assault on the woman who, for reasons I’ll never understand, stood by him, waited for him, betrayed her own children for him, led to her death. We found your motel room, Graham, your car. Your tablet. Two minutes on that iPad showed you’ve been stalking Zane, Britt, Emily, and more.”

Graham turned his head to meet Zane’s stare. “What’re you looking at? Think you matter? You’re nothing. Were nothing, are nothing, always nothing.”

Rather than respond or react, Zane just let his gaze bore into Graham’s. In his pocket, his fingers rubbed against the stitching of the ball.

“He mattered enough for you to leave your dead wife on the floor, come all the way back here, push your way into Zane’s house, and assault a woman,” Lee pointed out.

“Nothing. Big house? Nothing. Bullshit lawyer? Nothing. Sit there, too afraid to speak.”

Zane kept the stare hard, and smiled.

“Wipe that fucking smile off your face!” Graham winced as he said it, tried to shout it with the wires holding his jaw in place. “Weak, useless fuck. Should have killed you in your crib, you and your whiny bitch of a sister. You destroyed my life. You destroyed your mother.”

Lee caught Zane’s eye, gave him a slight nod.

“How’d I do that?” Zane wondered.

“Disrespectful punk. I couldn’t make a man out of you. I gave you life, and you ruined mine. I should’ve killed you that night, you and your little bitch of a sister. Eliza would still be alive. We’d be happy.”

“You just couldn’t stop hitting her, could you? All those years in prison, all those years she waited for you, and you still couldn’t stop.”

“She wasn’t the same. She’d lost herself. Your fault.”

“So after you hit her this last time, watched her die, you came back here to make me pay.”

“You need to pay, you, all of you.”

“Rocks through windows, to get me away so you could get into the house.” Zane filled his tone with derision, with mockery. “You figured hey, there’s just a woman alone in there. And you’re so good at beating on somebody smaller, weaker than you. Then you could lie in wait for me, make me pay.”

“You take my life, I take yours.”

“You broke into my home, attacked Darby intending to wait until I got back so you could kill me.”

“I gave you life. I have a right to take it away. I have a right to make you suffer first for every minute of every day I spent locked away like an animal.”

“You killed your wife.”

“I ended the empty woman she’d become. Taking that empty life was mercy. You stole her from me. You should be dead.”

Zane rose, crossed to the bed. “I’m sorry I missed the chance to take you on one-on-one, old man. But a woman beat me to it, and she kicked your ass. That must be really humiliating for someone like you, and knowing that is incredibly satisfying. Here’s something for you to chew on while you’re doing life without parole. A tough, smart little girl ruined your plans for me nineteen years ago. And a tough, smart woman ruined them today.”

He started for the door, stopped, looked back one last time. “If any part of where you ended up before, and where you’re going now, is my fault? That’s just one more cause for celebration.”

Silas walked over when Zane stepped out. “You okay, man?”

“I’m just fine. From my experience, there’s enough on record for the DA’s office to charge him with second-degree murder along with the rest. He’ll get a lawyer and they’ll work on pleading it down to man one, but he’s gone. He’s done, and whatever time he has left in the world he’ll do on the inside.”

“Well, he earned it. Listen, if you need to hang out, have a beer, I’ll be there.”

“I know it. Tell Lee I’ll talk to him later. I need to get home, make sure Darby’s behaving herself.”

And he needed some good, clean air.

He didn’t think someone like Darby had a favorite flower, so he bought a bunch of everything that looked colorful and happy, that smelled good. Then realized the couple of vases he had at home wouldn’t do the job, so with the help of a delighted salesclerk, bought small vases, big vases, square vases, tall vases, and a big galvanized bucket to hold all the flowers until he got home.

Since he was in that deep, he decided what the hell and bought a couple bottles of champagne.

He rarely bought jewelry, didn’t intend to now, but a charm caught his eye, seemed predestined. Rather than a bracelet he figured she wouldn’t wear, he had it put on a chain.

When he drove the rest of the way home with the top down, the wind blowing the scent of flowers, the mountains green against the blue of the sky, he realized something had changed inside him.

The hook Graham and Eliza had lodged in his guts had pulled free. Done, he thought again, really done now.

He pulled over by the lake to get out, just to look at the sky, the hills reflected on it. Maybe there were undercurrents and always would be, but they’d never drag him down again.

He’d keep building his law practice, and he’d take Darby sailing. Maybe, shit, yeah maybe he’d play some baseball.

And put the past where it belonged. Locked away, like Graham.

He cruised up his drive, saw the solidity of his house—he’d done that—the charm of the terraces, the new trees—Darby had done that.

He wondered if, like him, she’d begun to see this place, this home, as a blend of them. And what that could mean to him, what it might mean to her.

For now he parked in the front, hauled everything inside. He watched through the door, studying the way Darby placed stone, how she and Ralph used the elevation in that placement, in the design, with Gabe doing the hauling.

He couldn’t follow it yet, but figured if he didn’t trust her vision by now, it made him an idiot. And a man smart enough to have Darby McCray in his life was no idiot.

He opened the doors, left them wide, and walked out into the backbeat of rock and roll.

Ralph spotted him, lifted a hand. “She ain’t lifting over the limit, boss. We’re sitting on her good there.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s everybody else?”

“Maintenance job.” Darby swiped sweat. “Are you checking on me? Haven’t I got enough keepers?”

“She’s a little pissy,” Gabe told him.

“Who wouldn’t be?” She muttered it, jabbed a finger where she wanted Gabe to set a stone so she could arrange it.

“It’s coming up on time for her to pop the pills.”

Darby sent Ralph a stare from under her ball cap. “I know what time it is.”

“Hot work,” Zane observed. “How about I make a big pitcher of lemonade?”

Darby shifted her stare to Zane. “You know how to make lemonade?”

“Sure I do. You get the can out of the freezer, open it, dump it, add cold water, stir.”

Some humor leaked through. “Funny, that’s my family recipe, too.”

“I’ll do that, then y’all can take a break, Darby can pop the pills.”

And he thought as he went inside, he’d call his office afterward, do some work from home. Later he’d grill up some chops and sweet corn, put some potatoes on with them.

Because like it or not, he intended to take care of her.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sweaty, sore, and satisfied, Darby took a couple pictures of the water feature in progress before she knocked off for the day.

She knew Zane sat at the back patio table with his laptop, a Coke, and one of the baseballs he tended to cart around. She’d tolerated Ralph’s ribbing.