CHAPTER 39
The Gavel stood alone in his dark bathroom. Naked. Trembling. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. The man who stared back at him barely resembled the one he knew himself to be.
He was sweating, he realized. He pushed the hair off his forehead. He leaned closer to the mirror. Were those tears in his eyes?
He stiffened, furious. He wasn't a child. Not some weak-bellied girl who fell apart anytime the going got tough. He was the strong one. The one whose will, whose determination, carried them all.
Without him, Cypress Springs would have been lost. They all would have been lost.
He bent, splashed his face with cold water, then straightened. Rivulets of water ran over his shoulders, down his belly, beyond. He breathed deeply through his nose. His chest expanded; he felt the oxygen feed his blood, the blood his muscles. He swelled in size, stature.
He smiled. Then laughed. They didn't understand. His eyes were everywhere. While his generals scurried pathetically about, he saw everything, knew everything. Did they think he didn't hear them whispering to one another, exchanging furtive, knowing glances? Making their plans? His enemies, it seemed, were growing in number. Rage welled up in him. Those he trusted turning on him. Those he had turned to for support-indeed, for love-planning his demise. He had given his life for them. The things he had done, the chances he had taken-that he continued to take-to make their lives, their world, a better place. All he had done for them. Was absolute loyalty too much to ask for in return? He narrowed his eyes. Apparently so. And for that, they would pay dearly.
This was his town. He was their leader. Nothing and no one would change that.
Not Gwen Lancaster. Not Avery Chauvin. Tonight, he had stood in the shadows and watched as the two women formed an unholy alliance. One of Cypress Springs's favored daughters had proved herself an outsider. And traitor.
A spear of sadness pierced his armor, he fought it off. The urge to open his arms again, to forgive. Forget. Such emotions were for the weak. The self-indulgent. The unencumbered. None of those applied to him.
His every instinct told him to silence Gwen Lancaster, do it quickly, before she caused more damage. But there were rules to be followed, a proven system to be adhered to. To willfully ignore either would be a step toward anarchy.
It only took one, he thought grimly. One spoiled fruit. One self-indulgent individual on a misdirected campaign.
How was it that only he had great resolve? Why had he been cursed with this perfect vision? This absolute knowledge? He had been born to lead. To show others the way.
It was lonely. He longed to turn from his gift, his call, but how could he? He opened his eyes each day and saw the truth.
He didn't enjoy killing. He had hoped, prayed, that each of those found guilty would take his warning to heart. His lips twisted. But they had been stupid. Ignorant and small-minded.
Liar. Killing the last had been a blessing. A pleasure. The woman had left him no other option. Meeting with outsiders, calling insiders. She had forced his hand. She should have been silenced years ago. He had allowed others to sway him.
A mistake. One of several recent mistakes his generals loved to discuss. That they used against him. Who did they plan to replace him with? Blue? Hawk?
Laughable. He would show them. Soon they would see.
They would all see.
CHAPTER 40
Hunter sat bolt upright in bed, the sound of children's screams echoing in his head. For a moment he couldn't think. Couldn't separate himself from the nightmare.
With his mind's eye he saw the car careening out of control. The fence going down. The children's terror. The one child standing frozen in the path of his two thousand pounds of steel and glass.
The woman, throwing herself at the child. Saving the boy. Sacrificing herself.
He became aware of the light streaming through the blinds. The soft hum of traffic, of the Monday-morning delivery trucks in the alley. Sarah's puppies whimpering, hungry.
Hunter leaned over the side of the bed and looked at her. It seemed to him she was doing her best to block out their cries. 'You're being paged,' he said to her.
She lifted her head, looked at him.
'I'll get up if you will.'
She stared at him a moment, then thumped her tail once. 'I'll take that as a yes,' he said and climbed out of bed.
He pulled on a pair of shorts and headed to the bathroom. Teeth brushed, bladder emptied, he beelined for the kitchen. Sarah beat him there. She stood at the door, anxious but patient. He grabbed her lead off the hook, clipped it onto her collar and then together they stepped out into the bright, warm morning.
He and Sarah had their routine. A quick trip out to the nearest patch of grass to take care of her immediate needs, then back for her to feed her pups and him to guzzle coffee. Later, they would take a longer walk or a run.
Sarah did her business and they started back. They rounded the corner. His steps faltered. The dog whined.
Avery waited at his door.
She turned. Their eyes met. He sent her a sleepy, pleased smile. 'No breaking and entering today?'
She didn't blink. 'We need to talk.'
'Guess not.' Hunter crossed to the door, pushed it open. From the corner of his eye, he saw her bend and scratch Sarah behind the ears. 'Come on in. I need coffee.'
He headed for the coffeemaker. She didn't wait for him to reach it. 'You called Trudy Pruitt the day she was killed. Why?'
Son of a bitch. Not good.
'A little intense for this time of the morning, aren't we, Avery? It's not even eight.'
'I asked you a question.'
He filled the coffeemaker's carafe with water, then poured it into the reservoir. 'Yeah, but you didn't ask it very nicely.'
'I'm not playing a game here.'
He turned, met her eyes. 'She called me. I don't know why because she got my machine. I returned her call. That's it.'
He measured dark roast into the filter, slid the basket into place and switched on the machine. That done, he crossed to stand directly in front of her. 'And where, exactly, did you get that information? From Matt? Was he trying to poison your mind against me?'
'You don't need any help in that department.'
'And here I thought you'd still respect me in the morning.'
Angry color shot into her cheeks. 'We talked about her, Hunter. You and I, we talked about her calls to me… that I was there that night. You never said anything. Do you have any idea how damning that looks?'
'I don't really care how it looks, Avery.'
She curled her hands into fists. 'You don't care, do you? You wear your indifference like some twisted badge of honor.'
The coffeemaker gurgled; the scent of the brew filled the air. 'What do you want me to say?'
'I want you to tell me the truth.'
'I was writing. She called, left a message. Truthfully, I didn't remember she was Dylan and Donny's mother. Not until later. I assumed she was calling about legal representation. Why else? Other than a vague recollection of the name, I didn't have a clue who she was. That's the truth, believe it if you want.'
