No Escape

That stupid poison was still mucking up her system, making her weak. And she couldn’t be weak right now. She had too much to do.

Warm, strong hands settled on her shoulders, and she flinched before realizing it was Grant. He didn’t say anything, just pulled her against his body and held her for a moment.

Police scurried around them. Lights flashed. Sirens screamed as more police arrived on the scene and the ambulance left. Paramedics wheeled Amanda’s motionless body out of the house and raced her toward a second ambulance. Dale spoke to Mathews, standing a few feet away, his body tight with rage and grief. He’d just lost his father, found out the man was a killer. She needed to be there for him, too.

All of this had happened because Isabelle hadn’t done the right thing. She hadn’t steered the police toward Wyatt. She hadn’t even thought he was that much of a threat. She’d never imagined he’d try to hurt the people she grew up with.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

“Something like this never does,” said Grant.

“It’s over now, though. Right?”

Grant was quiet for a too-long moment before responding. “The rest won’t be easy, but at least the killing is over.”

It sounded almost like he was talking about something else, but she had no idea what it might be. Nothing even came close to being as big as the events they’d gone through in the past twenty-four hours.

She couldn’t just stand here. People needed her. And yet she wasn’t sure she was physically strong enough to walk across the street to where they were loading Amanda.

Isabelle forced herself to leave Grant’s embrace and take a shaky step. Then another. Grant’s arm came around her, supporting her. “You should be in bed yourself,” he told her.

“Don’t,” she said. “Either help me or leave me be. I can’t fight you, too.”

Grant sighed but did as she asked and took her arm. The paramedic was just closing the back door of the ambulance when they got there.

“Is she going to be okay?” asked Isabelle.

“We don’t know yet.” The older man shut the door, and the rig sped off much faster than Rachel’s had.

“I’ll drive you to the hospital,” offered Grant. “I’d rather you be there than anywhere else right now.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just a little weak. I need to be with Dale.”

Grant spared a quick glance Dale’s way. “Let me do that. He’s going to be angry, and that will only hurt you.”

“I deserve it. I should have seen this coming.”

“Bullshit,” snapped Grant. “This isn’t the kind of thing you can predict. There’s no use in sparing what little strength you have left on guilt. You need to be strong for him. Let him know that you’re not going away, too.”

“I’d never leave him.”

“It’s going to take him a while to believe that.” It was the voice of experience talking, and her heart broke for the boy he used to be. Alone, abandoned, and afraid.

She pressed her hand to his chest and nodded. He felt so strong under her fingers. Invincible. She could only hope that Dale would grow up to be as good and strong a man as Grant.

“I’m going to start convincing him now,” she said. “He needs to know I’m here for him.”

Isabelle went to Dale, not caring that she was interrupting his conversation with Detective Mathews. She pulled him into her arms, reaching up to hug him. She held on tight and whispered in his ear, “You and I are going to get through this together, okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dale told her, anger ringing in his voice. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

Grant pulled Mathews aside and gave them a moment of privacy.

She didn’t chastise him for his statement. How could she when she was also glad Wyatt was dead? He was bad for Dale. He’d terrorized and killed people she cared about. She was relieved he was no longer able to hurt them.

“It’s just you and me now.”

Dale’s arms tightened slightly around her. His voice was small, uncertain. “And Grant, right?”

Isabelle stifled a sob of heartbreak so Dale wouldn’t feel it. She had to be strong for him and not think about herself. “For a while. He’ll have to leave soon to start his job.”

Dale nodded. “Sure. Whatever.”

He didn’t want Grant to leave. Maybe he was already seeing Grant as a father figure—someone to replace Wyatt.

Isabelle realized in that moment that she could give him every ounce of strength she had, every sliver of patience and understanding, every second of her free time, and it would never be enough. No matter what she did or how hard she tried, she could never fill that gaping hole losing his father had caused. No one could.

The future stretched out ahead of her, ugly and bleak, like the gaping maw of some demonic monster. She couldn’t keep doing this—couldn’t face the pain of more children like Dale. It was tearing her apart to see him hurt. How could she ever have thought she was strong enough to do this?

Her plans for a happy home filled with smiling faces crumbled. The future she’d hoped for didn’t exist. She’d been a fool to think it did. Everything she’d dreamed of was hopeless. Every sacrifice she’d made a foolish, vain waste of time. Happy endings weren’t real.

Isabelle was going to break down into a soggy mass of tears. She needed to get away from Dale before she did it. He didn’t need to see her break down, too.

She pulled away and turned so he couldn’t see her face. “Grant’s driving me to the hospital. I’m going to wait for him in the car.”

“Give me a minute to finish up with the detective and I’ll go with you.” His voice was calm. Too steady for a boy who’d just lost his father. That wasn’t a good sign. Dale had a long, rough road ahead of him.

She nodded and walked away as fast as she could.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Isabelle spent two exhausting days at the hospital, and Grant was by her side the whole time. She wasn’t sure what she would have done without his quiet strength and support to keep her going.

She was going to miss him so much.

Amanda was going to make a full recovery, though it would take a while. Isabelle had assured her that she’d keep Rachel safe with her and come visit every day until Amanda was released, which would probably be tomorrow or the day after.

Dale was quiet, throwing himself into his schoolwork in an effort to help distract himself from his grief. Angela called every day, but so far, Dale had refused to speak to her.

But of all the people who had been affected by Wyatt’s actions, Rachel was the one Isabelle worried about most. She hadn’t said more than a few words since that night, and she hardly ate or slept. Her doctor recommended a good therapist who specialized in dealing with traumatized children.

Rachel’s first appointment was tomorrow.

Grant had given Rachel his room and filled it with things he’d gathered from her home. He’d spent a lot of time with her, just sitting and watching TV. He’d tried to do the same with Dale, but he wasn’t interested. Dale preferred to stay closed up in his room.

Isabelle figured he’d come out when he was ready to talk. He needed a little time and space to figure out how he felt about his father’s death. A little therapy for him wouldn’t hurt, either. Too bad he’d refused. She’d keep working on him in a day or two, after he’d had time to process the reality of what had happened.

It was getting late. Isabelle sipped hot cocoa she’d made for everyone and watched Grant as he sprawled on the carpet, coloring pictures of fish with Rachel.

“I think we need more green over here. Fish like green plants, like in Dale’s fish tank. What do you think?” he asked her.

Rachel didn’t answer, but she handed him a green crayon.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to her page.

“It’s a house for the fish.”

“It looks great. I love the flowers on the wall.”

“They’re daisies.”

“Beautiful ones,” he agreed. “Wish I had some of those for my house.”

“Where is your house?”

Grant’s coloring stalled for a moment. “I don’t have one yet.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think I could take this drawing with me to put up when I do get one?”

“Okay,” said Rachel with a hint of pride in her voice.

“We should take some of these to your mom to put in her room.”

At the mention of Amanda, Rachel went still.

“Don’t you think she’d like that?” asked Grant, his voice gently coaxing.

Rachel was quiet for a long time, but Grant didn’t pressure her. He continued coloring.

Slowly, Rachel picked through the pile of crayons and found all of the blue ones. “Momma likes blue,” she said.

“Right, then. Blue it is. We’ll make one all blue just for her.”

“My daddy never colored with me.”

“No?”

Rachel shook her head.

“He probably didn’t know how fun it was.”

“Daddy doesn’t like fun. He likes quiet.”

Grant’s jaw tightened, but that was the only outward sign he gave toward Rachel’s heartbreaking conclusion.

“I bet he misses you,” said Grant.

It was more charitable than Isabelle could have ever been, but then again, Grant hadn’t been around to watch the bruises on Rachel’s body fade. He had no idea what the little girl had been through. It was probably better that way. Knowing Grant’s protective streak, he’d hunt Rachel’s father down and end up in jail before dawn.

“Do you miss your kids?” Rachel asked him.

“I don’t have any kids.”

Rachel turned to him and looked up at him with hopeful speculation in her eyes. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“My Momma is pretty.”

“Yes she is,” agreed Grant. “Just like you.”

“She’s not married anymore, either. You could date her.”

Grant glanced up at Isabelle, his eyes pleading with her to rescue him.

Isabelle took pity on him. “Grant can’t stay here, Rachel. But I’ll be here. And Dale. We can color with you whenever you like.”

“Is Dale old enough to be a dad?”

“Not for a long time.” Hopefully.

“Oh.”

Rachel went back to coloring, and Grant stood up in an unnaturally clumsy motion for him. He asked Rachel, “I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?”

She shook her head.

Grant went into the kitchen, and Isabelle followed him. Her muscles felt rusty and out of practice. Everything about her felt off, like she was just borrowing someone else’s body for a while. She hadn’t slept much, and although the poison was completely out of her system, she still felt weak sometimes—probably because she wasn’t eating or sleeping right.

It was time to get this over with. She’d waited too long already, and she was starting to depend on Grant. So was Rachel. It was best to do it fast, like ripping off a bandage. Let it hurt all at once rather than feeling the pain slowly over the course of days.