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Nathan and Micah left the room, and stopped for a moment to speak to the guards in the hallway. They laughed at something one of the guards said, then turned to their own room. In the distance, they could hear Nathan's quiet bark of laughter. A moment later, the hallway light dimmed and the guards assumed their usual stations. Riley settled into the pillows and bedding, snuggling closer to Bailey. 'Micah's gotten over all that stuff about his grandparent's house, and has finally realized he's been taking a backseat to Nathan.' Riley grinned, recalling how Micah, held Nathan's hand, led the way back to their room. He was surprised his younger brother appeared to be so meek. 'They'll work something out where things are equal,' Riley thought. 'Micah's just needing to establish himself as a leader in Nathan's mind. Not the leader, but a leader. Once that's done, he'll feel better about letting Nathan know he can just as easily be a follower.' "He seems like the perfect person to work with your father and Nathan at the company," Bailey said. "Hallelujah! Better him than me! He'll do a much better job of running it than I ever could." "And what are you cut out to do?" Bailey asked. Without having to think, Riley responded. "Work with the trucking company we're setting up. I'll like that a lot better than Pruitt construction. That place is already established, Gen'rl. There's nothing to do but maintain things. Dad's made the thing grow until he's got projects all over the place. He's not doing stuff out of the country . . . yet, but, knowing him, now with Micah at his side, it won't be long. When Nathan graduates from college, there'll be three Pruitts running the show. Dad will be happy, Micah and Nathan will be happy, and I will be happy. There aren't many times when everyone comes out a winner. This is one of them. "What you and I are doing suits me. I'm like you and Lucas. I don't want to step into an existing job, being compared with my father. I don't want to have an assured job, whether I'm qualified or not. I'm surely not qualified for anything having to do with construction. I don't know anything about it. I know computers and accounting, and stuff like that." "So, I'm not forcing you into doing what I want to do?" Bailey said, snuggling closer. "No! Not at all! Where are we gonna run this company from, though? Do you really think you'd be able to run it from here in Atlanta?" Bailey thought a moment. "No. Not here. I don't like not being able to see the men I hire. I don't know them, and they don't know me. Our company's small enough that I want to know everyone. I'm much more of a hands-on type of guy than I ever would have thought. I can't do those hands-on type of things from here." "Where then?" Bailey thought for a moment; then murmured, "I haven't fallen asleep. "I'm just thinking about what we really need. I'm a city boy; I'm not a country-type person." "No more than I am," Riley chuckled. "So, what does that mean?" "It means, that I think I'm going to have to learn to be a semi-country boy. If our business is going to be operating away from really large cities, that's where we need to be. I think we need to be closer to where everything's happening. That can't be here or back where I grew up." "Riverton?" Bailey thought for a long moment. "I don't know. I don't think so. Someplace close to Riverton, though, but bigger. It'd be better for both Lucas and me if we're not feeling like we're being watched by the other. Neither of us will feel as if we're stepping on one another's toes. We'll be doing business with one another, but we won't be around one another all the time." He rolled onto his side, looking at Riley, and pausing to gather his thoughts. "Lucas and I have not always been the best of buddies. We still aren't. We've become good friends, but I'm not sure we can ever be really . . . close. We have too much history." Riley raised his brows, and waited. "We had a very brief affair . . . back in my obnoxious days," Bailey explained. "He told me, on a couple of occasions, to get lost and never let my shadow darken his doorstep again. He couldn't stand me, which was understandable, because, at the time, I could barely tolerate myself." Bailey closed his eyes, remembering meeting Owen. "My relationship with Owen was also less than stellar. I decided I wanted him for myself, Lucas be damned. It took a lot of drama to sort things out, but I managed, with much help from Owen and Lucas, as well as Corey . . . and you, of course. Still, it's probably best for everyone if they don't have to deal with me on a daily basis." "Too much of a good thing, Gen'rl?" Riley teased, reaching up and tenderly running a finger over his partner's smooth cheek. Bailey's smile caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle. "Mmmm . . . something like that." "I'm betting the main reason you don't want to live in Riverton, though, is that you don't wanna have any more fireside picnics, where you have to sit on the ground; right?" Riley teased. "Don't feel bad," he hastened to add. "Neither do I. Let's let the guys sit on the ground and be country boys, while we can live in a nearby city and have a place with a table, and any fires are confined to a fireplace." Bailey laughed. "I do want to be close enough to Riverton, though, to visit often. I didn't realize how much all the guys mean to me, until I've been forcibly kept from seeing them. I'm not only talking about Owen, Riley. I'm talking about all of them . . . Sam, Lucas, Corey, and Jonah. Plus, I would like to be close to Millie's ice cream. Owen's mother has also made me feel as if I'm part of her family. Same with Daniel. I'm anxious to watch their children grow." He smiled. "Owen, Jonah, and the guys, are going to be outstanding brothers to Bea's and Daniel's children . . . as long as they don't smother them, keeping them from doing their own thing. All-in-all, Riverton's a good place . . . a very good place." "Sounds as if we'll be visiting often." "I'd like that. But . . . we'll be able to go home, though, if they want to do country-boy things. Riley," Bailey said, his voice rising, in disbelief. "Riverton doesn't even have a dry cleaner! I can't live without a dry cleaner nearby! And, don't laugh. They don't have a second hand clothing place . . . for you . . . either," he chuckled, playfully poking Riley in the chest with a finger. "Although, come to think of it, maybe that's not a bad thing." "Hey! I'm getting better! I've got you and Micah to use as examples. But, face it; I'm always going to be more eclectic than you." "Hmmmm. Is that what you call it?" Bailey lowered his voice. "Riley, I hate to break it to you, but a shirt with big polka dots, worn with a horizontally striped wide tie, cargo pants with a belt five sizes too large, hanging halfway to your knees, and a very, very worn, frayed, leather sport coat, plus red tennis shoes, is not an eclectic ensemble!" "I got rid of that tie! Besides, it was silk. I don't like silk." "I do." "Maybe I should have given it to you." Bailey laughed, a sound Riley enjoyed hearing, since it happened so rarely. 'Bailey may have loosened up, but he'll always be waaaay more reserved than the rest of the Riverton guys.' Riley flicked a glance at his partner. "What are you thinking?" Bailey asked, laughter in his voice. "I was thinking how much I love it when you laugh," Riley murmured. "Even though you tease me about my choice of clothes, being in love with you makes me wanna tell everyone how happy I am." He paused. "You okay, Gen'rl? You suddenly got all quiet on me." Bailey nodded, once, the corners of his mouth twisting upward into a smile. "I've never been better. Ever." "Um," Riley hesitated, as Bailey took his hand, and linked fingers. "So . . . what are we going to do? Are we going to stay here, cooped up in this apartment, until the lucky day Mother is caught? Or what?" "What are your thoughts?" Bailey asked. "Do you think she's given up on her quest to kill you, your brothers and father?" Riley was silent. "She'll run out of money before she runs out of anger. I really don't see how she's managed to carry on as long as she has. I'm sure her quality of life has diminished dramatically, and that must weigh on her, as much as her anger. In fact, she's probably blaming us guys for her lack of social status. If she hadn't gone off on this vendetta-thing, she and Dad could have gotten a quiet divorce, and she would have been able to continue living in the same style to which she was accustomed. But . . . no . . ." Riley said, his voice trailing off. "I wonder what the FBI is doing? Aren't they usually better at catching folks than this?" Bailey asked. "I mean, your mother's been loose for months and months. Meanwhile, she's arranged a couple attempts on your father's life, and burned Micah's house to the ground." "She's not managed to avoid capture because of ability, Bailey. I think she's had help." "Who?" "The only person I can think of is ol' Gustav Winton, the nastiest man I've ever met. He and Mother have always been close. They think alike. Gustav masterminded Mother's father's rise to the State's governor's mansion; then abandoned him in a flash, when things started to go wrong. Mother and Grandmother did the same thing, leaving Grandfather to fend for himself. This all happened before I was born, but ol' Gustav has had his fingers in a lot of pies. He's even helped Mother keep Micah's existence secret. "It's a good thing he wasn't handling Micah's bank account. If he had been, there wouldn't be any money left. Like Mother, Gustav has very expensive tastes. This entire mess, him losing his law firm, n'all, must be devastating for him. But, you know . . ." Riley chuckled, "Somehow I'm not bothered by his misfortune." * * * "Mister Winton," the temporary secretary murmured, sticking her head into his office. "Two men to see you. I told them that it was almost going home time, but they insist. They're with the . . . FBI . . ." she silently mouthed the initials. "Big bruisers they are, too," she added, finishing with a nervous laugh, which made Gustav Winton want to throw something in her direction. 'Maybe it'd knock some sense into her head, though I doubt it,' he seethed. 'If the floozy ever had an idea of her own, it'd die of loneliness.' Instead of taking out his anger on the secretary, he heaved himself out of his chair, checked himself in the mirror, and went to greet his guests. "Gentlemen," he said, doing his best to appear welcoming, as he left his office. 'Damn, but these guys are huge! Looks as if they stepped right off of a football field and into a suit! I'm not sure I feel safe being alone with them.' The good-for-nothing secretary sketched a wave and hurried out the office door, making a hasty retreat as she left for the day. He heaved a sigh, imagining a long evening of answering questions. 'I'm tired of all this,' he thought to himself, as he stepped aside, gesturing the men into the conference room. 'I'm not going to play any more games. I just don't . . . have anything left. One by one, everyone's abandoned me. I've lost. It's time I admit it.' "Mister Winton," the larger of the two men began, as he sat, his deep, gravelly voice demanding attention. "You've led us on a merry chase, on a number of fronts. Surely you are aware that such behavior is frowned upon and will do nothing to ease the disposition of this case." "Meaning, cooperate and things may go easier on me," Gustav couldn't help himself from saying. "I know the routine, gentlemen. I've used the same argument on a number of occasions. Rarely does the person in question listen . . . and, even more rarely, does cooperation make things easier for them." The Agent made a helpless gesture, acknowledging the truth of the attorney's comments. "Cooperation is always appreciated, though I do not have the authority to promise anything, you understand. But it does make things ever so much easier," he concluded, the hint of an unidentifiable accent escaping. The man produced a small recording device, placed it on the table in front of him, pressed a button, and sat back, gesturing to his friend to take over. "The analysis of your business records is nearing completion," the second man said, in a voice even more humorless than his companion's. "We are here, tonight, to discuss one last item . . . Mister Micah Sutton, and his relationship with your firm, and the Ex-Mrs. Pruitt." Gustav Winton sighed. 'At least they're not asking about bank accounts, and hired killers.' "What do you wish to know?" The Agent made an all encompassing gesture. "Everything. You knew, of course, that an attempt was made on Mister Sutton's life. Fortunately, it did not succeed, and the young man is now in protective custody, pending the capture of Mrs. Pruitt. Neither she nor her . . . associates, will be able to find him." "I wouldn't count on that," Gustav grumbled, noting how the first Agent's brows rose, at the seemingly offhand comment. "Have you been in contact with Mrs. Pruitt?" Gustav Winton bowed his head, searching within his soul for the fire needed to continue his fight, and found . . . nothing . . . not even a hint of an ember. He nodded, once. "I spoke with her on the telephone, a couple days ago. She called, asking for money, and another car." "Car?" Gustav crookedly smiled, unable to keep from taking pleasure in Elizabeth's fate. "Yes. It would seem someone is out to kill her. Even a person as dimwitted as Elizabeth would suspect they're in trouble, when people are shooting at them. Even so . . . it took her a while." He paused, shaking his head in wonder. "I arranged for her to have access to some money, and rented a car for her. We've been longtime friends, gentlemen. I stick by my friends," he said, wondering if the men knew how false the statement was. "You chose to help her, even though you knew she has made at least two attempts on her husband's life, and one on Micah Sutton's? One can only assume she intends to continue her vendetta against her family." "Yes." The interrogator frowned. "Forgive my saying so, but you are being uncharacteristically cooperative. Why?" Gustav shrugged. "I'm tired of fighting. I just want this whole thing to be over, and the sooner the better." "To the best of your knowledge, is Mrs. Pruitt still in Atlanta?" "She's not. When we spoke, she was in Oklahoma City." The Agent's brows rose, again. "What's in Oklahoma City?" "Hell if I know! It could possibly be the only reason is that's where she found herself when her car finally gave up. It was shot up so badly, she had to abandon it. She needed a replacement. As I mentioned, she seems to be the target of some hired killers. Lots of those running around, it seems," Gustav murmured, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "Makes one reluctant to leave one's home, doesn't it?" Gustav wanted to laugh. 'I'll let the FBI handle those two inept killers I hired,' he thought to himself. 'I'll give these two jokers just enough information for them to eventually show up in that mud hole of a town to which Elizabeth's heading. I just have to hope the Agents will arrive after she has been taken care of.' "Do you know who the person or persons might be, who are shooting at her?" "She has many enemies, gentlemen. Like her father before her, she has not hesitated to step on anyone's toes as she's climbed the social ladder. Now that she's struggling, those people are likely to remember all the slights." "So, figuratively speaking, having her step on a person's toes is justification for murder?" "Who's to understand how the rich and famous think?" Gustav took a deep breath. "She also told me she's on her way to someplace called River . . . something. I don't remember the full name. River Bend, I believe." "And . . . what is in River Bend? Does she hope to avoid capture by hiding out in a small town?" "You'd have to ask her about that. Personally, I think she must have reason to believe her remaining children are in this town, and hopes to succeed, with them, where she failed with Mister Sutton and Franklin Pruitt." "And, you've aided her in the goal of helping her kill her children?" "By providing her a car . . . yes, I guess one could make that argument." "Do you know, for a fact, that killing her children is her goal, by going to this town?" "No, not for sure. I would expect that that's what she's wanting, though. I don't know what she expects to do with herself, either, if she achieves her goal, or if she doesn't. Elizabeth is not a person accustomed to rough living. I would imagine she's frustrated by her recent failures, and will, most likely, strike out at whomever she sees as an obstacle to achieving her goal." "Meaning, you believe she's even more dangerous now, than she was before leaving Atlanta?" "Yes. When she was in Atlanta, her sights were focused on her husband and Mister Sutton. Now . . . who knows? I wouldn't want her to think of me as a threat, that's for sure. She's been thwarted two or three times, gentlemen. She won't be handling that well." He paused. "That woman does not accept the fact that she cannot have everything she wishes. Everything!" "And . . . what . . . exactly is her relationship with Mister Sutton?" Gustav Sutton spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. "She's his mother. She and Franklin Pruitt separated for a couple years, and during that time, she had a baby boy . . . Micah. She gave the boy up to be reared by the parents of the boy's father, and went back to Franklin, who welcomed her back with open arms." The attorney sadly shook his head. "A glutton for punishment is what he is. And . . . Elizabeth proceeded to have two more children, Riley and Nathan, by Franklin I assume. "Imagine! Elizabeth absolutely detests children, so what does she do? She goes out and has five of them! The old girl should have had her tubes tied, at the onset of puberty, if you ask me. She probably would have, too, if such a procedure wouldn't have left a scar. She considered herself . . . a . . . ahem . . . delicate blossom. Her words, not mine. And, as such, needed to be in perfect condition. How she maintained that illusion through five pregnancies, without surgical intervention, I will never know." When one of the Agents opened his mouth to speak, Gustav interrupted. "Yes, she's heard of the pill, but it makes a person, 'bloat,'" he said, imitating her complaint. "Abortions were out, since her mother died during a garage abortion, and we've already discussed why the tube-tying route was out. Abstention was definitely out. She is not the type of person to abstain from anything pleasurable. So, Elizabeth endured each of the pregnancies, then proceeded to hate the children for having ruined her life. She never took responsibility for anything . . . that one." "Did she make monthly payments to help the grandparents rear the child?" "More like, it was money to keep them from squealing and telling the press that she had an illegitimate son, while still being married to Mister Pruitt. Elizabeth was very conscious of her social standing, and was convinced that such news would cause Atlanta society to snub her. She would have paid any amount to keep that from happening. I imagine Mister Sutton's grandparents knew that, and acted accordingly." "Now . . . let's talk about Mrs. Pruitt's bank accounts," one of the Agents said, apparently having heard all he needed about Elizabeth's relationship with Micah Sutton. "Um . . ." Gustave Winton hesitated. "What would you like to know?" * * * The dank, hot air of the small motel room washed over Elizabeth as she opened the squeaky door. 'Oh . . . Franklin,' she thought, as she surveyed the wretched room. 'You have much to pay for. I do not deserve to have to sleep in a . . . hole . . . such as this.' She sank to the edge of the bed, ignoring the squeak of the bed's springs, tensing as someone nearby slammed a car door. 'Is it them?' she wondered. 'Have they caught up with me? How much is Franklin paying them to treat me like this?' She ran shaking fingers through her shaggy hair, then rubbed her face in exhaustion. 'If I hadn't gotten lost, those times, I'd already be in that hell-hole, River . . . whatever, by now. Those boys better be there, or someone will pay for warning them that I'm coming.' She flopped back onto the bed, exhaustion overtaking her. 'Someone has got to pay.' * * * Long after the FBI Agents had departed, Gustav Winton, one time head of one of Atlanta's most prominent law firms, sat in his office chair, and stared, unseeing, out of the window and wondered how he'd gotten into the situation in which he now found himself. "I've told the Agency everything . . . other than who hired the men following Elizabeth. I've only hinted at her final destination. There's nothing more they can pump out of me." He stood, slipped on his impeccably tailored suit coat, and looked at himself in the mirror, before shutting off the light to his office. He paused to scan the remains of what once had been the nerve center of his universe. Now, it was empty. A few clients stuck with him, mostly because he had information about them they would rather not have known. 'And, of course, that ditz-o secretary,' he thought, as he locked the office door and turned toward the elevator lobby, nodding an absent greeting to the man who must have emerged from one of the nearby offices. "Working late?" he asked, as they walked toward the elevator lobby, side-by-side. "Yes, but I'm ready to go home," the mousy man answered. The elevator chimed, as the doors separated, and the two men stepped into the plush cab. "Mister Winton?" the man asked, the moment the doors closed. Suddenly, he was anything but mousy. "Yes, and who, might I ask, are you?" Gustav asked. "I am the man who's here to end your life," the man said, in a voice devoid of emotion. "WHAT?!" Gustav screeched. "Elizabeth Pruitt sent me, and asked that I give you her best wishes. She also instructed me to tell you that she does not . . . always . . . miss," the man concluded, then reached beneath his suit coat. "But! But!" Gustav Winton sputtered, looking one way, then the other, frantically hoping to find a means of escape. Of course, there were none, and it was so late at night that there'd be no one to come to his rescue. "NO! WAIT!" In one smooth move, the man pulled out a weapon, and, without blinking an eye, shot Gustav Winton, three times. The attorney slammed against the opposite wall of the elevator and slid to the floor, surprise still written on his face, as he stopped breathing and his eyes glazed over. * * * Bailey punched at the red button on his phone, in irritation. "Well that was totally unproductive!" He dropped the phone on the table and turned to the men who were watching him. Bailey had always been the one who didn't chafe at being locked away. He had his and Riley's business to organize, and that had been enough. Lately, though, his frustration had begun to show itself. After speaking with Owen, recently, it had become unbearable. "What?" he asked, turning his back on his audience, and stomping across the room, to stare out of the windows overlooking the city and the distant Atlanta suburbs. "That's what we're asking," Riley said, in a mild voice. "What was totally unproductive?" "Daniel." Micah turned to Nathan. "Daniel?" he murmured. "Don't tell me we have another brother," he said, trying to lessen the room's tension. "Daniel is the town doctor, and is married to Owen's mother," Bailey supplied, in a tone which suggested Micah and the four guards should already know the answer. "And . . . he won't give me any information about Owen. None! I am in an information vacuum, men, and I do not like it . . . one . . . little . . . bit," he concluded, biting off each word. "Daniel won't tell me anything, because Owen is his patient! Lucas seemingly has his phone turned off. Corey is teaching school; Sam is at school; and Jonah is ensuring that one of our trucks is loaded correctly, and won't be available to talk, for a couple hours!" Bailey planted fists firmly on his hips and glowered at the men. "Jonah is the only one with a legitimate excuse to not talk to me! Well, maybe Corey does, and possibly Sam." He held out a hand. "I know, I know. I'm being bitchy, but what is going on with Owen? I want to know!" "Have you called him?" Micah chanced asking. The full strength of Bailey's well-practiced glower turned on Micah, who didn't flinch. "Well?" Micah repeated. Bailey threw up both arms. "NO! That's just too simple of an idea," he groused. "And, don't any of you jokers laugh at me. I'm not in any mood to be made fun of, or laughed at . . . understand?" "He'll wrestle us to the ground, and show us who's boss," Riley mumbled. "Quiet!" Bailey groused, as he punched Owen's number into his phone. "OWEN! Well, praise be; a real honest-to-goodness real-live person! Why aren't Lucas and Sam hanging around to look after you?" Bailey purposely wandered from the room and into the bathroom, pushing the door to the bathroom closed behind him. "How y'doing?" he asked. "I mean, really, Owen. I'm worried about you, and I'm driving everyone here to the point where they're going to break one of the apartment's windows and throw me out, to see if I know how to fly. "Seriously . . . are you doing okay? Geez, I wish I was there to give you a hug." Bailey took a ragged breath, as he leaned against the bathroom vanity. "Owen . . . I . . . I . . . don't want . . . anything . . . to happen to you!" He sniffed, and hiccoughed, as his emotions threatened to surface. "I . . . I . . . love you . . . Owen," he managed, angrily swiping across his suddenly watery eyes. "No, I can't come to visit! I'm locked away in this apartment, affectionately known as Bedlam-in-the-clouds. I call it that, because that's how high we are, and how crazy we're all becoming. We're so high up we can't even wave at people in nearby office buildings! Yet, the guards still are afraid some sort of commando force will break through the windows and do away with us." He paused, as Owen broke in. "No!" He raised his voice to overcome Owen's. "If that's what you understood me to say, that's not what I intended. Lucas and Sam are not back in Riverton with the sole purpose of looking after you." 'I have to save this,' Bailey frantically thought. 'I've stepped on Owen's sense of being able to take care of himself. "They contacted me and bitched and moaned about how inefficient it was for both of them to be with one another at each of the meetings with clients, when it would make it much easier for Sam if they did these sales trips separately. That way, Sam could take the classes he wants and not have to tailor his class load around blocks of time set aside for business meetings. Also, they'll be able to handle existing clients by phone, so neither of them will have to be gone as often as they have been. They'll have to be gone, when meeting with new clients, of course, but that's understandable. "They both want to spend more time with you, but that's not the reason they'll be spending more time in Riverton. "Yes," he said, lowering his voice, responding to another question. "I called Corey and Jonah and asked them to check in on you. "Owen . . . after our last conversation, I was frantic! You sounded so awful, so alone. And then you told me about those nightmares, and knocking yourself unconscious, and everything, and . . . dammit . . . I was friggin' worried, okay? I have a right to be worried about you! "No, I didn't ask them to spend the night! I didn't ask them to do anything other than check in on you and let you know you weren't alone. What's wrong with that? "I'm getting mixed messages, here, Owen. On one hand, you don't want people around you because you believe you're so big and strong, and able to handle everything. On the other hand, the other night, you were lonely enough to call me and tell me about your fears, and how you wished Lucas and Sam were home. Really, Owen! You can't have both scenarios! There is absolutely nothing wrong with being big and strong and admitting to yourself that you don't like being alone with thoughts of your father. And . . . you are not the cause of Lucas' and Sam's decision to spend more time at home! I swear! Between Riley's mother and your father! . . . "I hope you realize that all of us friggin' love you. That's love, with a capital 'L' . . . as in you mean a damn lot to every one of us. You think I'm having to force Corey and Jonah to be with you? HA! Those guys, just like Lucas and Sam . . . and . . . me . . . have to be forced to not be with you. We want to be with you, not because we're afraid you might hurt yourself, or something, but because you're you. It's the same reason I'm calling you tonight. No one's asked me to. I just want to hear your voice, and know that you're doing okay. I worry, Owen. I mean, really . . . "That mad woman is still on the loose, intent on killing someone. I figure she's probably as mad as hell, now, after screwing up every murder attempt she's masterminded. As such, I don't think she'll really care who she shoots, just so she shoots someone. She's a frustrated little Napoleon, who suffers from some sort of persecution complex. She feels the need to prove to the world that she's tough, and she wants to avenge . . . who knows what? I doubt she even has a clear answer to that. She may not have killed anyone yet, but she wants to." He swiped at his eyes, hiccoughed again, and tried to control his emotions, as he continued speaking in a rough voice. "I saw a movie once, when I was a child, where the bad guy was accused of having an itchy trigger finger." He roughly laughed. "That's her. "I'm sorry I'm being crabby. I'm sick and tired of captivity. I want out of here, so I can come and see you, but no one'll hear of it. "There's one faction which believes Elizabeth's given up and has gone home to roost." He hesitated, while Owen barked a laugh. "No, I don't know anything about roosting," Bailey managed to say, pleased he'd been able to get Owen to laugh. "I heard someone here say something like that, so, like a moron, I repeated it without knowing precisely what it meant. Perhaps you can enlighten me . . . someday. Right now, I want to complete my thought. "Leaving roosting aside, there's another group who believes she's still searching for Riley, Nathan, and Micah, and might have somehow figured out that they were once in Riverton. "I know that's what you've been thinking! That's why I'm worried sick. We've got more guards hanging around here than anyone knows what to do with, but they're not there . . . where they need to be . . . and you are, and Owen . . . we all know, if Elizabeth is in town, you might as well hang out a flashing red light . . . with an arrow . . . pointing in your direction. If the guys aren't in town, she'll probably figure that shooting you is the next best thing, since you obviously planned to thwart her plans. I know . . . the argument doesn't make sense, but being sensible is not something that woman is known for. "Elizabeth is like that Maxine woman you've told me about. Only Elizabeth has a gun, and she wants to use it! "Don't antagonize her, Owen. Don't do anything to get yourself hurt, okay? And . . . Owen . . . are you and I okay . . . I mean about me asking Corey and Jonah to look-in on you? "You sure? You don't sound sure." He waited a moment, but when Owen remained silent, he relented. "Well . . . okay. You take care of yourself y'hear? I'm being purely selfish. You mean more to me than you can possibly know. "Yeah, Owen . . . I know you do. It makes me feel good to hear you say that. I hope you realize I feel the same way about you." * * * "You have to put a stop to it!" Maxine shrieked, in anger, pointing a shaking finger in the general direction of the new grocery store. "They're getting ready to open that abomination. You have to stop them now . . . before they can do it, and spread their filth to all the unsuspecting people in town. If you don't stop them, Alan, someone certainly will. We don't deserve to have those sorts of people in Riverton." Mayor Alan Hurst raised an eyebrow. "Those sorts of people, Maxine? What sort? Millie has lived here as long as you have. You grew up together. I should know. I was here, too. "Are you talking about Hank McCorkle, Millie's new boyfriend? From everything I hear, and from visiting with him, he seems like a very likable person . . . totally devoted to Millie. The two of 'em are happy as clams. His boy, Clyde, is dating Abigail Carver. A nice match, if I do say so, though I've always wondered how Clyde can be so perfectly . . . clean and starched, all the time. The boy almost gleams, he's so clean!" Mayor Hurst smiled, nodding. "Maybe it's his smile which is so gleaming. He's a wonderful boy. "Are those the people who are the wrong sorts? Or, are you referring to Lucas, Owen, Corey, Sam, and Jonah? Are you a bigot, too, Maxine? "No one else has complained to me about the new store. In fact, everyone I've spoken with, and that's just about every person in town, except you, of course, thinks the store's going to be a great addition to Riverton." "I will not have it!" Maxine hissed, heedlessly flicking cigarette ashes onto the Mayor's carpet. "I will put a stop to it, if you don't!" "My dear, Maxine," the mayor said, in his best soothing voice, as he slid an ashtray in her direction. "I have no control over whether there are two stores in town, or three, or four. Neither do you, and it would be best if you remember that. You know what spending time in jail is like. It would be unfortunate . . . for you, if you do anything rash, which might result in a much longer time behind bars than a mere six months." "Six months! You have no idea how I suffered during those mere six months! I might as well have been in a dungeon!" Her brows lowered. "You've sided with those fag boys, haven't you? They've paid you off! I knew it! All politicians can be bought. Everyone knows that. What'd they give you . . . an invitation to one of their orgies . . . money . . . what?" Mayor Hurst laughed. "Such a charming personality. Every time I speak with you is such an . . . experience. I always feel as if I need to rush home and take a shower to wash off the filth you spread." His voice lowered, taking on a different tone. "No one is stopping you, Maxine, from reopening your store. Let the public decide which store they wish to visit." "Those fag boys have brought too many changes, too fast, to Riverton. You mark my words. You'll be sorry that you ever allowed them to settle here." "The last time I looked, there was no rule about who could and who could not settle in Riverton. Lucas Horton has revitalized our town. He's brought in jobs, a school, a library, and restored pride to the townsfolk. Who could possibly disagree with any of those things? He, Owen, Corey, Sam, and Jonah have also caused some of the population to rethink their views about what it means to be a minority. It might behoove you to reevaluate your prejudices, as well." "Owen killed his father, you know." "Oh, please! Jonathan always did have a few screws loose, and by the time he beat up his wife, he had lost touch with reality. Owen wasn't even living here." "Humph!" Maxine crossed her arms and raised her chin, with a derisive snort. "Convenient, if you ask me. He and that tramp of a mother of his were in it together, I hear . . . driving poor Jonathan to distraction. Jonathan wouldn't have harmed a fly, and look at what those two drove him to. Disgraceful! And now, you're allowing not only Owen, but those other fag boys to have their run of the town, just 'cause they have money to burn, and because you're afraid of standing up for what's right." Maxine paused, her eyes taking on a calculating look. "You'll be sorry you didn't do as I told you to," she warned, dropping her smoldering cigarette on the carpet and mashing the sad thing into the carpet with her shoe. "Whatever happens is on your shoulders, but let me tell you . . . Alan Hurst. No one messes with Maxine. No one!" * * * Elizabeth breathlessly answered the telephone and heard the cryptic message she'd been waiting for. "It's done!" she shouted. "Old man Gustav is no longer among the living! Serves the old bastard right, for how he treated me. Getting rid of him was money well spent, if you ask me, and my hands are clean." She frowned, as she examined her dry hands, and fingernails, rough from having been bitten. "Now, all I have to do is get rid of Riley, and Nathan, and that other one . . . Micah; then I can head back to civilization and claim my rightful place in society." She squinted into the bathroom mirror of the cheap motel room. "I should have gotten more money from Gustav. "Wait! Franklin is still living!" She hurled her hairbrush across the room, where it bounced off the wall and landed in the toilet. "Men!" she seethed. "Never could teach a single one of 'em to put the toilet seat down. Now, my best hair brush . . . ruined! "That killer I hired should have killed Franklin, not Gustav! Dear Gustav, dead, instead of the man who's responsible for making me into this . . ." she looked into the mirror . . . "this, common person." Her eyes widened at the sound of a car door slamming nearby. 'Could it be them?' she wondered. 'The men who've been following me? 'Franklin hired them. I'm sure of it . . . or Riley. That's it! He always hated me, the woman who gave him everything. Or . . .' her eyes narrowed . . . 'could it have been Nathan?' She shook her head. 'No, he's too young and stupid. He takes after Franklin . . . stupid . . . always needing a woman to tell them what to do.'
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