Chapter 12 - Anne’s Grave
Rain fell over the cemetery.
Dominic hated the plan.
Claire knew because he had said so eleven times.
“You don’t have to keep counting.”
“I’m not counting.”
“That was eleven.”
“Twelve. Don’t go.”
Claire looked toward Anne’s grave.
Police were hidden beyond the tree line.
Marcus had men near every exit.
Dominic wore an earpiece.
Claire had a tracker.
It was the safest possible version of something completely unsafe.
“I need him talking.”
“We already have his warehouse confession.”
“His attorney will say he was under stress.”
“We have Richard.”
“Richard will say anything to reduce his sentence.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
Claire touched his hand.
“I need this.”
He looked at her.
Rain darkened his hair.
For once, Dominic Vale looked less like the man Baltimore feared and more like someone terrified of losing something.
“You don’t owe your mother revenge.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you owe her?”
Claire looked toward the headstone.
“The truth.”
She walked alone.
Charles stood beside Anne’s grave.
His injured shoulder was bandaged.
He held one white rose.
“Your mother loved these.”
Claire stopped six feet away.
“You killed her.”
Charles placed the rose down.
“You’ve always needed simple answers.”
“She found your fraud.”
“She betrayed me.”
“She protected what belonged to her.”
“She planned to leave.”
Claire stared.
There it was.
Not money.
Not business.
Control.
“She was taking you,” Charles said.
Claire’s breath caught.
“What?”
“You were fifteen. She had an apartment ready. School transfer forms. Everything.”
Claire had never known.
“She was leaving with me.”
“Yes.”
Charles laughed bitterly.
“She wanted Victor Vale to help her.”
Claire understood the photograph.
The pendant.
The trust.
Victor had not been Anne’s lover.
He had been her way out.
“He offered protection.”
“He humiliated me.”
“You humiliated yourself.”
Charles’s eyes hardened.
“You sound like her.”
“Good.”
He stepped closer.
“I loved Anne.”
“No.”
Claire’s voice did not shake.
“You loved owning her.”
Charles slapped the rose against the headstone.
“You think Dominic is different? Men like him don’t love women like you. They possess them.”
Claire’s stomach turned.
“Women like me?”
He smiled.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Claire thought about every dress comment.
Every photograph she had been removed from.
Every time Charles made her feel too large, too quiet, too plain, too difficult.
Something inside her finally let go.
Not broke.
Released.
“I spent years trying to become small enough for you to love.”
Charles watched her.
Claire continued.
“And you know what I finally understand?”
“What?”
“You would have hated me at any size.”
Silence.
“It was never my body. It was never my personality. It was never because I was difficult.”
She pointed toward Anne’s grave.
“You hated me because every time you looked at me, you saw the woman you couldn’t control.”
Charles’s face twisted.
He reached inside his coat.
Claire heard Dominic’s voice in her earpiece.
“Claire, move.”
She stepped backward.
Charles pulled out a gun.
Police shouted from the trees.
Charles grabbed Claire and pressed the weapon to her ribs.
Dominic appeared twenty yards away.
Everything stopped.
Charles dragged Claire toward a waiting car.
“Back off!”
Dominic froze.
Charles shouted, “I’ll kill her!”
Claire looked at Dominic.
He looked back.
No panic.
Only calculation.
Charles pushed her into the passenger seat.
He climbed behind the wheel.
They accelerated away.
Claire heard the tracker beep beneath her coat.
Charles glanced over.
“Take it off.”
She didn’t move.
He pointed the gun.
“Now.”
Claire removed the tracker and dropped it onto the road.
Charles smiled.
Behind them, Dominic’s vehicles disappeared.
For the first time that day, Claire felt real fear.
“Where are we going?”
Charles drove faster.
“To the place where your mother made her last mistake.”
Claire stared through the windshield.
Then she recognized the highway.
May you like
Interstate 83.
The road where Anne had died.
