Fatal Intent (Desert Heat Book 3)

  Fatal

  Intent

  Jamie Jeffries

  Title: Fatal Intent

  Edited By: Big Sister Edits

  Cover Art and Design by Erin Dameron-Hill, EDHGraphics

  Copyright © 2015 by Jamie Jeffries

  Mad for Romance Publishing

  P.O. Box 740472

  Arvada, CO 80006-0472

  www.madaboutromancepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

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  ONE

  Alex picked up the phone on her desk without looking at caller ID, still jotting down notes from her last call. She brought it to her ear and answered, “Dodge Desert Times, Alex Ward speaking.” She hadn’t reached the part where she would say ‘how may I help you?’ before her boyfriend’s voice interrupted her.

  “Alex, thank God I caught you. Can you get over here quick? I’ve got the boys, and I need to get to the hospital.”

  The strain in his voice alerted her to his urgency. “I can be there in ten. Is this…?” She didn’t know how to phrase her next question. Is your mother finally dying? Is this it? He’d understand, of course, if she did say those things, but she would hate herself. He didn’t need the stress of being questioned if this was the final crisis in a long chain of them.

  It didn’t matter anyway. He hadn’t heard the beginning of the question, because he’d hung up as soon as she said ‘ten’. She’d better move it.

  “Dad, Dylan needs me, sounds like an emergency. I’m taking off for the night.”

  Paul Ward answered from behind his closed door. “Got it. Call me.”

  Alex threw herself into her aging Nissan Sentra, shoved the key into the ignition and slammed the car into gear. She made it to Dylan’s house eight minutes after he’d hung up.

  She had no sooner climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut before Dylan flew down the steps of his front porch. “Thanks Alex, I’ll call you,” he said as he ran by, landing a quick kiss on her cheek in the process. In only a moment, he was in his pickup and racing down the street.

  Alex stared after the vehicle, then shrugged and went inside the house, where Dylan’s adopted sons, his half-brothers Juan and Davi sat solemnly at the kitchen table doing schoolwork. “Hi, guys!”

  “Alex!” Davi, six years old and the more demonstrative of the two boys, jumped out of his chair and ran to hug her. Juan, who’d just had his ninth birthday, looked up and smiled.

  “Hi, Alex. Thank you for coming to watch us.” For the hundredth time since she’d gotten to know the boys, her heart twisted at the child’s assumption of responsibility. A kid this age shouldn’t have a care in the world, but Juan had looked out for his little brother in the foster home they both lived in for several months before Dylan got custody straightened out, and it seemed the habit was permanent.

  “Hi, Juan. You know I love you guys, right? You don’t have to thank me. Do you know what’s going on? Dylan didn’t have time to tell me.” Juan glanced at Davi, who’d gone back to his school project, and Alex got it. “Did he need to go see his mom?”

  Juan nodded, and paled a little. So this was a crisis with Maria, then. For everyone’s sake, Alex prayed it was THE crisis. The stage-four breast cancer that had metastasized and taken Maria’s mind before it leveled out and cruelly left her body alive for so many months was about to do its final damage. Davi didn’t really understand, and Juan only understood that his mom was going to go to Heaven soon.

  By the time Dylan had gained custody, it was too late for these little boys to receive a goodbye from a mother they remembered only as a sick woman. She hadn’t spoken or given any indication that she knew anyone for months. Everyone but Davi prayed for a release for her. It was no kind of a life. Still, Alex knew that when the end did come, it was going to be rough for Dylan for a while, and she would need to set her own issues aside to support him.

  Two hours later, an eternity for Alex, the call came. To keep the boys distracted and to pass the time, she had helped them with their homework, found something to fix for dinner. She’d also called her dad to say she didn’t know when she’d make it home or what for sure was going on, but she thought it might be Maria’s final trip to the hospital. Dad had told her gruffly that he’d get his own dinner, and lifted her spirits a bit with their running joke. “Assuming there’s something besides leftover fish.” Alex seldom fixed fish for her dad, since he hated it, but she often joked that was for dinner. It was their way of saying they loved each other.

  When Dylan finally did call, she was trying to persuade Juan to get back into the bathtub so she could rinse the shampoo out of his hair before bathing Davi. Juan insisted he was too old for her to see him in the tub, and he’d done a fine job of rinsing. The mass of sticky, suds-tangled hair at the crown of his head in back told her a different story. She was a little out of breath when she answered the phone.

  “Alex, it’s Dylan,” he said, his voice hollow. She put her hand over her mouth and prepared as best she could for his news. “They say it won’t be long now. Maybe tonight. I hate to ask…”

  Dylan knew she had school tomorrow. “I can stay the night, Dylan,” she said. “I’ll get them to school before I go, and then you can pick them up there, when… when… ” His soft sobs were audible over the line, and her heart hurt for him. She was so attuned to his emotions that tears started to roll down her own cheeks.

  “Thanks, Alex. I’m… ”

  “Are you going to be okay, honey? Should I call Dad to come over and then I can come to you?”

  “No, no. Stay with the boys. I’m fine. Ange is here.” Ange had been his mom’s caregiver for the last year of her life. Ten years older than Dylan, she was like a big sister to him. Alex felt an equal pull of relief that she wouldn’t have to witness Dylan’s pain and envy that she wouldn’t be the one to hold him and let him cry as much as he needed to. Just then, a naked Davi raced past with Juan in hot pursuit.

  “I love you, Dylan,” she said. “But if I don’t grab Davi he’s going to put on a show for the neighbors. Call me later, okay?”

  A sharp bark substituted for his laugh. “That boy is a nudist, I’d swear it. Okay, go catch him. I’ll call you when…”

  Alex’s attention was on Davi, who’d almost managed to get the front door open. “Okay, bye.” She’d have time to regret the abrupt end to the call later. Right now, she had a little naked kid to restrain. “Tackle him, Juan!”

  ~~~

  At the hospital, Dylan took a moment to compose himself. He didn’t understand where all this emotion was coming from. He’d had months and months to prepare, from the first phone call that he was needed at home because his mother was sick to the shock of learning the truth about her illness. He'd thought her alcoholism was at the root of it, but after speaking with her doctor, he'd learned she was dying from breast cancer, and only expected to live six months to a year. He'd never planned to return, but the news of his mother's illness and the fact that his brothers, Juan and Davi needed him had left him no choice. That had been nine months ago.

  An ov
erhead announcement paged a doctor with an unpronounceable name. Green cards were available to physicians from foreign countries who would spend a year or two in communities that couldn’t otherwise attract qualified health care providers. How ironic that this one was from India—an Indian in Native American country. Dylan’s own heritage was a mystery entangled within the Tohono O’odham tribe, whose reservation was on desert land to the east.

  He shook himself out of his stream-of-consciousness thoughts as his mother’s doctor emerged from her room. With brows raised, Dylan realized he probably looked as if he held out hope for a miracle, but to tell the truth, he was sure he’d used all the miracles he had coming to him already. The doctor stopped abruptly and held out his hand. Dylan shook it and released it quickly.

  “Mr. Chaves, you can go in and be with her now. I’m sure you know there’s nothing more to be done. We’ve made sure she isn’t feeling any pain… ”

  How could you know that?

  “…and of course you understand she won’t know you. May not even know you’re there on a conscious level. We like to believe, though, that she can feel something, emotionally. I encourage you to hold her hand. And, when you’re ready, you may want to tell her it’s okay to go.”

  Dylan frowned, puzzled. “Go?”

  “Often, we feel as if a patient is waiting for permission from her loved ones to leave them behind. They seem to slip away more peacefully if the spouse or children tell them it’s okay.”

  To die, you mean. You want me to tell my mom it’s okay for her to die. As if I haven’t been telling her that for months.

  For a moment, Dylan silently cursed modern medicine for keeping people alive longer only to prolong their agony. But, it wasn’t this doctor’s fault. It was no one’s fault. If that’s what it took to release Mom from this hell on earth she’d been suffering, he’d tell her. Hell, he’d shout it from the rooftops.

  It’s okay, Mom. Just go, so the rest of us can get on with our lives.

  Guilt flooded him. That wasn’t what he meant.

  He slipped into the room and pulled a visitor’s chair from the side to his mother’s bedside. He took her hand, and tried to form the words to release her. The lump in his throat wouldn’t let them out. So, he sat for a few minutes, memorizing the face he’d refused to look at for so long when she was drinking and neglecting him and his much younger half-brothers. He’d seen it reflecting nothing but pain for most of the time since he’d been back. Only now that there was nothing left to do for her, the illogical rules of the medical profession dictated she be allowed to die pain-free.

  Wouldn’t it have been better if she’d lived that way?

  Now her face was at peace, and her body would be soon, or so they said. Was he ready? Would he ever really be ready? Dylan stood, still holding his mother’s hand, and leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said. “You don’t have to wait anymore. I’ll tell Juan and Davi you love them. It’s okay to go.”

  He sat again, watching the telemetry trace out her heartbeat minute after minute. When he no longer knew how much time had passed since he’d been there, he saw the spaces between beats get longer and the peaks for the beats grow smaller until, with a piercing alarm, it flatlined. No one came running to shock her back to life. After a few minutes, a nurse came into the room and shut off the alarm.

  “Mr. Chaves?” she said, making it a question. “Would you like to stay here with her while I get the doctor?”

  She left when he didn’t answer.

  A few minutes later, the doctor was back. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chaves. She’s gone.”

  So little fanfare for a woman who had shaped his life in ways she hadn’t intended, and who had finally received his respect too late to know it. His mother was dead, and Dylan was an orphan. At least his two little brothers weren't alone, because now, he was their dad as well as their brother. As soon as he buried his mother, he needed to get busy making sure they had a mom as well.

  TWO

  Alex had given up waiting for Dylan and gone to bed in his bed around midnight. Davi had been full of questions as only a six-year-old can be. “Why?” seemed to be the fallback when he ran out of others. None were answerable. “Where is Dylan? Why couldn’t we go with him? Why can’t I have hot dogs for dinner instead of this?” and back around to “Where is Dylan?”

  It wasn’t her place to tell him and she felt a flash of irritation at Dylan for leaving without either giving the boys some excuse or her some instruction. Juan did his best to keep Davi distracted and give her a break, but the evening had been exhausting until bath time was over and she could put the boys to bed at last.

  Something had awakened her and she lay there in the state between wakefulness and sleep, her brain working busily to register where she was. When the mattress dipped, she knew. Dylan’s house, Dylan’s bed. She turned to him and said, “Hi, honey.”

  The darkness shifted a little as he rolled in and pulled the sheet up. Wordlessly, he reached for her and she went willingly. He held her tight against his bare chest and desire flared through her, but just as quickly, desire turned to guilt. This wasn’t the time.

  Alex snaked her arm around Dylan’s waist and held him close as well. His shaking body answered her question. After her long battle with cancer, Maria was at peace, but her son was a long way from it.

  All Alex could do was hold him. Nothing she could say would erase the pain of losing a mother so young. Nothing would comfort him that he’d learned too late of her sacrifices for him, that his contempt for her when he was a teenager wasn’t entirely justified. He’d just have to come to terms with it on his own. What she could do was offer him the comfort of her arms, the knowledge that, despite their troubles, she loved him.

  Hours later, she woke in the same position and found him still asleep. Her body’s clock told her it was time to get up and begin her day. Though she hated to wake him, if she didn’t, the boys would be late to school and so would she.

  “Dylan,” she whispered. A soft almost-snore indicated he hadn’t heard. “Dylan,” she said, a little louder. This time he stirred, and then jerked as he registered her head on his chest and her arm around him.

  “Wha…?” he said, still groggy. Then, coming more fully awake, “Oh, Alex.”

  For a moment she considered answering, “Who else were you expecting?” Ordinarily, he’d laugh. Under the circumstances, it might not be the time or place. Instead, she kissed his chin and wiggled to loosen his arms around her.

  “I’ve got to get up, Dylan. Do you want to send the boys to school today, or not?”

  “Mom,” he said.

  “I know, honey. I’m so sorry. I didn’t tell them.”

  “It’s okay. No, you’re right. I’ve got so much to do today, and it’s better they go to school. I’ll call the school and make sure no one says anything. I’ll tell them when they get home.” He was wide-awake now. She could see in his eyes he was already making a mental list of the tasks he had ahead of him.

  “I can get them ready and drop them off if you want. But Davi just about went crazy last night wondering where you were.”

  “I know. The social worker says he still has some separation anxiety. He’ll outgrow it, as soon as he understands I’m not going to leave him.”

  Alex didn’t rise to the bait. They’d discussed this. It had been too hard, in their small town, to keep the boys away from her as their foster parents warned before custody transferred to Dylan. And, as they’d warned, the boys became attached to her. They could see Dylan’s feelings for her and hers in return.

  What they didn’t understand was why she didn’t live with them all the time. How do you tell a couple of kids that age that things don’t always work out the way you wish they would? That she loved their brother but couldn’t sacrifice her own plans for him, not yet. Davi’s separation anxiety was as much fear that she wouldn’t come back some day as it was clinging to the brother who had come back. Dylan tried not to bla
me her, but she blamed herself.

  Speaking of her own plans, was she going to go to school as scheduled today, or stick around for Dylan’s sake? As much as she hated missing classes, she felt she should be here for him. It was hard to know what was right. At almost twenty, she’d never been in this position before.

  After breakfast and after she dropped the boys off at school, she swung by the newspaper office to let her dad know what had happened overnight. In the middle of telling him she’d see him when she got back from classes in Casa Grande, she abruptly changed her mind and decided to go back to Dylan’s to see what she could do to help him with funeral arrangements. Something she couldn’t explain pulled at her. Dylan needed her, she was sure of it. On the way, she saw former mayor Wanda Lopez out walking the dog she’d rescued after she lost her husband last fall. Alex stopped to give her the news and then continued to Dylan’s house.

  When no one answered the door, she walked in to find Dylan on the floor, curled into a tight ball around a throw pillow from the couch. His head in his hands and fingers laced through his black hair, he rocked back and forth. As soon as she realized he was crying, she fell on her knees next to him and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Honey, I’m here.”

  Alex hadn’t known Dylan’s mother, not really. Even though they’d lived in the same small town all of Alex’s life, and even though she and Dylan had been high-school sweethearts for a year before he left, she didn’t know Maria other than by name. She did know, from Dylan, that Maria had been an embarrassment to him; an alcoholic who, when he was not much older than Juan, shacked up with a transient and bore him the two little boys that were now Dylan’s to raise. She hadn’t expected this level of grief, but she understood it.

  Alex swung around to sit next to Dylan and pulled his head into her shoulder. He responded by clutching her tightly and breathing raggedly, though his sobs faded away. Wanda found them in the same position an hour later when she dropped by with a casserole.