Chapter 8 Making Amends

CHAPTER 8: MAKING AMENDS

Holt disconnected the call with the sheriff. Next, he pulled up Jackson Yates in his address book. Leaning closer to Bonnie, he brushed his lips against her cheek. "You ready for this?"

"No." She tipped her face his way, and he covered her mouth with his.

"I'm right here, babe." He spoke between kisses, hoping to reassure her. "Anyone coming for you will have to come through me first."

She made a soft sound of distress. "I can't believe you're still here, Holt."

He knew what she meant, but he didn't agree — not one bit. "Why do you say that?" he growled.

"I'm nothing but trouble," she sighed.

"Maybe I like trouble." He playfully nipped at her lower lip.

"I'm serious, Holt," she protested.

"So am I." He said it like he meant it, because he did. "About you."

"I just don't see why?—"

He cut off her words by claiming another kiss. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Bonnie Yates. That's why. There's another reason." He wasn't sure she was ready to hear it yet, but he was willing to try anything to distract her from the insanity hanging over them at the moment.

"Is it a state secret?" she teased when he paused.

"No." In spite of the tear stains on her cheeks, her sense of humor was back. He liked that. "I'm falling for you, babe. I realize it may not be something you want to hear right now."

"Why not?" Her gorgeous eyes sparkled back at him.

He shrugged. "The timing isn't perfect. You've got a lot on your plate."

"So do you." She leaned his way to bump shoulders with him. "It's not like you can schedule stuff like that on the calendar."

He snorted. "Thanks for pointing that out."

"You're welcome." She shoulder bumped him again. "I'm falling for you, too, cowboy."

"By falling," he drawled, hardly able to believe his ears. "You mean…?"

"I love you, Holt Winchester," she confessed breathlessly. "It's one of the few things I'm sure about these days. Everything else is…" She shook her head.

"Who cares?" With a whoop of exultation, he slung an arm around her and tucked her against his side. "My girl just used the L word on me. This calls for a celebration!" He nuzzled the soft tendrils of hair against her temple.

"Or you could just say it back." Her lips twisted into a pout.

"Babe, you own my heart," he assured, swooping in for another very tender, very thorough kiss. "As if you didn't already know that."

"I still want to hear it." She chuckled softly against his lips.

"Fine." He was grinning inside and out. He was probably going to be grinning like an idiot in his sleep tonight. "I'm head over heels in love with you. Satisfied?"

"Mmm." Her smile was dreamy. "Maybe one more kiss to seal the deal?"

He was all too happy to indulge her.

It was a very long time before they got around to dialing her oldest brother. Like Holt had done with the sheriff, he put the call on speakerphone so she could listen in. The phone rang so many times that he feared it would roll to voicemail.

Then Jackson picked up. He sounded out of breath, as if he'd jogged a mile to reach his phone. "Yo! What gives?"

With respect to time, Holt decided not to beat around the bush. "Bonnie is remembering. Thought you'd want to know."

"Man!" Jackson blew out a breath. "Anything specific?"

"Yep. A car trunk lined with carpet. Darkness. A white curtain blowing in the breeze. A woman's voice singing a song to her. Bits and pieces of stuff that could be from when she was very small. Or something more recent." Holt suspected it was a bit of both.

"Is she alright?" Jackson's voice grew hoarse.

"I'm working on that." Bonnie sounded hesitant as she joined the conversation.

"Bonnie, I'm sorry." Jackson's voice cracked. "For everything."

"Me, too." Her eyes misted with emotion. "I completely unraveled when I found out about my adoption. I could've handled it better. A lot better," she stressed in a mournful voice.

"Nah, that's our fault," he said quickly. "You had a right to know this stuff a long time ago. We just didn't know how to tell you." He paused to swallow a groan. "We honestly thought we were protecting you."

"You were." She swallowed. "I can see that now that you've given me the time and space I asked for." She sucked in a breath. "How are Mom and Dad?"

"Not gonna lie. They're worried sick about you." He cleared his throat. "Mad at themselves for how they handled things with you. We pretty much screwed everything up that could be screwed up."

"Whatever. We could hash and rehash what happened until the end of time." She waved a hand in agitation, indicating to Holt that she no longer cared about stuff like that. "All I know is that I love you guys. I'll admit there are times when I'd like to strangle a couple of you." She gave a damp sniffle. "But I will always love you."

Jackson gave a chuckle that crackled with emotion. "If you're willing to repeat that to Mom and Dad, I think they'd really like to hear it. Especially the part about loving us."

Holt waited until they got some of their much-needed reconciliation out of the way. Then he jumped back into the conversation. "So, uh, Jackson? Someone claiming to be her birth parents, possibly more than one someone, reached out to Bonnie with a text message a few days ago."

"Oh?" Jackson's voice sharpened.

"Long story short, she typed a response that she didn't intend to send to them, but she accidentally bumped the send button. They wrote back asking to see her in person."

"Over my dead body!" Jackson snarled. "It's a bogus claim, and I can prove it."

Bonnie stared wide-eyed at Holt. "How?" she gasped.

"By showing you the death certificates of your birth parents." Something jingled in the background. "Where are you right now?"

"At home." She glanced in puzzlement at the gravel lane connecting the waterfront homes to the main highway.

"I'm headed there now."

"Jackson!" Bonnie looked alarmed. "I've already told the sheriff everything I know. There's no need?—"

"There's every need," he interrupted. "I'll explain when I get there."

He arrived sooner than Holt expected, skidding gravel as he braked alongside Bonnie's tiny house. The spray of pebbles startled the turtle perched on the log in the center of the pond. He promptly dove beneath the surface of the water and disappeared from sight.

Jackson's wavy hair was disheveled and his shirt wrinkled as he strode up to the front porch. He looked like he hadn't slept well in days.

Holt sympathized. Sleepless nights were something he understood all too well.

Bonnie scooted out from beneath his arm to run to her brother. "Jackson!" She threw her arms around him. "I've missed you so much!"

"Right back atcha, kid." He lifted her feet off the ground and swung her around in a few circles, shooting Holt a grateful look.

As Holt nodded back, he noticed the outline of a pistol in the back of Jackson's waistband.

Bonnie ushered both men through the front door of her tiny house, promising coffee while they visited. Jackson grumbled every step of the way. His grumbles grew louder once they were inside.

"How can you stand being cooped up in a place like this?" His broad shoulders looked way too big for her doll-like house with its doll-sized furniture.

"Have a seat." She waved at the mini living room that doubled as her dining area. "I like it, and that's all that matters since I'm the one living here."

Jackson made a comical ordeal out of resting one hip only on the two-seater sofa, patting the cushion beside him as he glanced expectantly at Holt.

"I'll pass." Holt waved away his offer. "Not interested in sitting on your lap, bro."

"Very funny." Bonnie rattled around her tiny kitchenette, pulling mugs out of the cabinet and turning on her coffee maker. She drenched the two men with a happy smile, announcing sweetly, "You have no idea how badly I want to spill coffee on both of you right now."

"Good luck with that." Jackson guffawed loudly. "Not sure there's room for any horseplay in here."

"Watch me," she warned, narrowing her eyes to slits at him.

They were soon sipping on coffee and eyeing each other in the dim light of the setting sun. Bonnie reached over from her side of the sofa to turn on a lamp, filling the room with a warm, golden glow.

Holt chose to remain standing. "Okay. Birth parents. What do we know about them?" He hated steering the conversation away from their pleasant interlude, but it was the whole reason for Jackson's visit.

Jackson pulled a poorly folded wad of papers from his back pocket and held them out to Bonnie. "These are copies of their death certificates. Mom and Dad have invested in more PIs than you can shake a stick at. This is one of their most recent findings."

Bonnie set down her coffee mug to unfold them. She frowned as she studied the two pieces of paper side by side. "Greg and Bonita Williamson. Looks like the imposter got their names right."

"Or imposters," Holt interjected. "There could be more than one."

"Do the police know they're dead?" Bonnie handed the papers back to her brother, but he refused to accept them.

"Those are your copies." He settled back against the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "I texted PDFs to the sheriff before I hit the road to come here. Hopefully, they went through."

"It's a lot to take in." Bonnie picked up her coffee again and cradled it between her hands, looking like she was trying to soak up the warmth radiating from the mug. "It's like we've all been nibbling at different corners of the same case."

"Yep." Jackson attempted to stretch his long legs out in front of him, bumped the toes of his boots into the kitchen cabinets, and gave up.

A faint smile lit Bonnie's face as she watched him. "Makes me glad I didn't set up an appointment yet to meet whoever has been texting me."

"Yet?" Jackson looked annoyed. "How about never?"

A series of incoming texts vibrated Holt's phone. He lifted it to scan them. "Looks like your PDFs made it safely to the sheriff." They'd made it to K&G Security, too, according to Foster's latest message.

Jackson's dark eyebrows rose. "How in the world did you?—?"

"He does some police work on the side," Bonnie announced. "It's kind of hush-hush. That's all I know, and he probably won't tell you any more than that."

Though Jackson adopted an appropriate jaw-drop expression, the lack of intensity in his gaze made Holt suspect he wasn't as surprised as he pretended to be. There was something about the manager of Yates Ranch that he hadn't been able to put his finger on yet. Not necessarily anything bad, but the guy was definitely hiding something.

Holt waved his phone at Bonnie. "Sounds like the police are hatching a plan to draw your imposter birth parents out into the open."

Jackson folded his arms. "So long as they don't use my sister as bait."

"Actually," Holt drawled, returning his cell phone to his pocket, "I think their plan is to use both of us as bait." He waved a finger between him and Bonnie. "At Alice and Zayden's wedding, no less." The ceremony would take place in less than a month.

"No!" Bonnie's voice and expression were adamant. "A wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event. We're not bringing our mess into their special day."

"According to my higher ups," Holt purposely left his employers' names out of the equation. "Police Detective Zayden Wolfe has already agreed to it, which means my sister must've given them the green light." Zayden would've otherwise nixed the entire plan.

"Lemme guess." Jackson eyed his sister in irritation. "You're going to be their maid of honor?"

"Yep." Holt answered for her, "and I'll be serving as their best man." It meant he would get to stick to Bonnie like Velcro for most of the ceremony.

Jackson sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "What's the plan?"

Holt waved his hands like a set of windshield wipers going in opposite directions. "Big, splashy engagement announcement in the local newspaper. And they're relocating the wedding ceremony to a wide-open public venue — right smack in the middle of Town Square."

Bonnie shuddered. "Zayden is going to hate that. Alice said he wanted a small, private wedding."

"But he adores my sister to the moon and back," Holt reminded, "and Big and Splashy are her two middle names."

Bonnie gave a titter of agreement. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

He continued describing the updated wedding plans. "Ostentatious pair of white limousines. One for the bride and groom. The other for the rest of the wedding party. That will be us," he informed Bonnie, in case she'd missed that part.

"So, the sheriff is isolating the two of you." Jackson sounded furious. "Dangling you like blasted toys on a string, waiting for the cats to strike."

"Sort of." Holt shrugged as he prepared to unveil the beauty of the plan. "She and I won't actually be in the second vehicle, though. A pair of undercover police will be posing as us."

Jackson was only mildly appeased. "The real you will still be visible throughout the event. You'll have to be, since it's a real wedding and you're really in it."

There was just no pleasing the guy. Holt met his gaze levelly. "What'll it take to get you on board?"

"I want a piece of the action." Jackson's jaw hardened. "My sister, my problem."

"Whoa!" Bonnie came out of her seat with her hands raised.

He tugged her back down on the sofa beside him. "You know what I mean."

"You meant it exactly how it sounded, mister." She wrestled with him, giggling.

Jackson tossed Holt a long-suffering look. "This is brother abuse. I've got a witness."

Holt pretended to examine his fingernails. "I see nothing, bro."

Jackson shook his head in disgust. "No wonder they say love is blind."

You would know . It was clear to Holt that Jackson was wrapped around his sister's pinky finger. It was more than guilt about their mutual past driving him. He genuinely adored her.

As do I.

"I should pay Mom and Dad a visit this evening." Bonnie abruptly sat back, letting her brother go. "I never should've let things get this bad between us."

"They understand," Jackson assured gruffly. "But they'd definitely appreciate that visit."

Bonnie stood and held out her hands to Holt. "You should come with us."

"Don't mind if I do." He was deeply touched by what she'd left unsaid —that she considered him to be part of the family. Though his mom had finally remarried, it had been just him and her for most of his childhood. He liked the idea of expanding his inner circle.

They were soon bouncing up the gravel road in Jackson's muddy brown pickup truck. For an older model, it was pretty tricked out. It had oversized tires, spotlights, extra antennae, and an upgraded sound system — pretty expensive stuff for a ranch manager working for his family. One that employed no less than five sons. The cattle business must be booming.

Bonnie gripped Holt's hand like a lifeline as they approached the home she'd grown up in. It was a rambling farmhouse that had been added onto a number of times. Though the porch lights were off, it looked like all the other lights in the house were on.

When the lights came on inside the truck cab, her mother took one look at who was sitting there and came shrieking out of her porch swing.

She met Bonnie at the base of the porch steps, squealing and sobbing. "My baby!" She gave her beaming oldest son a tearful smile. "You brought her back to me!"

"I didn't go very far," Bonnie reminded, hugging her back. "I just needed some space to work through a few things."

"I know. It's okay, baby girl." Her mother couldn't seem to stop hugging her.

"I'm going to drown if you keep up the waterworks," Bonnie teased, stepping back and pretending to wring out her shirt.

Her mother playfully swatted her hands. "Careful. You're starting to sound like you were raised by your brothers."

"I was," Bonnie grumbled. "In the school of hard knocks." Her fist shot out and connected with Jackson's shoulder as he strode past her. "I no longer get mad. I just get even."

Jackson held his shoulder and limped the rest of the way to their dad. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Preston Yates held up a hand to shade his eyes, pretending to gaze around the shadowy front yard in puzzlement. He jolted as his gaze landed on Holt. "Hey, Holt!" He moved around Jackson with his hand outstretched.

"Evening, sir!" Holt clasped it, grinning while Jackson continued to mutter about son abuse on top of brother abuse. "Where's the rest of the gang?" He was surprised not to see any of Bonnie's other brothers around.

"Ranch chores." Mr. Yates seemed to be engaged in a silent conversation with his oldest son. "When one absconds, the rest of ‘em have to cover down."

"About time." Jackson rolled his eyes. "They take turns snoozing in the hayloft when I'm around to do the heavy lifting."

His father grinned. "Speaking of heavy lifting, we need to rotate the herd from the west pasture to the south one in the morning. You ready to ride?"

"Is my middle name Allen the Great?" his oldest son scoffed.

"Sorry to break it to you," Bonnie scoffed, "but the greatest thing you have going on is your inflated ego."

"Burn." Holt whistled.

Jackson gave him a withering look. "Whose side are you on?"

"Someone a lot prettier than you," Holt shot back without thinking.

Mr. Yates chuckled. "I'll say."

Moments later, they were seated on the porch. Mostly. Holt took a knee beside the rocking chair Bonnie claimed.

She leaned toward her parents, who were back on the porch swing. Her father was moving it back and forth with the scuffed toe of his cowboy boot.

"I love you," Bonnie announced in a tremulous voice. "So much."

"We know, sweetheart." Her mother's eyes grew damp again. She lifted a crumpled white tissue to dab at them. "And we love you right back with all of our hearts."

"You're my family," Bonnie continued shakily. "My real family. That's what I came to tell you tonight."

"We feel the same way about you." Her father's expression grew fierce. "That's why we've always been so protective of you. Your mother and I. Your brothers."

"My very awful brothers." Bonnie flicked a wicked glance in Jackson's direction.

He was lounging against one of the porch columns. "Yep. We're awfully awesome," he agreed, winking at her.

Their mother's tears dripped as she listened to their banter. "I've missed this," she sighed.

The next morning, the police launched Alice and Zayden's pre-wedding hoopla. Their engagement photo took up a sizable portion of a page in the newspaper. Another article was posted online with even more photos. It went into great detail about the wedding preparations, mentioning the catered meal that would follow and the designer labels that the bride and her maid of honor would be wearing. Bonnie wasn't mentioned by name. She was merely referred to as Alice's business partner.

Jackson burst through the front door of Holt's shop while he was browsing the article on his computer.

"I appreciate what the local police are doing. Don't get me wrong," he grumbled, "but they're being a little too obvious, don't you think?" He plopped his hands down on the cabinet in front of the cash register. "It's like they've forgotten we're dealing with expert manipulators, folks who don't uphold any moral code when it comes to their mind control tricks."

Holt nodded as he closed the tab on his computer screen. "To be honest? I was thinking the same thing."

Jackson swung away from the cabinet and began to pace the small shop. "Maybe we should have a backup plan, just in case."

"Like what?" Weren't there laws against interfering in an official police investigation?

"I'm still working on that." Jackson clenched his jaw. "The folks we're after are going to see right through what the police are planning. We need to step back and look at the bigger picture." He spread his hands. "We need to get inside their heads the way they got inside Bonnie's head and yours. If we're going to outwit who's behind this, we need to stop thinking like the good guys and start thinking like the bad guys."

"That's, uh, pretty deep." Holt hoped he'd never get on the guy's bad side, because the way his brain worked was formidable.

There was so much more to Jackson Yates than met the eye. If ranch management didn't work out for him, he might have a future in private investigating. Holt made a mental note to bring up his name the next time he had a sit down with Foster and Lyon. Jackson was exactly the sort of guy they might want to bring on board at K&G Security.

Jude Westfield's shoulders were knotted from how many hours he'd spent hunched behind his computer. However, he finally had a lead on the car theft case, and he was chasing after it like a bloodhound.

He hadn't told the sheriff about his discovery, because he didn't want the police storming across the guy's used car lot and arresting him just yet.

There was no point, because Jett Briggs was no ordinary criminal. In fact, he might not be a criminal at all. Sure, he was camouflaging stolen vehicles beneath countless pricey upgrades, but he'd probably been programmed to do exactly that.

Jude just yesterday had tracked down the car lot owner's family tree. Or lack thereof, which was closer to the truth, since he'd been adopted at birth through the now defunct Real Sons agency.

He was likely as innocent as Bonnie and Holt. He was simply being used by a master puppeteer. Someone was pulling his strings, making him dance to a pre-programmed tune.

Jude felt like he was on the cusp of a major discovery — the why of all this mind control garbage.

I just need to think bigger.

He could practically feel the smoke seeping out of his ears as he put himself in the position of whoever was running the dastardly mind control experiments on children.

So far, they'd built triggers into their subjects to steal, conceal their crimes, and what else? Jude mulled over Bonnie Yates' unusual case, wondering what she'd been programmed to do. Only a few months ago, the real estate company she worked for had gone toe to toe with a group of financial fraudsters. Bonnie had been right in the middle of the action, helping to bring them to justice.

It would've been the perfect time to trigger whatever was supposed to be triggered inside her. Was she a failed experiment, then? According to her boyfriend, she felt like she was being followed at times. They'd produced circumstantial evidence indicating that someone with a long-range camera, or a sniper rifle, had briefly had her in their crosshairs.

Which brought Jude back to the same question. Why? Why would anyone want to control someone else's mind? Or, in this case, a bunch of people's minds?

The answer that came to him was so simple that it hit him between the eyes. Mind control turned regular humans into living, breathing robots. Their handlers became like gods. If they could mass replicate the experiments, they'd eventually be able to do anything they wanted.

Literally anything.

Which begged the next question. What were they planning on doing with that kind of power? Create an army? Take over the world?

A knock sounded outside the bedroom door he'd been staying in at Sheriff Malone's house.

"Come in." He hadn't been expecting any visitors since the sheriff was out investigating a case. The guy's wife ran an animal rescue shelter, so she rarely left the farm. She also rarely interrupted him while he was working.

It must be something important.

As he swiveled around to greet her, the legs of his trousers rolled up a little, revealing his flashing ankle bracelet. It was a reminder that everything around him was a facade. Though he was not behind bars, he only had a semblance of freedom. The flashing light at his ankle designated him as government property, tagged and bagged to be used at the local police department's discretion.

He experienced a stab of longing for the old days — back when he'd been his own boss, answering to no one but himself. Actually, quite a few folks back then had answered to him .

The longing quickly vanished the moment his gaze fell on his visitor.

"Hello, Jackson." This was unexpected. He wasn't allowed unauthorized guests, and there was no way Mrs. Malone would've overridden her husband's wishes on that matter. On the other hand, she was over-trusting and a bit absentminded, a combination that made her forget to do little things like lock the doors.

Which meant Jackson Yates was trespassing on private property.

"Hello, Jude." The bold, you-and-what-army glint in the ranch manager's gaze told Jude he was probably armed. "We need to talk."