Chapter Twenty-Four

"Yeah, migraines," Shane admitted to Sasha. After the onset of his migraine, he'd slept three hours, and while he'd been passed out, Everlee and Tuesday had ganged up on him. In a good and helpful way. He vaguely remembered their gentle hands on him, and he did feel better than after most killer-migraine episodes. So acupressure, huh?

Once he'd come to, he'd found himself lying on a fuzzy blanket that smelled moldy, with something else rolled into a pillow under his hard head. Since then, Ev and Tuesday made sure he had a bottle of water in his hand and something in his stomach. At the moment, the three of them were sitting cross-legged inside the abandoned hangar's office, under the tarp that now kept the chilly Arkansas night at bay. Everlee had set a flashlight bottom-up on the floor so they could see.

She and Tuesday had somehow become BFFs while he'd been out of commission. The way Everlee now advocated for Tuesday, even explaining how much she'd loved Frederick Lamb and why, told Shane these two women had gotten a lot out in the open. Which made life simpler. Everlee wasn't shooting daggers at him with her eyes every time he spoke to Tuesday. At last, they were a team of three.

He was on his cell now, with Sasha Kennedy, aka Mom, who seemed to control every last security camera in the States if the wide scope of her intel was any indicator.

"But you're feeling better now?" she asked. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, then, because this wasn't a video chat— Duh —he spoke up and told Sasha, "Yes. Ev and Tuesday are keeping me well fed and hydrated."

"With what? Trail mix, protein bars, and bottled water?" she scoffed. "Never mind, I don't care how they take care of you, only that they are. I've already sent Heston to your location. He's bringing emergency supplies. You'll be better off then. But you were right, Shane. Tuesday has a stalker, a woman named Maeve Astor. She stole Tuesday's identity after Frederick Lamb died by forging her birth certificate, which allowed Astor to apply for a copy of Tuesday's Social Security card. Once she had that, she requested a copy of Tuesday's driver's license, which gave her all the ID she needed to access Tuesday's bank accounts and the trust fund Lamb set up for her. Astor can get her hands on, well, everything that belongs to Tuesday."

Unbelievable. Shane switched his phone to speaker so everyone could hear. "You're on speaker now. Could you say that last part again?"

"Sure," Mother replied, then repeated everything and added, "So Tuesday, none of what happened to Atchison Bremmer and his children is your fault. Maeve Astor's a certifiable nutcase."

"But she killed her own children," Tuesday told Mother quietly. "I don't care about the money she stole or even her stealing my identification. She can have it. But how could anyone hurt a little boy and baby girl?"

"Because she's a stark raving psycho, girlfriend," Everlee cut in.

"I know but…" Tuesday's gaze dropped to her clenched hands in her lap. "Everyone said those little kids were Tuesday Bremmer's children, and the press made sure everyone thought I was Tuesday Bremmer , and I kinda feel" —she shrugged— "responsible. Like that little boy and that baby girl were, at least could've been, you know. Mine."

Shane's heart sank. Here was a woman of exceptional worth, thinking of those poor dead children instead of her diminished financial status, obviously touched and hurt by the cruelty of their deaths at the hands of the woman who should've sheltered them. It seemed Tuesday had made the same spiritual or emotional—or whatever—connection with the Bremmer family that Shane had with the Stewart family. Death really was a twisted, sickening bitch—like this Astor woman. They both hurt everyone they touched.

"Honey, of course you feel that way. You're a decent human being. You're full of empathy. I can tell." It was obvious Mother was staunchly in Tuesday's corner.

"Why didn't you notice your bank account balances shrinking?" Shane asked Tuesday to get his brain out of the pit of remorse it sank into whenever he dwelled too long on the past. "Sounds like Astor's been bleeding you dry for years. Didn't you notice?"

"Not dry, Shane. Not even enough for anyone, except maybe Tuesday's CPA, to notice," Mother corrected. "Like I said, Astor's smart. Smart enough she hasn't skimmed much off those accounts. Why would she? All she has to do is wait until Tuesday goes to prison. After that, she'll have free access to the rest of Frederick Lamb's assets, and she won't have to worry about being caught. She only marries millionaires, and she was Atchison Bremmer's sole benefactor. She's already wealthy. Why take more risk than she has to?"

"But I'm still in her way," Tuesday added, reaching out for Everlee's hand. "Else she wouldn't have targeted Agent Yeager."

"Yes, but she's done this before," Mother told them with authority. "She killed at least three other husbands, all under suspicious circumstances, but nothing as devious as what she's done to you. As of this morning, those deaths weren't on any law enforcement radar, but they are now. Like I said, that woman is not stupid, but neither am I."

"Yes, she is," Shane said softly. "She traded her children's lives for money, Mother. She's a pig."

Tuesday cocked her head and finally looked at him. Her eyes were wide and glimmering.

"What she is, is a brilliant gold digger," Mother cut in. "You guys already know it's very likely she killed Frederick Lamb. Can't say for sure. Still waiting on the FBI to do their thing. But now that I've found this wacko, I'm backtracking her whereabouts for the last ten years. And Tuesday, rest assured, we're going to prove every last crime she's committed and nail her butt to the wall."

"W-w-wait. What?" Tuesday shrieked. Her hand trembled as it covered her mouth. "She killed Freddie?"

Shane winced. How had she not picked up on the fact of Freddie's death yet? Shit. He reached across the space between them to pull her in close before she fell apart. But he was too late.

"She killed my Freddie?" Tuesday barked. Her gaze pivoted to Shane, then to Everlee, then back to Shane. "But I thought… you guys never said… I thought she was just after me."

Wisely, Everlee did what Shane couldn't. She reached over and put a hand around Tuesday's shoulders. "Sorry, girlfriend. We thought you knew."

"Tuesday, I am so, so sorry," Mother added. "It's been all over the news. I thought you knew, too."

"How could I? I've been out of the country. I only saw the lies about me killing Mr. Bremmer and those babies when I flew home. Does everyone think I killed Freddie, too? Oh, my God! Why me?" Shaking like a leaf Tuesday wrapped an arm around her closest supporter, who, ironically, had just that morning been her snarkiest adversary.

"Good question, people," Everlee growled possessively, shooting daggers at Shane. "That bitch killed the only man Tuesday ever loved, and now she can get at all her money. Why does she want Tuesday dead?"

"Yeah, what Everlee said," Tuesday muttered quietly. "What'd I ever do to her?"

"Listen, honey," Mother replied sternly in what Shane now recognized as her motherly voice. "Astor's a heartless killer. It might be because Lamb chose you to marry, not her. Psychopaths don't operate on logic. They're seriously mentally ill."

"You can't take anything Astor did personally," Shane added. "Yes, she killed Freddie out of spite, probably to hurt you. And yes, she's also orchestrated identity theft so far-reaching even the FBI believes you're guilty of the murders she committed. They aren't even looking at her. But she didn't kidnap Everlee on purpose. Her hired help did that. Does she sound like a person with normal coping skills? With any sense of right or wrong?"

"He asked me to marry him in the middle of the Hudson River under the Statue of Liberty," Tuesday whispered. "It was the first Fourth of July we were together. He said it was the best place to watch New York's fireworks, and he was right. He was wearing his captain's hat that night, and we were on one of his boats. Freddie owned a shipping company, did you know that? I can still see the sparks in the sky and their reflections on the river. It seemed like stars were everywhere. I was seventeen. Of course, I said yes."

She almost smiled. "He even got down on one knee. He was such a romantic. But he also wanted to make certain his two sons didn't run roughshod over me if something were to happen to him. He wanted my future ensured." She swallowed hard. "But after he died, I did sign over the three skyscrapers he owned in the City to his son, Jeff, and the entire Lamb fleet went to his other son, Henry. It made good business sense to do that, and I trust them. I mean, I didn't know anything about managing millions of dollars-worth of prime real estate or shipping empires. Still don't. And Jeff and Henry aren't mean or greedy. I've been to both their homes. I've met their wives and children, and I really like them. They almost feel like… my family." Her voice broke.

Gah, she was tearing Shane's heart out. The more Tuesday revealed, the more he understood why she hung out in far-off, barren places like the Arctic Circle. She wasn't just photo journaling. She was him. Forever the outsider, cast by circumstance into a life of solitude. A wanderer and a person without anyone in the world to care what happened to them. Without anyone to rely on. Except in her case, maybe Jeff and Henry Lamb, possibly Robert Freiburg. God, he hoped so. She deserved someone good and decent in her corner. Poor damned kid.

Mother jolted him out of his mental wandering with, "Don't you worry. I have plenty of evidence, enough to convict her. I've caught Astor coming and going on dozens of traffic cams along Billionaire Row in New York City, most often near One57, the Tower condominium."

"That's where Freddie and I lived before…" Tuesday's voice trailed away.

"Yup, I know, honey," Mother replied evenly. "But your money and identity isn't all Astor stole. She wanted to look like you, too. And it makes sense. How else could she convince the world you were a killer?"

"Which is why she looked directly into the security camera when she chained the door of her apartment that day," Everlee whispered. "She needed you to look as cold-blooded as she is. The bitch!"

"Right, Ev. She was brunette when she started working at One57 roughly seven years ago, right before your parents died, Tuesday. But now she's the same shade of blonde as you, and, call me crazy, but I think she's bleached her skin. For sure she's had plastic surgery. A nose job. Probably liposuction on her rear end, too, because that caboose used to be a wide-load coming through. But lately, it's been trimmed to a firm size ten like yours. I'm sure you've noticed, Shane."

Shane damned near choked on his tongue. Of course, he'd noticed Tuesday's backside. Good looking women naturally hit his radar. He was a guy, for hell's sake, not a robot. But it wasn't Tuesday who'd captured his attention these last couple days. It was Everlee. Not that he'd ever, ever tell Sasha. She was a little too nosy.

"Nice segue, Mother ," he bit out sarcastically, hoping Everlee and Tuesday wouldn't encourage her sass.

"Wait, guys. Hold up a second," Everlee ordered. "I'm confused, can't keep all this info straight. Do you have a, umm, a timeline, Mother? Something to the point and, uh, brief?"

Shane cocked his head at his bossy companion agent, wondering what was really going on. She hadn't had any trouble keeping up before. In fact, had been damned sharp during that quick exfil out of Dallas.

But by then, Tuesday had untangled herself from Ev, and Shane had another woman to worry about. She'd drawn her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and her chin was on her kneecaps. She wasn't making eye contact. She'd effectively built a wall Shane wanted desperately to knock down.

"You bet," Mother replied with enthusiasm. "Let's go by Tuesday's ages when everything happened. At sixteen, her parents were killed in an automobile accident. At seventeen, she married Frederick Lamb, then he died of a heart attack when she was twenty. At twenty-one, Astor enters the scene, assumes Tuesday's identity, and, while the real Tuesday is still in mourning, the fake Tuesday marries—"

"Never mind. Enough!" Shane ordered, ending Mother's accurate, but insensitive reply. "Text it to Everlee, Mother. We'll go over it when we have time." He couldn't bear what those details were doing to Tuesday. Her face was now stuck between her kneecaps, and, even in the muted lighting, he was smart enough to know she was crying.

"Oh, sure, you bet," Mother answered. "I'm, umm, sorry Tuesday. I got ahead of myself and… I tend to forget…"

"It's okay," Tuesday squeaked as she lifted her face and swiped a quick palm over her cheek. "This is what you guys do, and you're helping me, and I'm grateful for everything. Really I am."

"It's just hard, isn't it?" Shane asked quietly.

Oddly, Everlee's eyes were glimmering as bright as Tuesday's now. The women had bonded, and he was glad for that connection. There were moments when it seemed Everlee needed a BFF as much as Tuesday did. But what the hell were those tears about? Was something else going on?

"But I should know better," Mother said meekly. "Sometimes I talk too much. I'm really sorry, honey. I hope you know that."

"I do," Tuesday replied hoarsely. She wiped her other cheek, but still didn't meet Shane's eyes. Damn it. He'd let Mother rattle on too long.

Shane thumbed the burner phone off speaker and asked Mother, "Do you know for certain that Astor stalked Lamb?"

"Yes. There are hidden cameras all over One57," she answered. "I've got tons of video showing Astor following him. But the kicker happened the day he died."

"Keep talking." Like Shane could've silenced Alex's loquacious techie.

"She delivered a giftbag to the doorman on ground level that day. Got her on One57's security film, clear as day. She was all dolled up in a shorter-than-shit black mini skirt. A flouncy red blouse with ruffles, one of those sheer things that showed a black bra beneath it. Bright red Jimmy Choos, or maybe they were Louboutins, I don't know. Whatever. But she was wearing black silk stockings with those fuck-me-darling shoes, and like Tuesday Smart, she has damned long legs to go with that getup. She was every man's wet dream that morning, I'll tell you, and she started to cry when the doorman denied her access. Made quite a scene. Keep in mind I only have video, so I have no way to hear exactly what either of them said. Wanna bet he was telling her there was no way in hell he was letting her in Lamb's condo?"

"Smart man." Shane cleared his throat to keep Mother's monologue moving along.

"Want to bet that gift is what killed Lamb? What caused his heart attack?"

"Possibly. Please tell me NYPD has the bag and its contents in their possession, and that they wore gloves when they examined it."

"I have no idea if they even looked for it. Why would they? But Tuesday was with him. She called the EMTs. Why don't you ask her where the bag is?"

"Please hold," Shane answered. Resting the burner phone face up on his thigh, he asked, "Tuesday? Sorry, but do you recall a gift being delivered the morning Frederick passed? Someone from the hotel would've delivered it."

A blank stare gazed back at him, and Shane felt bad for her all over again. There was so much little girl inside Tuesday, and that little girl had lost so much.

"Y-yes. Freddie was excited to get it. He thought it was an antique book he'd ordered. Only it was one of those fake books with a tiny silver key instead, the kind that's really a safe. You can get them on Amazon. But when he unlocked the book, it was empty."

"Not even a card or note?" Shane asked.

She shook her head. "No, nothing."

"Do you know where the bag and book are now?"

Her shoulders shuddered with a sigh. "When I came back from the hospital, you know, after he died, I put the book back in the bag and set it in his bedroom closet. He was my best friend!"

Her last comment was thrown out with plenty of pain, and Shane caught the defensive flash in Everlee's eyes. "Sorry ladies, but I had to ask," he explained contritely. "If the FBI can prove Frederick Lamb's death wasn't caused by a cardiac event, but by whatever he touched or inhaled that morning, then the gift Astor delivered to his condo holds the evidence we need to prove she murdered him, not the real Tuesday."

Devastation flashed like a thundercloud across Tuesday's already beleaguered countenance. "I had nothing when he rescued me after Mom and Dad died. Then Freddie died, and now, and now… I have nothing all over again."

Everlee tugged her back into a lopsided hug. "You've got us, Shane and me."

"It's godawful hard to lose people you love, isn't it?" Shane asked.

"You understand?" Tuesday asked, big fat tears running down her cheeks again.

He nodded, not wanting to go down this road again, but doing it nonetheless. "Yeah, I know. My mom… she died. Cancer. She was all I had. Started out as breast cancer; ended up in her bones, eating her alive. It was" —he swallowed hard— "the toughest thing I've lived through. We didn't have any other family, so" —his heart was beating like a robin caught in his ribcage by then— "so, yeah, I know how you felt that day. How you still feel. But then…"

God, why was he doing this? To help her understand that she wasn't alone? To somehow redeem himself from the guilt he carried for ever thinking she could've killed her husband or Bremmer or those kids? Shane honestly didn't know if he was being selfless or selfish. He just wanted her to stop feeling alone.

He cleared his throat and started again. "But then" —another deep breath that brought no relief or enough air— "I was in an accident the morning after Mom died, and I… I killed two innocent people."

"Oh, Shane," Everlee whispered.

But he didn't want pity. He'd just wanted Tuesday to understand that shit happened. That life sucked sometimes, but it did go on. It was still worth living.

"Jesus Christ, this is hard," he hissed, wiping a quick hand over his face before he lost it completely. "But Tuesday, I promise you that Freddie wants you to keep living, just like my mom wants me to keep going. They loved us when they were alive. They still do. We honor them by living the best way we know how."

But he'd forgotten Mother was listening. Deliberately, his thumb pressed the OFF button, ending the connection. As smart as she was, Mother had probably already put two and two together, was no doubt researching the exact date of his mother's death. Possibly already knew he was the reason behind Stewart's rage at the world. A rage he hid very well, just not well enough that another bastard who'd lost everyone he'd loved wouldn't recognize the same black pit of grief and despair when he saw it. And Shane saw it every damned time he looked in his mirror.

All the anger he'd patiently stored, day after day and year after year, was nothing but a mountain of grief for all he'd lost that morning and the pain he'd inflicted on an innocent man. Shane was that greedy dragon Smaug in Tolkien's novel, The Hobbit . But instead of gold, Shane had hoarded enough self-hatred, disgust, and anger to fill an ocean. Surprisingly, he was recognizing that very obvious shortcoming now. Shit, he was as broken as Tuesday.

He cast his eyes to the dusty floor between him and probably the only two friends he had in the United States. He was his own worst enemy, and he'd banked those embers of rage and grief for years, until the fire they created had nearly consumed him. It was only in his reaching out to Tuesday that he'd inadvertently discovered the answer to his own riddle in life. How to let go .

Shane let his chest expand with the stifled air in this, his most recent hideaway. He almost felt good. Well, better. Alex didn't hate him like he'd expected. Neither did his mom, Sara, or Abby. He sucked in another deep, cleansing breath and faced his truth.

Maybe it was time to stop beating himself up for something he could neither change nor forget. Maybe it was time to truly live again.