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She clutches my arms. “It was Bertrand.” Her voice is hoarse.
“We know. We figured it out.”
She pulls back. “Is he dead?” She stares at me with her eyes full of terror. I can’t even imagine what she saw in there. Knowing what happened at the other crimes, I can only imagine what he did this time with Dominique as an audience.
But I have to be honest with her.
“I’m not sure. If he’s still in there, they’ll find him.” We can hear the emergency vehicles in the distance, the fire trucks and ambulances. A squad car is pulling up to the house now.
Two officers exit the car and approach us. “Did one of you call 911?” one of them asks.
“Yes, I did, I’m Hattie Paris.” Hattie starts to brief them.
I let Hattie handle all of that. The only thing I care about, the only thing that matters is right here.
* * *
Dominique was admitted into the hospital overnight for smoke inhalation and for observation. Fine by me. Thankfully, that was the extent of her injuries aside from the obvious blow to the side of her head, clearly noticeable from the bruising.
I stood to the side out of the way when she was questioned about the incident. Fury and agony consumed me listening to her retell the events she had to bear witness to while she was tied up with that madman. The fire department and the police department confirmed there were two bodies that were recovered at the scene. No official identifications have been made, but according to Dominique’s testimony, it’s pretty certain they were The Sixth Deadly Sin victim and Bertrand.
Bertrand.
I sit by her bed in a chair holding her hand now that everyone has finally left her alone.
“A Beauchamp,” I repeat.
“That’s what he said. The only living heir to the slave girl and Bertrand Beauchamp. He led me to believe the surviving baby’s given surname was changed to Bertrand after they got him out and hidden from Bertrand Beauchamp.” She tilts her head back on the hospital bed pillow and closes her eyes. “It was you he wanted, Ignatius. He wanted to use me to lure you.”
It’s my fault she went through hell. She almost died and it was because of me. “I’m so sorry, Dominique. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. And then the next one as well.”
She opens her eyes and stares at me. “Don’t you dare do this. It wasn’t your fault. He was a very disturbed and sick individual. There was no way you could have known.”
She’s right, but that doesn’t change anything.
“It’s all so sad,” she murmurs.
I get what she means, I do, I’m not a complete bastard. But fuck him, he killed six women, it could be more for all we know, and he kidnapped Dominique to use her as bait. I hope he rots in hell. I hope his death was slow and excruciating. The only unfortunate thing is he can’t relive that horror over again for each murder he committed as vengeance.
“So, what now?” she asks softly, her eyes still closed.
I study her face, the reality of what comes next formulating in my mind. “Well, cheri, it seems when you get out of here, there’s going to be a long road of paperwork and court appearances, and reports that will need to be filed. First thing I think we should do is go to Tennessee and bring all your things back. Then we’ll get you a new car, let the department keep that one.”
She lifts her head and stares at me, the corner of that mouth of hers that undoes me kicked up in a smirk. “Mighty bossy, aren’t you, Mr. Beauchamp?”
“I seem to recall a certain afternoon when I opened the door, a particular woman didn’t complain when I dragged her inside.”
Her cheeks flush crimson. “No, Mr. Beauchamp. A woman would love to be dragged by you.”
I lean in closer and bring my mouth to hers. “We do ravage, Miss Chavelle, but we ravage properly.”
Then I kiss her, the first kiss of many for the rest of our lives.
