“You started your own life of crime like your father’s,” Beau accused.
He shrugged. “I was used to living the good life, having money. I didn’t know how to live any other way. I was lazy, made money the old-fashioned way. Crime.”
“Then, why return to Mystic Lake?” Beau asked. “Why attack my cabin?”
“Part of making sure I was still safe from my dad was to come here every few months to see if anything was going on around the lake or town that might indicate they were still searching for me. I wanted to make sure that Dad believed I was dead. The last time I came here, I heard people talking in that big restaurant downtown—”
“Stella’s,” Beau said.
“Right, Stella’s. They mentioned some pretty Spanish lady who was going around town asking about a boat crash earlier. I suspected that might be Sierra. I was terrified that if Dad’s men ever came here, like I do, to make sure things are still quiet and under control, that they’d hear about that woman and would tell Dad. I also heard that the police chief was digging into cold cases, which likely would include mine since officially my body was never found.”
He shook his head. “It was a nightmare. I had to worry about Dad, the police chief, and Sierra too. If Dad thought for one minute that I was actually alive, and that Sierra was looking for me, he’d be worried we’d get together and I’d tell her about Mom. He’d already tried to kill me. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if he considered her a threat. Everything I did after that was to protect her.”
“And you,” Beau accused.
“And me. Yes. I wanted to shut down her investigation, and yours. But I wasn’t sure how. I wanted her safe, not hurt. I swear. So I watched, waited, tried to find out what either of you knew. That’s why I sent those men to your cabin, Dawson. They were supposed to gather information. But I made a huge mistake. I never told them about Sierra. So when she and that second cop showed up, that ruined the plan. They shot at her too, not realizing they shouldn’t have put her in danger.”
Sierra jerked her head up. “They shot at metoo? What doestoomean? They weren’t there to steal a laptop, were they? They were there to kill Beau but Officer Collier and I showed up with him, ruining your planned murder. That’s what you meant. Isn’t it, Esteban?”
Rafael groaned. “Brother, please tell us you didn’t do something that stupid. Tell us you weren’t planning to kill police.”
Esteban’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.
“I almost hate you right now,” Sierra told him.
He nodded, as if it was what he’d expect. “I messed up. A lot. But I swear I was trying to protect you, and Rafael. I was prepared to live on my own and never see either of you again so that Dad would never think I told you about Mom.”
“What about the man who really died the day you faked your death?” she asked. “Did you kill him?”
His eyes flew open wide. “What? No. No, I didn’t. I staged my drowning, paid off my fake witnesses to corroborate the story. But when Dad’s guys kept showing up searching for me, and then he hired a company to search the lake, I knew I had to do something to convince them I really was dead. So I bribed a guy to dig up a skeleton in what the police call paupers’ graves, where no one claims a body and the city puts it in a pine box without a funeral or anything and buries them. He was a JohnDoe. I put my clothes and stuff on him and sank the body. I wasn’t sure what would happen, but it worked. I saw the company that was searching for my remains take the body. I made my way to Memphis later and saw the headstone with my name on it in our family cemetery. I thought I was in the clear until I heard about Sierra trying to prove I was murdered.” He shook his head. “Why did you have to go do that, Sierra? That ruined everything.”
Beau pointed his finger at him. “Listen here, Covington. Don’t blame your sister for your screw-ups. If you’d gone to the police about your father murdering your mother, Sierra would have never come here trying to get justice for the brother she loved and refused to accept had simply drowned. She was trying to honor your memory. Nothing that has happened is her fault. That’s on you.”
Esteban fell silent, then whispered, “Sorry, Sierra.”
She ignored him and looked up at Beau. “Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand, then sighed heavily.
“What now?” she asked.
“I’m just thinking about where we go from here. If your father was anyone other than Michael Covington, this would be a simple matter of involving the police and providing them any evidence we can to prove everything Esteban has stated. Then your father would go to jail like anyone else. But it’s more complicated than that.”
Sierra’s brothers both nodded their agreement.
Sierra frowned. “Why? I don’t follow.”
Beau holstered his pistol, apparently deciding her brothers were no longer a threat. He turned on the couch to face her.
“The FBI has been trying to bring down your family for decades. A journal, a medical report, the testimony of your brother about the attacks, even the testimony of the man from the funeral home is nothing compared to the evidence they’vehad against him for numerous other crimes. And yet, they’ve never even gotten to the point of being able to arrest him for any crimes. If we can’t get a conviction, we can’t ensure the safety of your brothers, or you. You’ll be on the run for the rest of your lives.”
He gently feathered her hair back from her face. “Even if I’m your bodyguard, I can’t guarantee your safety against a man with your father’s resources.”
She swallowed and clung to his hand. “Then, what do we do?”
Rafael shook his head. “I don’t know that we really can do anything. We’re doomed to go on the run, like Chief Dawson says.”
Beau looked at the phone sitting on the coffee table. He slowly got up and retrieved it. “Fletcher, you still there?”
