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The FBI and sheriff’s department had searched the tunnels of the old mine and torn Hicks’s lair upside down. Regan had told them about his files and boxes of pictures of potential victims and the public was breathing a sigh of relief. They’d found papers indicating that William Liam Hicks had sometimes used the alias of Liam Kress, taking his middle name and his mother’s maiden name, including the times he’d visited Padgett Long.
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Lisa Jackson
Was Brady’s sister involved in his death? That was a murky area that was still in question. No connection could be proven that she’d hired Billy Hicks/Liam Kress to rid her of her brother, but agents Chandler and Halden of the FBI weren’t giving up. There was evidence that Billy had stolen a copy of Hubert’s will from the Long estate; a corner of one page with Tinneman’s firm’s name and a spatter of Brady’s blood had been found in the dead embers of Billy Hicks’s cabin.
Ivor was broken-hearted.
Disbelieving.
Finding solace with Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam, even more entrenched in his fantasy about an alien abduction according to townspeople who’d run across him at the Spot.
Now that the reign of terror was over, and Regan was growing stronger, she was ready to deal with her personal issues. She’d been pleasantly surprised to learn that Lucky had given up his quest for full custody of the kids, and that Jeremy and Bianca seemed more than okay with the arrangement. Neither of her children had mentioned living with him and Michelle again. In fact, Pescoli had overheard them making fun of Michelle’s Santa pancakes with blueberry eyes and whipped-cream beard. It galled her that she felt an ounce of satisfaction in their attitude, but there it was. Both kids were out for the evening. Jeremy with Ty, his questionable friend, but Regan suspected somehow he’d find a way to hook up with Heidi Brewster. She’d warned him to take it slow and had even left a box of condoms in his bedroom, explaining they were for
“when the day came,” and that she was in no way condoning teenage sex.
CHOSEN TO DIE
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But she’d been there.
As for Bianca, she was staying over at a friends as well. Regan had checked it out. Bianca had assured her that “absolutely” her boyfriend Chris wasn’t going to show up. She also swore that she’d given back the “promise ring.”
Well, maybe.
At least she wasn’t wearing it in Regan’s presence. But that didn’t mean a lot.
“So,” Santana said, reaching to the coffee table where the remnants of some of Joelle’s “Special Christmas Bars” were scattered on a plate, “What do you think about moving in together?”
“What? Are you serious?” She was shaking her head. “I have kids to raise.”
“And you, darlin’, need a life of your own.” He chewed on the cookie, then took a seat on the couch next to her, lifting her leg with its air cast on her ankle, onto his lap.
“You would be a lousy stepfather.”
“I’d be a great stepfather,” he said, pretending affront.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She looked at him hard. “Is that what you want?”
A smile slid from one side of his mouth to the other. “I want you, and it’s all part of the package. Besides, they’re interesting to be around.”
“Hah.”
He rubbed her leg and she had trouble concentrating. “I liked things the way they were,” she told him.
“Hmmm.” There was disbelief in that syllable.
“What’s wrong with a no-tell motel?”
“Nothing says we still can’t do that.”
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