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“You were doing okay, as far as I could tell. You darn near took Diabla down.”
“Diabla? That’s what she called herself?”
“Her professional name, apparently. You beat the devil, Delta, and you’re still standing.”
His hand squeezed hers tightly.
She supposed it was too soon to tell him she loved him . . . but she did it anyway.
Epilogue
Three weeks later, Ellie sat on the chair in Russ Niedermeyer’s office, her right leg in a cast over her knee so it stuck out almost straight. The breaks on her shinbones had been close to the knee, so it was difficult to maneuver. Her head was tender. A concussion and a brain contusion that they’d caught before she was seriously affected. She didn’t really remember what happened, but Delta had related the events, creating a deep and abiding hatred for Clarice Billings, aka Diabla, burning within Ellie’s soul.
“. . . might have been a little hasty about letting you go,” Niedermeyer was saying. “There’s room for more than one reporter. Pauline is considering cutting back her time.”
Oh, sure. That was just like Pauline to cede airtime to Ellie.
“I want to anchor the evening news,” Ellie told him. The Diabla case had rocked the area, and the names of high-profile clients the one-time adult entertainment star—currently an academic at a well-respected private college, although that was bound to be over—was giving up, had reached into every level of North-west society and beyond. Good old Diabla had wormed her way into so many executives’ beds, once her years at West Knoll High were behind her, that it was, as they say, a veritable list of who’s whos.
“You know Alton is the anchor and—”
“I’ll cohost. I have no problem sharing, for now.”
“Well, let’s talk some more when you’re ready to come back.”
“I’ll be here next week,” Ellie told him with a smile as she struggled to her crutches.
Her star had suddenly risen with her takedown of Diabla, who was currently being charged with the murders of Tanner Stahd, Amanda Forsythe, Zora DeMarco, Brian Timmons, Booker and Harry Crassley, Justin Penske, Bailey Quintar, and Carmen Proffitt. Gale Crassley was charged, right along with her, on many of the counts as well. Though it had been Delta who’d physically fought with the woman, she’d demurred on all the notoriety, and, in fact, she was the one who’d told the media that Ellie had been injured while trying to save her, which was true. In any case, Ellie was happy to be regarded as a hero. Delta had ended up with McCrae, which was kind of a pisser, but she was getting over it.
And . . . it looked like she was going to be an aunt. Nia was truly pregnant and swore it was Michael’s, or maybe Joey’s, she wasn’t really sure, but it was one of theirs. Maybe. A paternity test would at least say whether it was the child of one of the twins. Currently, the three of them were living together, and nobody wanted advice from Ellie. Gale Crassley was being held in jail, and regardless of the numerous charges already against him, Ellie was going to go after him tooth and nail herself. He’d played with her that day; though there was suspicion that he’d known what was going down with Diabla and hadn’t wanted to be a part of the scene at the Forsythe estate, he had used Ellie as a convenient means of going to jail, no matter what his reasons. She wanted his ass convicted of sexual assault, too.
She stepped outside and rested on her crutches, surveying the parking lot of the station. A Range Rover pulled in, and Alton stepped out, smoothing his hair. Seeing Ellie, he stopped short. “Hi, partner,” she said with a smile. “Looking forward to Monday.”
* * *
Fido circled and circled Owen’s legs, and the little boy giggled and chortled, trying to grab the dog as it weaved in and out. Delta, sitting on McCrae’s couch, cradling a cup of coffee from the pot she’d made, couldn’t help grinning at them.
McCrae sat beside her, his uninjured left arm draped casually over her shoulders.
“You said the special investigator is no more?” asked Delta.
“Tim Hurston has been found to be in Diabla’s black book. Along with Hal Brennan, who has been trying to wriggle his way into Amanda’s parents’ estate, so he may actually be disbarred.”
“And Amanda’s brother, Thom?”
“Her parents are running true to form. They’ve ceded his care to a cousin, given him power of attorney.”
“A better cousin than Brad Sumpter, I hope,” Delta murmured.
Brad had stated that he’d been trying to atone from the moment Bailey and Penske died. He felt responsible for reporting on them to the Crassleys. He was an abettor, for sure, but he’d also worked against them, whenever he could.
“Sumpter’ll probably get some leniency,” McCrae said.
Delta nodded. “So how was today?” she asked after a moment.
McCrae had put in his first full day of work since his injury. He’d been surprised to find Joyce Quintar Kiefer visiting Quin, but had realized they were sharing a moment of remembrance about the daughter they’d lost. Lill, their surviving daughter, was an elementary school teacher and was moving back from Arizona; they were planning a welcome home party. McCrae had briefly thought of Coach Sutton’s comments about Joyce being unable to take her eyes off Tanner, but had kept it to himself. Was it true, or a fiction from Coach’s possibly jealous mind? Didn’t matter anymore.
“It was good. Mayor Kathy’s going to swear in Quin as chief.”
