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Maggie and Wes were married. And they were expecting a little bundle of joy. Corbett marveled at how lives could change so quickly, almost overnight. His own was changing too, and for the better. He was dating Naomi, and he couldn’t be happier about it. She was beautiful and smart and spunky, and he had fallen fast and hard for her, but that was the way he did mostly everything.
In such a short time, they’d been through a lot together. Their relationship, though new, had been put to the test. But they’d survived, and were stronger for it.
Vincent Heston had started talking once the DA promised protective custody and no death penalty. He’d told them where Tammy and Hank were… in Matamoros. Both were brought back, safe but not necessarily sound. Poor Tammy was traumatized. Her husband was dead, and her baby didn’t remember her. But she was alive, and Corbett believed anyone could start over with the right support.
Hank was… Hank. After Raven had quit working at the bakery in order to finish her novel, he had taken over her job. Cheryl had told him he only had one chance not to screw up. He’d been there three months now, and he was still going strong. Corbett found it all quite hilarious, but it was proof that anyone could straighten out their lives if given a second chance. Or a millionth chance, in Hank’s case.
Heston had told them Ayden Styles’ crew killed Sam and that Sam had been the one to take the cocaine out of the vault that day. When Corbett went back and reviewed the surveillance tapes, sure enough, Sam had been there. He seemed to have the same effect on the clerk working that day, an older woman, as he’d had on Sue. The clerk had let Sam enter the vault without signing in, and she hadn’t checked his bag on the way out.
No one ever found out who ended up with the cocaine, but Corbett’s money was on Ayden. The charges were dropped against Naomi anyway. The DA knew, with Heston’s statement and Sam on the video, they would lose.
The test of their relationship had come when more charges were brought up on Ayden. Until they had sufficient evidence, they weren’t prosecuting him for Sam’s murder, but they had drawn up several drug trafficking charges based on Vincent’s testimony. As a public defender, Naomi had been forced to represent Ayden, even though she was almost certain he had set her up to take the fall for the missing cocaine. It pained Corbett to watch his girlfriend defend the man who had ordered the hit on Sam. But he knew that if Justin wasn’t in prison, she would have walked away from her job rather than help Ayden in any way.
The judge had dismissed their case. Ayden’s hands were basically out of everything that had happened, yet in it all at the same time. Unfortunately for the DEA, the great American system was set up to keep innocent men out of prison, so Ayden was released based on lack of evidence. Corbett thought about Ayden often, particularly about the vault under the staircase of the bike shop. He never did get a look in it. He had yet to find probable cause, which he hadn’t given up searching for.
Naomi’s brother would be out in less than six months now. Corbett was relieved that it meant she would finally have her life back. Total freedom. But he was a little worried about how she would be affected by Justin’s release. He hoped that the boy was ready to be a man and stop putting his sister through hell.
Heston had refused to implicate his father in anything, and he had also refused to say who his “Boss” had been. They had gotten quite a bit out of him, however, so they didn’t push him for more information… yet.
Corbett was just relieved that his involvement in the case was over. He no longer needed to go undercover in the Aryan Brotherhood. Vincent Heston was behind bars. His job was done. To mark the occasion, he had his ugly swastika tattoo removed. While he was in the tattoo parlor, he got another put on. This one was small and tasteful. He had it inked onto his chest, just above his heart.
It read:Conner.
As the partyguests clapped at the news of Maggie and Wes’s marriage, Naomi looked across the room at Corbett, who stood near the back door with Ridge and Jake. He was lost in thought, and as his hand crept up to the area on his chest where she knew he’d gotten a new tattoo of his brother’s name, she could guess exactly who he was thinking about.
She thought the tattoo was a nice memorial to Conner. She understood the grief Corbett felt. That was something they shared—losing family to an evil that was forced upon them. She was thankful her own brother was still alive, but that didn’t make the world any less lonely.
She had moved to Pendale to find a new beginning, but really, she’d also been trying to escape the solitude she’d felt with her parents gone and her only brother in prison. When she’d visited the town for the first time on a work-related trip, everyone just looked so happy. She wanted to know that type of happiness, too.
Every day, as a public defender, she was forced to look cruel men in the eye, those who were heartless. Without a source of happiness in her life, she was afraid she would lose her own heart as well—that it would somehow disappear amongst the monsters that surrounded her.
As hoped, she’d found friends here in Pendale, but she never would have thought that the one person who could bring her back into the light was a man she already knew, one she had passed numerous times in the hallways of the courthouse.
Falling in love with Corbett was by far the best thing that had ever happened to Naomi. He was still sarcastic, and sometimes—no, most of the time—he was overly opinionated and bossy, and he worked too much. And he had an unnatural obsession with his bike, Stella. But she had fallen in love with him in spite of it all.
With Corbett by her side, she had escaped her isolation. She’d found her happiness. Now, there were no more monsters. Nor were there superheroes. But there was bravery, and friendship, and humor. And, above all, there was love. Fierce love.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
THE BOSS
San Antonio, Texas
Bexar County Jail
Vincent Heston satdown in the day room of the protective housing unit he was in at the county jail. They hadn’t transferred him to prison yet. With all the trials he’d agreed to testify in, they’d be hauling him back and forth every day. He was okay with County for now. There was no hurry to get to prison, as long as they kept him safe here.
A group of men gathered in the day room around the television, but there were lots of guards around, so Vincent pulled out a sheet of stationery paper and began to write his weekly letter to his mother:
My dearest mother,
I am hoping this letter finds you well, although I know you are still grieving the loss of Papa. I hope that the prostitute who slit his throat will pay dearly for her crime, and that Papa doesn’t pay too dearly in the afterlife for his. I did find it odd that he had invited one to your home. It was an affront that I didn’t believe Papa was capable of. It was good though that you kept that old shotgun under your bed lest your throat be cut next.
Tell my Marcella that I miss her, and I will write to her soon. I look forward to her visit and hope that, when I get transferred, she will be able to come more often.
I know you are disappointed, Mother, about my choice to tell my story to the authorities. But no matter what they do to me, Boss, I will take your secret, that you were the mastermind behind it all, to my grave…
The guardswho later found Vincent thought the last sentence he’d written quite ironic. Everyone in the day room had been watching a football game on TV, including the guards, so no one knew what had happened, not exactly. They’d all been too distracted. They were, however, able to build a time frame. While the Cowboys were running for their third touchdown of the game, Vincent Heston had lain on the cement floor with a knife in his chest, drowning in his own blood.
In his lifeless hand was the letter to his mother, hisboss.
