washed his plate, rinsed it and stood it in the drainer. He reached for the skillet he’d used to fry a slice of ham for his sandwich and immersed it in the hot, soapy water. The old dishwasher needed replacing, but there wasn’t much need for a fancy machine when a man lived alone.
His son, Dylan, and Dylan’s new wife, Collette, had moved out of the old family house and into their starter ranch house two weeks earlier. They needed their privacy. They were only a good horse ride away, but Troy missed them a lot more than he was willing to admit.
Troy and Dylan had built the newlyweds’ house themselves, with lots of suggestions from Collette. She was quite a woman, even reminded him of Helene a little. Not that he needed a reminder of Helene. She was seldom far from his mind and never out of his heart. Never had been. Never would be.
But the last few months of working with his son on the house and the ranch they were getting up and running again had meant more to Troy than Dylan could possibly realize. Seventeen years in prison had robbed Troy of much of his five sons’ childhood and all of their adolescence. They’d grown from boys to men without him. Dylan was the only one of the five who’d shown any interest in having Troy back in his life. He prayed that would change one day, but he couldn’t count on it.
Troy finished the dishes and dried his hands. It was only six in the evening, but he was exhausted. Working from sunup to sundown did that for a man. Fatigue didn’t bother him. The prospect of spending another night alone in the rambling old house did.
He could handle the days, but alone at night, memories of Helene haunted his mind. He could hear her laughter, sweet and melodic, filling the house as she interacted with their rambunctious sons.
He could smell her fragrance, like a bouquet from the garden she’d pampered like one of their children. He could see her on Sunday morning, her dark, shiny hair dancing about her shoulders, leading them all to church whether they liked it or not.
But the most devastating memories came when he crawled into the bed he’d once shared with Helene. It had taken him weeks to even enter the master bedroom, had taken weeks more before he could bear sleeping in the bed.
Even now, three months later, he couldn’t stretch out between the sheets without his arms literally aching to wrap around her and feel her warm, loving body cuddled against his. Some nights the pain was all but unbearable.
He leaned against the sink as the memories swelled inside him. The gentle ache in his chest erupted into heated stabs that threatened to slice his heart into pieces.
The images swirling in his head darkened as the nightmare he’d lived over and over for almost two decades took front and center: Helene’s body in a pool of blood, faceup, her head against the hearth, her beautiful locks of hair matted with crimson.
The pain became blinding and this time much too physical. Troy clutched his chest as he stumbled backward, falling against the scarred wooden table. Each beat of his heart was agony.
Then reality checked in. This was more than grief. He was having a coronary attack.
There was a knock at the door as he tried to drag himself to the phone. The door was unlocked, as it usually was on the ranch. He waited, hoping it was Dylan. But there was no reason to think his son would return tonight.
He heard a child’s voice, or maybe he was hallucinating.
He fell over a chair and the crash reverberated through the house.
“Troy, are you in there? Are you okay?”
The voice was female, vaguely familiar. He tried to answer, but all he managed was a guttural moan.
“Troy, what’s wrong?”
He looked up and into the eyes of Eve Worthington. Now he was certain he was hallucinating. The last person who’d be coming to his rescue was the young psychiatrist who’d worked so hard to pull him from his emotional shell while he was in prison.
“Please tell me what’s wrong. Is it your heart?”
His response was choked by the pain.
“Hang in here with me, Troy. I’m calling an ambulance.”
The room began to spin. He tried to focus on Eve, only to have her disappear in a swirl of darkness.
He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. Not until he found Helene’s killer. He would not fail her again.
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM, Momma? Is he dying?”
“Shh, Joey. He’s sick. We have to help him.”
Troy muttered something unintelligible. She leaned in closer so that she could hear him better.
“Dylan,” he gasped. “Call Dylan.”
Dylan—the son Gordon Epps had mentioned. “I’ll get him,” she said, her fingers already punching in 911 on her unfamiliar cell phone. Once she was assured medical help was on the way, she glanced around the room and spotted Troy’s cell phone on the kitchen table.
She left Troy’s side long enough to get it. It took only a second to find Dylan’s number amidst Troy’s limited contacts. He answered on the second ring.
“What’s up, Dad?”.
“This isn’t Troy, but I’m with him. I think he’s having a heart attack. I’ve called an ambulance, but he’s asking for you.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. She wasn’t even sure she was making sense.
“Who is this?”.
“I’m just a friend who happened to drop in. Troy’s in a lot of pain and barely conscious.”.
“I’ll be right there.”.
“I’m scared, Momma. Let’s go home.”.
She looked at her son. “We can’t go yet, sweetie.” She held out a hand and he inched toward her, clearly frightened of Troy.
“Eve.” Troy’s speech was clearer, but sweat beaded on his brow and his breathing was still labored.
“I’m right here, Troy.”.
“Orson …”.
“Yeah.” She cradled Troy’s head in her arms. “He’s escaped.”.
“Dangerous … Stay safe.”.
“I will.” Even in the panic of a heart attack, Troy was worried about her. That was so like him. Thank God, she’d shown up when she did.
Joey tugged on her arm. She tried to pull him down beside her, but he backed away. “Is that a bad man?”
“No. He’s my friend.”.
The words didn’t convince Joey, and she couldn’t do much to make him feel safe until the emergency was over. Fortunately, the door flew open minutes later and a good-looking man in jeans rushed in, still pulling on his shirt. An attractive woman with flaming red hair followed right behind.
She stood
