Retribution (Secrets & Lies #3)(34)
“He keeps saying that I'm a witness, that with his trial coming up, he has to make sure that there's nobody that can be used against him. He's... Nathan, the way he's looking at me, I don't know what to do. I've tried to reassure him that as his wife they can't force me to testify against him, but I don't think that's helping.”
I nod, knowing what she's talking about. But that doesn't mean you can't choose to testify against your spouse if you want. “What do you want me to do, Margaret?”
“Please, Nathan... I don't know what to do,” Margaret says, obvious fear in her voice. “I know you're helping Jackson and the others. Peter knows that much at least, although he still doesn't know where you are.”
“Good, because he will not find out,” I reply. “And if you’re asking for your own purposes, you’re not going to find out either.”
“No, I don't deserve that,” Margaret says. “I burned that bridge long, long ago. But tell me if you can, Nathan... is my granddaughter as beautiful as I hope?”
“Even more so,” I reassure her. “And she is being raised well by a loving father and mother.”
There's relief in Margaret's voice when she replies, and I can see that even Jackson is moved. “That's good then. Nathan, I know I don't deserve it, but if there's any way you can help me, can you? I... I need to disappear, at least until Peter's trial happens. Do you know how, or if there's anyone you can put me in touch with? I... I'm scared, Nathan.”
I look at Jackson, who nods. “Margaret?”
“Jackson?” Margaret replies, surprise and emotion choking her voice. “Oh Jackson... I'm so sorry about everything.”
“I know. Listen, we'll see what we can do. Give us a little bit of time to talk it over, come up with a plan. Say, two hours or so?”
“That's fine, Peter thinks that I'm out shopping right now. I can keep this up for another four or five hours before he starts to suspect something,” Margaret replies, then chuckles hollowly. “If I want to go longer, I'll just tell him I'm having an affair. He doesn't care anymore.”
Jackson swallows, then nods. “Okay, Margaret. Two hours, we'll be in touch.”
I hang up the phone and give Jackson a look. “So what do you think? Is she lying?”
Jackson shakes his head. “Is Peter after her? I don't know. Does she think he is? Yeah. But Nathan, she's about as batshit crazy as he is. What do you think we should do?”
“We need to talk with our family,” I answer, standing up. “We told her two hours. She may be off her rocker, but we aren't.”
“You realize what you're saying,” Andrea says thirty minutes later as we sit around the main room, everyone's face written in concern after I finish outlining my plan. It set off a flurry of arguments. The only person in the group to have not met Margaret DeLaCoeur is Melissa, who is sitting next to me and has a deep frown on her beautiful face, disturbed. Andrea continues after seeing she has my attention. “You're talking about going back to New Orleans, when perhaps the one assassin in the world who knows how you operate better than any other is targeting a woman who is, well, not exactly mother of the year.”
“Does her being a bad mother mean that she deserves to die though?” Katrina asks, fixing Andrea with a stare. “I've got no love for Margaret, but according to Jackson, she's legit scared.”
Andrea looks like she's about to argue, then sighs and nods. “I understand that, Katrina. But not to put too fine a point on it, I'd rather leave Margaret high and dry than risk Nathan. He goes down there and tangles with this Isis Bardot, we could lose someone in our family.”
“We could lose members of our family either way,” Melissa says softly, her first words since I finished outlining my plan. “We know that. Even here, with all of our money and isolation, every time we drive down the mountain we take a risk of being discovered, of someone working for Peter finding us. But...”
She goes quiet, and I take her hand, wrapping my fingers through hers. “Go on, 'Lissa. Say what you need to say.”
Melissa looks into my eyes, so beautiful it hurts my heart, and nods, gathering her strength. “Abandoning Margaret would be something Peter would do,” she says, looking back at Andrea and the rest of our family. “Aren't we supposed to be better than him?”
Her question ends all debate on whether we should do something or not, and we spend the next half hour discussing how we should help her. We've still got a half hour on our self-imposed deadline when I go out to Carson's truck, a bag over my shoulder with my Colt in my shoulder holster. I put my bag in the back and my Colt in the passenger seat, turning around to see everyone gathered around. The late afternoon sunset bathes them in golden light, making them look even more precious than they already are, and even BA is looking at me with her big blue eyes, her little hand shoved into the corner of her mouth.
“You sure that's all you want?” Carson asks, nervous. He's carrying, everyone is right now, but he's totally strapped up, and I had to convince him not to come with me. “One pistol with three clips?”
“If I need more than that, then Margaret is dead,” I tell him. “I carry more, and I can attract attention, which is exactly what we don't need. I'll pick up a shotgun on the way at a sporting goods store. Margaret can use that, if she needs.”