Two days have passed since the incident, and I find myself watering my houseplants when a sudden knock on my door startles me, causing my heart to race. I consider the possibility of a squad car parked outside, prompting the visitor to knock. Yet, my instincts drive me to check the peephole, and a sense of relief washes over me as I see Leah.
I quickly open the door, and she greets me with an immediate and heartfelt hug. "Oh, I'm so glad you're OK!" I reciprocate, wrapping my arms around her, realizing how much I've missed her. As we pull away, I take in her appearance, noting her yoga pants and the dark red sweater beneath her black pea coat. Her impeccably styled hair still stands out, but I can see the signs of exhaustion in her eyes.
"We're fine, but I'm so sorry about your house," I say, leading her into the living room. I go on to explain that my husband and I were away for our anniversary, and our house had been torn apart during our absence. Leah listens intently as I describe the chaos left behind by the intruders.
"They were either looking for the ring or trying to divert the police's attention," I continue. "But they won't find it because Brock and I already did." I watch Leah's eyes widen as I share the story of how we found the ring and where it is now.
"Wow," she exclaims, visibly surprised. "We got in trouble with Gray, but he didn't arrest us because he knows the ring will bring Jeff down," I explain. Leah's eyes widen even further as she places her hand over her mouth, clearly absorbed in the gravity of the situation.
I go on to reveal more about our encounters with Jeff, including our visit to his home in Long Island, where he tied us up in his guest bedroom. Leah is left speechless by the time I finish my account.
"I can't believe he tried to kill you," she finally says. "It just shows you what someone will do to avoid getting caught."
"I think he's so afraid of losing his family that he would rather risk going to prison than have his wife leave and take the kids," I respond. Leah shakes her head in disbelief.
"You have to be careful. He probably doesn't think he has anything else to lose now that he will be arrested. He may send his goons to exact his revenge."
"Yeah, I know. But, after nearly a year, Troy's murder will finally be solved and possibly Goldie's as well," I reflect.
"I can't believe everything that has happened in the last 9 months. Nothing has ever happened on our street, let alone our neighborhood," Leah says with a concerned look. "I look over my shoulder whenever I go out or leave for somewhere."
"I know, and I'm sorry you got caught up in all this. It wasn't my intention; I hope you know that," I admit with a crack in my voice. "I will never forgive myself if something happens to you."
Leah reassures me, mentioning that she now carries a Glock for protection, even though she once detested guns. Her newfound sense of caution is evident.
Before I can comment further, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I retrieve it to read the three words on the screen: "We got him."
I share the news with Leah, and she departs, but I can't divulge any details until Jeff has been indicted. Left alone, I sit on the couch, contemplating the recent turn of events. I call Gray to get more information, and what he reveals leaves me in awe.
"Gray, tell me everything," I urge.
"You'll never believe this, Trice, but Jeff turned himself in," Gray shares.
"What?" I exclaim in astonishment.
As Gray continues to provide details, I hang on every word. Jeff's confession and the remorse he's expressed are shocking, and I can't help but feel a mix of relief and sadness. His decision to turn himself in impacts not only him but also his family, especially his children.
"That little girl is smart," I mention, recalling the day we were tied up and the way she had helped us escape without saying a word to her father.
Leah continues to voice her concerns about the remaining co-conspirators and their potential actions.
"I think he's so afraid of losing his family that he would rather risk going to prison than have his wife leave and take the kids," I reflect.
Leah shakes her head in disbelief. "You have to be careful. He probably doesn't think he has anything else to lose now that he will be arrested. He may send his goons to exact his revenge."
"Yeah, I know. But, after nearly a year, Troy's murder will finally be solved, and possibly Goldie's as well," I express with a glimmer of hope.
"I can't believe everything that has happened in the last 9 months. Nothing has ever happened on our street, let alone our neighborhood," Leah says with a concerned look on her face. "I look over my shoulder every time I go out or leave for somewhere."
"I know, and I'm sorry you got caught up in all this. It wasn't my intention; I hope you know that," I admit with a crack in my voice. "I will never forgive myself if something happens to you."
Leah reassures me, mentioning that she now carries a Glock for protection, even though she once detested guns. Her newfound sense of caution is evident.
Before I can comment further, My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I swiftly retrieve it, my eyes fixed on the three words displayed:
"We got him."
I hurriedly inform Leah that I have an appointment, and she leaves. There's an intense need to share this moment, but I remind myself that I can't say anything to anyone until Jeff faces indictment.
I lower myself onto the couch and dial Gray's cell phone number. After several rings, Gray answers, and I waste no time in getting to the heart of the matter.
"Gray, tell me everything," I implore.
His words leave me astounded: "You'll never believe this, Trice, but Jeff turned himself in."
My head flops back against the cushions as I absorb this astonishing revelation.
"Yeah, he walked in and told one of my deputies that he ordered the hit on Troy and tried to kill you and Brock," Gray continues. "He said he knew it was time to confess, especially since he tried killing you guys, and once you escaped, it was just a matter of time before he was arrested. He’s ready to accept the consequences. He also said he was very sorry for what he did, not just to Troy but to you and Brock, in particular. We questioned him for hours and he told us about the affair, the cabin, Troy’s accident, how Grant had poisoned him, and then when you guys came, how he slipped arsenic in your coffees and tied you to the bed. He’s now been arraigned."
I hang on Gray's every word, my emotions ranging from shock to relief.
"He said the guilt was eating at him because his daughter asked why he tied you up and wouldn’t let you leave. He didn’t have an answer. She then asked him what he would do if someone tied her up. He said he knew then he had to turn himself in and make it right, even if it meant he would be imprisoned."
I nod, remembering the cleverness of Jeff's daughter that day and how she played a crucial role in our escape. My initial excitement at Jeff turning himself in starts to wane, replaced by a sense of sadness, knowing that his children will bear the brunt of his choices.
"Yeah, she is," I respond to Gray's mention of Jeff's daughter. "He seemed very remorseful, even cried. He said he didn’t want his kids to think he was a monster. And since we know he didn’t kill Goldie or break into Leah and Trevor’s home, we need to focus on Colton, as he has the most to lose, aside from Jeff. It was his wife’s ring he lost in the same area Troy was dumped. But now that Jeff has confessed and told us about the whole plan, including everyone involved, we can now get them all."
A deep breath escapes me, signaling that it's finally ending. "I still can’t believe he turned himself in just like that. But kids can be very influential."
"That is very true," Gray acknowledges. "He has contacted his attorney, and his court date is Friday." With three more days to go, the anticipation mounts. "You and Brock will need to testify once his trial starts. Are you ready for this?"
Despite the reluctance to relive the trauma and confront the painful details about Goldie, I muster my resolve. "I'm ready, and I will call Brock too. He went to work to alert his team that he was taking a sabbatical until the case was over."
"Okay. You will need to come to the courthouse at 10:00 A.M. on Friday."
"We’ll be there." I bid Gray farewell and toss my phone on the couch, my thoughts racing to process this newfound information. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, recognizing that there are still three co-conspirators to locate. We're not out of the woods just yet, but the finish line is finally in sight.
------------------------------------------
After I shared what I'd learned with Brock upon his return home, his expression contorted with a mixture of pain and regret. "I'm glad Jeff did the right thing, but he alone destroyed his family. It’s too bad because he seemed to be a good father and loved his kids. Now, they will grow up without him." I watch his face, feeling an overwhelming sense of empathy wash over me. Jeff had been like a fourth son to us, a constant presence in our lives, almost like part of the family. I remembered the time he had mentioned that our game night was what a real family looked like, and it tugged at my heartstrings.
I reach over and embrace Brock, understanding the weight of the forthcoming testimony. "This is going to be hard testifying against him. I never thought he had the capability of murdering someone," I confess. Stepping back, I add, "But now, we need to be more worried about Colton. He’s still looking for the ring, but who knows if he’s still in the city after breaking into Leah and Trevor’s house. I doubt anyone else did it. And once the tests come back with his fingerprints, we will have solid proof. It could take weeks, but Gray can bring in Colton for questioning. I mean, even though he didn’t kill Troy, he did help dump his body."
Brock nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "Thankfully, I’m home for a bit, and we still have police protection. It’s almost over, Trice."
Later that night, after we'd ordered food for delivery and settled into bed, me with a book and Brock engrossed in his iPad, a sudden loud noise pierces the quiet, making me jump. Herc, our loyal dog, starts growling instantly. My head snaps up, and I see Herc's intense gaze fixed on the doorway, ears perked up. Brock, too, had heard it. He reaches into his nightstand drawer, retrieving his gun, and with a tense motion, he cocks it and points it toward the door. My heart races as fear grips me, and I dread what might be on the other side.
Brock climbs out of bed and moves silently toward the door, the gun leading the way. "SHHHH, Herc," he whispers, glancing back at me. "Stay here and close the door behind me."
"Brock, please be careful," I implore, hurrying out of bed to follow him to the door. He ventures out, with the loaded gun guiding his path. I try to keep Herc from following, gently taking hold of his collar, urging him back, and then closing the door. My hands are clammy, and panic surges within me. I could do nothing but wait, hoping it wasn't Colton inside our home and praying for Brock's safety.
I strain to listen through the door but can’t discern anything. To keep Herc from growling, I stroke his ears and whisper soothing words. I briefly contemplate hiding in the bathroom, but then I hear a gunshot echo through the house. Without hesitation, I fling the door open and rush into the hallway.
"Stay down!" Brock's voice reaches me, sounding like he’s in the living room. I hurry down the stairs to find Brock aiming his gun at a figure clad in a black ski mask, jeans, and a hoodie. The intruder clutches his leg, blood gushing from the wound.
"Call Gray," Brock instructs me urgently. Fortunately, my phone, which I had grabbed from the nightstand, is in my hand. I rapidly dial Gray's number.
"Trice?" he answers.
"Someone broke into our home. Brock shot him in the leg."
"Be right over." Click.
"Who are you?" Brock demands.
Silence.
"Listen, you bastard, I'm not afraid to shoot you again."
"Okay, fine."
"Take off the mask."
The intruder complies, revealing a face I don't recognize. His short, spiky sandy brown hair framed deep brown eyes that glare defiantly at Brock. Bulging muscles suggest a frequent gym visitor. "I'm going to bleed out," the man whimpers.
"No, you're not. I barely grazed your leg," Brock retorts. I can see the blood still flowing from the wound, knowing it was more than a graze. The intruder needs medical attention.
"Brock, we have to staunch the blood," I urge, rushing to the bathroom to fetch an old towel. I return and swiftly wrap it around the man's leg, tying it tightly to stem the bleeding.
"What are you doing in our house?" Brock demands, his eyes never leaving the intruder. Before the man can respond, I hear a loud pounding on the front door, followed by Gray's voice announcing his arrival. I rush over and open the door, and Gray, along with Officer Lopez, burst in.
"Are you both OK?" Gray inquires, stepping into the living room and spotting the injured intruder. "Oh shit," he mutters. "Okay, we've got it from here, Brock."
Brock lowers his gun and lets it hang at his side. Gray moves swiftly to secure the intruder, handcuffing his hands behind his back. "Damn, chill out," the man complains.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..." Gray recites Miranda rights. While Officer Lopez calls 911, Gray attempts to extract information about the intruder's intentions and identity.
The man remains stubbornly silent.
It must be Colton.
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