Six months later …
If anyone knew the lengths to which she’d gone to protect what was left of her daughter’s shattered life, they would say her mind had been forged in the depths of hell.
They wouldn’t be wrong. She had traveled to Hades and back. For a time, she’d been helpless to do anything about Alexia’s condition other than provide emotional and financial support. The ability to compartmentalize her issues and solve problems were life savers.
Those qualities had also worked in Alexia’s favor. Mentally, she’d be fine. Time and therapy sessions—physical and mental—would take care of what Geneva couldn’t. Her blog had helped Alexia find overwhelming support, and she’d been invited to give cautionary talks to select groups of high school girls. She hadn’t made any decision yet, but Geneva would support any choice she made.
Alexia screamed then, which startled Geneva, who lay in the middle of the Olympic-size pool on an inflatable float. She raised her head to investigate.
Jaden had dunked Alexia, who was splashing water in his direction. “You’re a stinking, dirty rat,” she yelled as he swam in the opposite direction, grinning.
The two made her heart smile. Geneva sipped from her glass of rum punch, then closed her eyes. The two-week stay at the villa in Ocho Rios came to them compliments of Spence’s company, which owned the property.
She’d feared the setting would bring back bad memories for Alexia, but so far, she seemed carefree and happy. This holiday was meant to help her remember how life had been before it took a nosedive into pain and chaos. They had landed in Montego Bay, done the family rounds, and headed into Ochi to enjoy their vacation.
Every action that Geneva had taken stateside was relegated to memory. She’d done what was required and prepared herself to live with the consequences. Alexia’s happiness was worth the time Geneva would spend in her own mental purgatory. She sometimes saw Christian and his absolute terror at the moment of death in her dreams. Her thoughts drifted to that fateful day.
On the agreed date and time, Deja had done her part. She inserted the miniature control device Geneva provided into the electrical panel box at Radcliff Skyers’s house. The computerized widget served a dual purpose: disrupt and destroy.
When Christian stood in the kitchen at dinner time, she’d switched off the electricity inside the house, which lured Christian outside to the panel box to investigate—as if he knew anything about electrics. Having disengaged the locks remotely, Geneva allowed Deja to slide in through the washroom door and access the kitchen.
As far as Deja knew, the holes she punched in the gas line would be a minor inconvenience for the two Skyers men. The tubing ran behind the stove, which was situated close to the fridge with a counter separating them. She’d almost bungled her escape when Christian came back inside the house while she was trying to leave. The girl barely made it through the laundry room, slamming the door behind her, and had to huddle in the bushes outside.
Christian went to investigate, but couldn’t find what had made the noise. He’d gone back into the kitchen and raised the curtain. With the wind rag-dolling the hedges, it was hard for him to pinpoint what had happened. A moment passed before he lowered the sheer fabric and flicked a switch by the doorway, testing for electricity.
Two minutes later, Deja was safely off the property. Geneva reengaged all the locks and switched on the power. The moment he opened the refrigerator, she created a localized power surge through her tiny gizmo, sending ten times the regular electricity supply through the house. She’d taken a sure bet that the refrigerator plug would spark and ignite the leaking gas.
The two hundred-pound cylinders housed in a recessed metal cage at the side of the building provided all the firepower she needed. The explosion left a crater where the right side of the house used to be and exposed the foundation.
Christian hadn’t stood a chance. His scream as he tried to escape the resulting inferno still dominated her dreams. But that was all right. She’d known what the result of traveling down this particular road would be before she took the first step.
And to think he’d been egged on to rape Alexia by that devil, Sancia. After his death, Alexia had confessed that Christian yelling at her in the station triggered the memory of that exchange. She’d made sure Alexia knew she had the option of surgery to minimize the scar on her forehead—a reminder of that twisted pair.
As she trailed her fingers though the water, Geneva sighed. Poor Deja. Her case came together easily for the police. The incriminating video, plus the social media leaks she’d orchestrated since her return from Jamaica, didn’t help her case. Nor did the digital footprints that proved Phil had been set up and hadn’t actually stolen information from the university. One layer at a time, Geneva rerouted all her misdeeds through Deja’s devices.
Deja’s court-appointed lawyer had brought in the sexual assault by her uncle, hoping to arouse sympathy during the trial. The defense that Christian’s attack on Alexia had triggered a trauma response fell flat. Deja lost the jury’s sympathy when they found out her uncle had committed suicide. The prosecution team painted her as a vengeful, off-balance young woman. Those labels didn’t help her case.
A frantic call from Deja came through on the day after she woke from a week-long coma. “Please, Aunt Jenny. If you tell the police I was only there to—”
She’d shut down Deja’s cries with one remark. “I’d have told them anything you wanted if you’d done right by Alexia.”
The silence that met her soft words told Geneva everything she needed to know.
Deja had received her clear, concise, and unmistakable message.
At the trial, which was carried on the news, she hadn’t said much. A resigned air hung around her, and if Geneva could put words to it, she’d say Deja’s spirit had been broken. Pity. Her life might have taken a different course if she’d made a better choice when she had the opportunity. She’d have plenty of time to think about her transgressions while serving a life sentence. She had a shot at parole in twenty years. Who knew what might happen by then?
Spence walked through the French door with a tumbler in hand. He stood on the patio watching them. His slow smile told Geneva that her new bathing suit had made an impression. They’d have an interesting time later this evening. He set the glass on the table beneath the beach umbrella and approached the edge of the pool to watch Alexia swimming. He’d taught her when she was little, and joy was evident in his triumphant laughter. He stuck two fingers his mouth and released a piercing whistle, then applauded. “Yeah! That’s my baby, Alexia the Great.”
Spence watched for a while longer before diving into the water, barely creating a ripple.
Life hadn’t given any guarantees of a smooth ride, but they were here, riding hard for each other to the finish line. These people would always be her priority, no matter what it took to preserve their peace and stability. Family and good friends were priceless—too bad for those who didn’t know.
Some had to learn the hard way.