Page 78 of Cruel Love
When I showed the paper to Jackson, he’d jumped straight onto thecomputer to see if he could find anything out, but of course, withjusta name, it was like trying to search for a tiny needle in averylarge haystack. We both agreed on one thing though. Whoever Helen was, we werecertain she was linked to Willow. Why else would my mom have had such a reaction to seeing Willow the first time they met? And why now? Why give me the name now unless it was somehow tied to my wife?
The questions were endless.
“Go on,”I said, impatience getting the better of me.
“Have a read of this.”
A second later, my phone dinged. I pulled it away from my ear andselected the email Jackson had sent. Opening the attachment, my eyes scanned over the news article dated eight years ago.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER DEAD IN SUSPECTED MURDER-SUICIDE, ONE MONTH AFTER FAMILY TRAGEDY.
A mother and her ten-year-old daughter were found dead in their car after being reported missing earlier this week. Helen Somersby, 34, is suspected of intentionally driving her car off an embankment, and into Sumter National Forest in South Carolina, killing both herself and her daughter, Charlotte.
The tragedy comes almost one month after Helen’s husband was fatally wounded in a car crash.
“That’s it? Where’s the rest of the article?”I snapped, reading overthe article again as adrenaline began to rush through me.
This wasn’t a coincidence. Jackson hadjustconfirmed what wethought - Helen was Willow’s mom.
“That’s it. It was a small paragraph in the local paper. I’ve searchedbirth records for both Helen and Charlotte Somersby, and marriage certificates to find out who Helen was married to, but I can’t find anything,”Jackson said, a hint of frustration in his voice.“This has got Legion written all over it, James. If I had to take a guess, I’d say the article was written to cover Helen and Charlotte’s disappearance after they were given new identities, and anythingthatcouldidentify their real names was removed from the face of the earth.”
I stroked a hand down the stubble coating my chin, nodding inagreementeventhough he couldn’t see. Aside from Jackson, there were other Legion members who were skilled hackers, it wouldn’t have been impossible to erase any trace of Helen and Charlotte Somersby ever existing.
But all the article had done was add a whole new influx of questionsto my ever-growing list, one standing out more than most. Why the fuck was the name Milligan written under Helen’s name?
I had theories, but there was one woman who could fill in the blanks,and I was determined to get what I needed from her.
The cocking of my gun echoed around the kitchen, the first noise I’dmade since breaking into Milligan’s mom’s house where Milligan had been staying the last few nights. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a bowl of soup in front of her, and she’d changed into her nightdress.
Night had fallen. The nearest neighbors were all locked away in thesafety of their homes. We wouldn’t be disturbed.
She froze when I pressed the barrel of my gun against the back ofher head, her hand holding a spoonful of soup hovering halfway to her mouth.
“Hello again, Ann,”I said menacingly, a malicious smile curling at thecorners of my mouth.
I’d never looked forward to killing someone as much as I did rightthen.
She lowered her hand, dropping the spoon back into her bowl.“Mr.Carter. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon. Bored ofthatlittle witch already?”
I chortled.“Far from it. Willow has kept meveryentertained.”
She let out a bored sigh.“I’m sure. May I ask why you’re holding agun to my head? You and I both know Legion rules state-”
“Statethatone Legion member won’t kill another Legion member?I’m aware. But as you well know, I’m rather profound in making deaths look like suicide. Or an accident.”
She fell silent. I wished I’d been standing in front of her when shelearned she was going to die, I would have loved to see her face fall.
“Wellthen,”she said after a moment’s pause, acceptance in her tone.“If this is going to be my last night on this planet, would you at least grant me the privilege of letting me finish my soup? Leek and potato happens to be my favorite.”
I pulled the gun away from her head and moved to sit in the chair atthe other end of the table, giving her a nod as I lowered myself down. I supposed I could grant her one final wish.“Be my guest.”
I glowered at her as she slowly fed herself several spoonfuls of soup.With every mouthful, she closed her eyes as if she relished each taste of her final meal.
When she finished, she delicately dabbed her mouth with a napkin.“How is she?”she asked, eventually breaking the silence.
I narrowed my eyes on her. “Do you really care?”
“No,” she replied instantly. “I never particularly cared for that girl.”
