Twice Dead: Never Back Down action suspense thriller, #2

By Sandy Paull

Six years ago Michael Cameron and Tate Renner's girlfriend, Erica Johnson, found evidence of corruption in the company they worked for.

They both died.

A photo Tate found amongst Erica's effects suggests she and the married man were having an affair.

In his obsessive quest for closure, Renner investigates the dead man's family and discovers more than he bargained for – dead men aren't staying dead, and Renner isn't the only one out for revenge.

Can he survive the life-threatening conspiracy he's walked into?

Will the truth take even more lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Paull
• Release date: Apr 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648459637

Book preview

Chapter One

The Queensland summer sun had a bite to it, nearly worse than a brown snake sinking its fangs into you, the owner of the roadside café at the foot of the mountain range had said to Tate Renner and Ron Sullivan while serving their burgers-to-go. And he was right. It was bloody hot.

Renner and Sullivan had chosen to eat lunch in cooler conditions inside the rental vehicle, but now Renner regretted the decision. Not having known Sullivan for more than a few brief visits to the man’s office and a number of phone calls during the last few weeks, the full force of how opposite they were hit home. Sullivan’s discomfort from the heat was obvious, and being in close proximity to his particular scent was enough to revolt Renner’s cast iron gut. To add insult to injury, the oversized, smelly man insisted on near freezing air-conditioning to combat his sweating.

From the moment they’d picked up the hire car at the airport yesterday, Ron had tossed his jacket onto the backseat where it still lay in a crumpled heap and cranked the air-conditioning to maximum, making a point of aiming all the vents towards his chest and face. Ron was happy as a pig in mud inside their chilly environment. Renner, however, felt like a Popsicle in deep freeze, forever rubbing his hands to generate some heat and clutching the lapels of his coat to ward off the cold. His request to wind the windows down had been constantly denied.

Shortly after lunch, they arrived at their destination to the top of the mountain highway. As soon as Ron parked, Renner sprang from the car, welcoming the summer heat with open arms.

I’m going to keep the car running, Sullivan said, shutting his door and joining Renner on the side of the road behind the guardrail. I doubt anyone’s going to come along in a lonely place like this and steal it while we’re standing here taking in the view.

You’d better hope not, Tate grumbled, gazing at the valley below and onwards to the township of Roseberg in the distance, otherwise you’ll be paying the excess as well as a hospital fee when the car-jacker is admitted for hypothermia. I’m suffering border-line symptoms as we speak.

Yeah, yeah. I think you need to get a bit of fat on your bones, boyo. You’re too skinny, that’s your problem. Ron glanced behind. Have you checked out the road? You can actually see heat waves rippling above it. I don’t know about you, but I feel as if I’m baking from the outside in. The local radio station’s weather report projected the temperature to reach thirty-seven degrees centigrade. What a load of bull! It already feels like fifty-plus.

Renner ignored him, as he had grown used to doing in such a short space of time, and took in the expansive pineapple and sugar cane farms that covered the hinterlands before allowing his eyes to drop down the slope toward the old crash site beneath him. A canopy of brown leaves clung lifelessly over the surviving grey-green of spindly trees and wilted shrubs.

This is where it happened?

According to the police report, Michael Cameron had been out this way seeing a client.

Renner had come to the mountain specifically to see this crash site and even though the accident had happened a long time ago, he hoped to interview a few more of the local residents who might remember the crash, and to find out if the man they once knew was the kind of person who would hand a death sentence to another man’s girl. So far they’d had mixed reports.

Angered by his thoughts, and irritated from sweat dripping from his armpits, Tate whipped off his coat and flung it over his shoulder, all the while making a mental note to check the weather conditions specific to a location before travelling anywhere again.

My eyes are fogging up from the heat, Ron Sullivan grumbled, rubbing them furiously. Who the hell would want to live here at this time of year? He placed a hand on the balding part of his scalp and made the mistake of leaning his legs against the guardrail. The scorching metal seared through the fabric of his trousers. He jumped away, yelping and pulling at his pants. Bloody hell! I could end up with third degree burns. He twisted his large body, but couldn’t see further than his distended stomach. Am I on fire? It feels like I am.

Of course, you’re not on fire! Tate Renner cursed as he loosened off the third button of his shirt, revealing the partial outline of a written tattoo and pale, pink-tinged flesh. He was already beginning to burn through the thin material of his shirt. Polaroids shielded his bronze-flecked, green eyes as he glowered towards the middle-aged man with the chubby belly.

Sullivan could sweat up a storm in the Antarctic. On the flight yesterday, the inflight air vents had been blasted for the duration of their one-hour journey, proving no relief for Ron’s sweating. Conversely, Renner’s shoulder had been frozen to the bone.

I feel like I’m having my own barbeque. Roasted Sullivan with a side of crackling.

For the love of God! Will you give it a rest? Renner growled, unable to contain himself any longer. Yes, it’s flaming hot, and yes; this place is dry, brown and dusty, and too quiet for your liking. You’re a city bloke. I know, he said, throwing his hands up in frustration. You’ve voiced your opinion more than a dozen times since we arrived, and I’ve had just about all I can take. We’re here to do a job, and you are dangerously close to seriously pissing me off. Right now, I’d happily shove you in the boot of the car and let you find out how hot it can really get.

Sullivan backed away from the tall, lean man with the chiselled jawline and a buzz cut hair style. Now hang on a minute, you young upstart. You can’t speak to me like that.

The hell I can’t. Do you have anything positive to say about anything?

Ron pulled a face. In this job? You’ve got to be kidding.

Then I will give you a word of advice, Renner snarled. Fake it, ‘til you make it. Start acting like you’ve got some nous about you. Be the man in your advertisement. It said, no job too small or too tough to handle. Is that true, or were you hoping to get paid without lifting a finger or working up a sweat?

Sullivan snorted. The advertisement never said anything about liking hot climates or traipsing off into the wilderness. And you can shove your threats, Flipper. You’re not at sea now; dishing out orders. Land is my turf, and remember, you came to me. You want closure for your girlfriends’ death? If it weren’t for me doing a bit of digging, you’d still be chasing ghosts and clutching at straws. He cocked his chin. My word of advice for you is to count your lucky stars you have me. I suggest you keep those dollar bills floating my way. Despite what you think of me, I’m a damn good investigator.

Are you a bit short of money, Ron? Renner said sarcastically.

Isn’t everyone?

They turned away from each other.

Tate knew he wouldn’t have gotten this far without Sullivan calling in a few favours from an ex-police colleague. He held up his hands. Okay, fine. I’m sorry for barking at you. The heat is making us both cranky. I suggest we both take a breath. Then we can focus on the job at hand.

Sullivan nodded. Apology accepted. His sopping wet shirt outlined the roll of fat bulging above his belted waistline. The heat is obviously getting to both of us. I, for one, could do with a sugar fix. Maybe you need one too.

More sugar? Jesus, Renner said, shaking his head. No. I want answers, not sugar. You, Mr Sullivan, need a health check. Sullivan’s cheeks burned deeper than his sunburnt flesh. Renner cautioned him before a response could be uttered. Your need for sugar is a medical issue. If I were you, I’d be seeing a doctor as soon as we get back to Sydney. For now, how about you take some photos of the hillside and drink some water. As soon as we’re done, we’ll jump back in the air-conditioning. Are we in agreement, Mr Sullivan?

Aye, aye, Captain, sir! he said, giving his interpretation of a salute. Your wish is my command.

Renner’s jaw muscle twitched.

An approaching car braked hard as it rounded the bend and continued slower than necessary with the driver and passengers straining to see what the two men were doing.

Nothing to see here today, folks, Renner mumbled.

The accident had happened six years prior when a car driven by Michael Cameron veered onto the wrong side of the road and went airborne, obliterating the guardrail, and forging a path through dense scrub on its way down hill before coming to a fiery rest on an embankment overlooking the valley. According to the police report, Cameron’s charred remains had been hoisted topside in a body bag along with a few personal effects found scattered around, which had been thrown clear of the blazing inferno. The burnt-out wreckage had been left where it lay. A forensic team had concluded the accident was the result of human error. Case closed.

But the case wasn’t closed for Tate. He still had unanswered questions concerning his late-girlfriend, Erica Johnson, and her relationship with Michael Cameron.

Sullivan smeared sweat from one side of his brow to the other. Geez, everything’s so dry down there, he remarked, gazing out over the valley below. You know, one spark and this place would go up like a tinder-box. All those houses scattered in the hills would be destroyed if fire got going here.

Lucky it had been raining the night of the accident or a disaster, such as you say, could have happened six years ago, Renner replied pensively. He opened an envelope of photos and studied each one. Sapling’s had since grown in the wake of the crash and camouflaged the path of destruction. From what I can make out from the photos, luck wasn’t on Cameron’s side. If he’d gone airborne a touch to the right or even to the left, he would have missed the groves of trees. Might have saved his life. On the other hand, he shrugged, if he hadn’t stopped when he did, he would have ended up far below crushed and mangled inside a ton-and-a-half of twisted metal. I suppose there are worse ways to die.

Sullivan eyed his partner. You almost sound happy he’s dead.

Renner leafed through several more photos and stopped when he came to the one where Erica had her arms around Michael Cameron’s neck. Their cheeks were pressed together and they were smiling at the camera. Would you like to be conscious with flames engulfing your body? he mumbled.

No. That would be a horrible way to die.

Tate’s top lip curled. Then let’s hope he was dead before being incinerated.

Sullivan leaned over the guardrail, making sure he didn’t touch the super-heated moulded steel. Are we going down to the wreckage for a closer look? It’s a matted mess of grass and prickles. God-knows what else could latch onto us?

Renner recalled the café owner’s comments about brown snakes, and shook his head. No, we’ll stay here. There’s no point pulling out bindies and disturbing the wildlife. He stared at the wooden cross on the other side of the rail. It was decorated with bright plastic flowers. Someone has been here recently. The flowers look new, not faded from the sun yet.

Do you think the wife put them there?

The few people we’ve spoken to so far said they’ve seen her around town recently. Maybe we’ll get to talk to her and find out.

Sullivan waved at their surroundings. Is seeing all this making you feel better about the past?

Tate ground his jaw and shoved the photos away. No! Far from it.

Then let’s shove off.

A little while later, having left the winding roads behind them, they drove into the outskirts of Roseberg on their way to meet with a woman in her late thirties who was more than happy to air her opinions about the Camerons and what went on behind closed doors.

Sullivan narrowed his gaze. Miss Harvison, are you telling us Bower and Cameron weren’t saints like many of the folk around here believed them to be?

She folded her arms. Nicotine-stained fingers gripped the flesh above her elbows. The Camerons appeared to have it all. Steve and Michael were best friends. It wouldn’t surprise me if they shared everything, if you know what I mean. She glanced across the road and indicated with her chin. The Camerons used to live in that lowset brick house. Renner followed her gaze. Steve used to visit until late in the evening even when Michael was out of town. Courtney would walk him to his car and hug him in plain sight. She looked aghast. The hugs were way too intimate in my opinion, too affectionate for just a friendship. She gestured quotation marks. They’d always be laughing and carrying on, sharing some private joke. It’s a wonder they didn’t wake the whole neighbourhood. You should have seen it, sickening to watch. I was convinced she was leading Steve on.

And this all happened late at night?

Yes, she huffed. Courtney should have been ashamed of herself, two-timing her husband with Steve. Michael was probably just as bad on all his trips away. We all know what goes on when reps hit the road. They’re like sailors, a woman in every port. Maybe they had one of those open relationships, sleeping with whomever they liked. Probably a good thing she lost the baby when she did. The kid might’ve called the wrong person daddy.

Sullivan’s eyebrows lifted involuntarily in obvious surprise. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?

Would you like me to sugar-coat it for you? She didn’t wait for an answer. These days, I say it like I see it. If you don’t agree, then tough titties, she sniped. Michael used to go interstate quite a bit. Head office was in Sydney. Courtney would come home after driving him to the airport and often say she looked forward to having the bed to herself. Apparently, Michael used to crowd her a bit.

Sullivan’s features crunched. The conversation had taken a bitter turn. You think she found Steve Bower to be a better sleeping partner?

That’s what I’m guessing.

You seem to know a lot about what goes on around here, Renner said, forcing a smile.

I like to keep my ear to the ground. You never know when someone might need help.

He nodded, continuing his line of questioning. Did you and Mrs Cameron talk a lot?

Oh, yes. Nearly every day. She was like an open book, telling me all sorts of things, especially where her husband was going and about young Erica picking him up from the airport. I smelt a rat from word go, especially where Michael was concerned.

Did you voice your suspicions to Mrs Cameron?

Once or twice. It was like water off a duck’s back.

Renner cleared his throat. He’d been churning on the inside at this woman’s casual disregard for his deceased girlfriend. Do you think Michael Cameron and this Erica woman were having an affair?

Miss Harvison nodded. I’d put money on it.

Sullivan took over. Do you think Mrs Cameron might have been leading you on, filling you with false information to stir you up?

Harvison frowned. No! Why would she? We were friends. People like me and feel comfortable around me.

Ron ran a hand over his damp hair and wiped the moisture onto his trousers. Are you a hairdresser by chance?

No. Why? Do you need a trim? she grinned.

No. Just curious as to your occupation. You seem conversational, like you’d have good customer service skills.

I’m a barmaid at the Crown Hotel.

Ah! And who doesn’t love a drink and a chat, Sullivan said, grinning. Does Mrs Cameron come to Roseberg often?

Every couple of years. She seems to do everything in two’s and threes. Two sets of twins, three other children. Two lovers. She’s been married to a new bloke for three years, a rich business man. God knows who she might have on the side these days. I don’t know if the new husband is aware of her past infidelities. No doubt she will land on her feet if the bottom falls out of this marriage. She huffed and crossed her arms defensively. The hide of the woman. You know, the first time Courtney came back home was two years after Michael’s death, and she picked up right where she left off with Steve. I saw them sneak into a motel. They didn’t come out for ages. What a nerve!

Renner scribbled a few sentences in his pocket-sized notebook. What was your relationship to Steve Bower?

Miss Harvison shifted her weight. We didn’t have one. Her crusty lips twitched and puckered. We went through school together. He took me to prom night, but I guess he liked blondes more than brunettes.

You were in love with Bower. It was more of a statement than a question.

At the time, yes, but he didn’t return my feelings.

What happened after Mrs Cameron’s so-called interlude with Steve Bower?

He was killed in a home invasion a few days later. Her lips trembled. Poor man was beaten to death. It could have happened to anyone, I suppose. People chasing drugs, probably, she speculated. The newspapers were vague about the details. Before his death, Steve looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I tried to lend a sympathetic ear as friends do, but he palmed me off, saying he was fine. You know, I actually thought he would follow Courtney to Sydney, but instead he stayed here. A few of us share the same opinion about her. If she’d stayed away, Steve might be alive today.

Sullivan frowned. You think Mrs Cameron had something to do with Steve Bower’s death?

As sure as I am standing here. Maybe not directly linked, but Michael and Steve used to work together, and Courtney caused a lot of waves blaming the company for her husband’s death. The local paper had a field day with her lies. Company directors were hounded. She wouldn’t accept the accident was human error. She’s just a trouble-maker.

Renner narrowed his gaze. But two years later, the company was found to have been involved in all sorts of illegal activities. Surely, you can’t blame her for their underhandedness?

Believe what you will. Her interference cost a few people their lives. She glared and pointed a finger in a westerly direction. Every time she comes here, she has the nerve to visit Steve’s grave. I feel sorry for Michael, lying metres away from his best friend and having to put up with his wife crying over another man’s rotting casket. Since Steve’s passing, we try not to bring up the past. Her family keeps to themselves and so do we.

Renner nodded at Miss Harvison. Thanks for talking to us, and we’re sorry to have poked at tender wounds.

The crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes crinkled with a smile. That’s quite okay. Like I said before, I like to help wherever I can.

Both men bid her farewell and walked in silence to the car.

Sullivan slammed the driver’s door shut. Well, it doesn’t get any clearer than that. Miss Harvison is a nosey neighbour who is jealous of Courtney Cameron, or should I say, Courtney Lincoln?

Either will do. And you’re right. Miss Harvison sounds like the ring-leader of a rejected girlfriend’s club. I’d say she’d been holding out for Bower to change his mind about her. He glanced out the window as Sullivan drove to their next port-of-call. And it never happened. Do we take Harvison’s word about Michael Cameron, or his wife, having an affair?

Hard to say. Harvison is a bitter woman. It’s obvious she wants to blame someone for a lost love. She has no ring on her finger and doesn’t appear to take any pride in herself or where she lives, going by the state of the house and yard. Probably gets free booze at the Crown.

I agree. She was way too thin to be healthy. Probably substitutes cigarettes for food.

Sullivan squirmed in his seat. What is it with you and this health shit? Did you have a secret ambition to become a doctor or something?

Renner levelled his gaze to the older man. Watch your mouth, Sullivan.

I do, especially when it concerns food! Where to next? The sister’s place? The big man relaxed behind the steering wheel with his finger hovering over the GPS.

I’d rather drop by the cemetery first just to have a look around. Then we’ll head over to the sister’s place, Renner replied, decidedly.

Then be prepared for a frosty reception, Ron said, searching for the location. In my experience, it’s hard to bring up the past with family members – especially following a death, regardless of how long ago it happened – but I’m sure we can handle it, he assured Renner.

Chapter Two

Courtney Lincoln’s chin quivered as she stared down at her late-husband’s grave site. Her three children, Mitchell, Sarah, and Ben, placed colourful bouquets of flowers at the base of their father’s headstone.

It was hard to believe Michael Cameron had been gone six years. The first few years after his death had been tough on everyone. Stress had caused Courtney to miscarry, and two years after moving her family from Roseberg to Sydney, Mike Turner, a contract killer intent on finding incriminating evidence which Michael had hidden before his death, threatened their lives. Together with Damian Lincoln’s help, they had overpowered him, but once again, the stress had been too much and she had lost one of her and Damian’s unborn triplets. Then, Steve Bower, her and Michael’s dearest friend who’d lived in Roseberg, had also died, but it was never confirmed if Mike Turner was responsible for his death or not.

As you can see, Courtney said, wiping tears away and speaking as if Michael was right there in front of them, the boys have grown to look like you, blond hair, blue eyes with adorable smiles. They are a constant reminder of you, my love. Her throat muscles worked hard, constricting her sobs.

Mitchell stood beside his nineteen-year-old twin sister. Sarah’s turning a few heads, too. I nearly have to beat the boys off with a stick.

Ben, who was turning eleven towards the end of the year glanced at his older brother. Since when do you carry a stick, Mitch?

It’s a figure of speech.

The boy shrugged. Oh.

Sarah sniffed. Alex and Hannah are growing up fast too, Dad. They’re four now, and they think so alike, much the same as Mitchell and I. Alex takes after Damian, and Hannah looks like Mum. She swallowed hard. I’m training to be a nurse. I like it so far.

Courtney crouched at the bottom of a smaller grave alongside Michael’s. The headstone revealed the name Emma, the daughter she had miscarried days after Michael had died. She placed a second bunch of flowers before her. It’s a shame we never got to know you, sweetheart.

Sarah clutched her brother’s arm, no longer able to hold back her sobs.

Courtney squeezed Mitchell’s shoulder. Have your say, and I will meet you at the car. Take your time.

No worries, Mum.

Courtney strolled across the grounds to another gravesite and laid a bunch of flowers next to Steve Bower’s memorial plaque. Hey buddy, how’s heaven treating you? I would have come sooner, but things have been kind of hectic raising a family of five. Mitchell is taller than his dad now and eating me out of the house. The girls love him, but as far as I know, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. He’s very protective of Sarah and screens the boys who ask her out. Sarah was left behind in the height department, but she’s taller than me. Not sure how Ben will sprout. Time will tell, I suppose. She smiled warmly as her thoughts turned to her husband. Damian loves being a dad, something he never thought possible. I wish you could have met him, Steve. I think, in a different life, you and Michael would have both liked him. He couldn’t come with us again. He’s juggling work and baby-sitting; finding out what four-year old’s get up to when his back is turned. Poor luv.

She swallowed hard and as her thoughts drifted between regret and guilt. Once again, I feel the need to thank you. If it wasn’t for your persistence, keeping your ear to the ground at work, those bastards would have gotten away with more than just murder, and I could be lying next to Michael. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. I hope that doesn’t sound selfish but I’d hate to think what would have happened to the children. She dabbed a tissue to her eyes and nose. I’m glad I was able to spend some time with you before you were taken from us. A light breeze gently caressed her face. She turned into it in time to spot a fair-headed man standing in the distance. Her heart flipped over in her chest before turning back to the grave. This probably sounds a-bit-out-there, but some days I swear I see Michael everywhere – like now for instance, over by the big tree in his favourite denim jacket. I know it isn’t really him, just my mind playing tricks, but it stops my heart every time. She took a steadying breath and glanced in the direction she’d seen the spectre. It? He? Whatever it was, was gone. Anyway, I’d best get going, my friend. Our flight leaves at five. Keep watching over us, will you? I hope you and Michael are having plenty of laughs up there. Catch you next time.

Sullivan pulled up outside the cemetery and left the car idling. Phew! The place is bigger than I imagined it would be.

Renner noticed someone in the distance and sifted through the photos in his lap until he found one of an athletic-looking woman with short blonde hair. Check out the woman on the far side of the grounds. Is luck on our side, Sullivan? Is that Courtney Cameron? He held up the picture to confirm his query.

Ron peered at the photo and then through the insect-clad windscreen. Looks like her. Seems to be a few people paying their respects today. He leaned closer, squinting towards the cemetery. Do you see the guy in a denim jacket standing behind the big tree to the left? he pointed. He looks kind of familiar. Not sure why he’d be wearing a jacket in this heat though.

Renner scanned the area. What guy in a jacket? I don’t see anyone. Your eyes are playing tricks on you.

Ron rubbed a meaty hand over his eyes. I could have sworn I just saw Michael Cameron.

Maybe it was his ghost, Renner jeered. After all, this is a cemetery.

I know what I saw, and for your information, people don’t see apparitions in the daytime. And ghosts can’t be caught on camera unless it’s night-time and you have real special lighting.

Whatever you say, Ron. Renner eyed the man after his eccentric statement.

That’s what I heard on television. But hey, don’t take my word for it. You’re the one who has a newspaper clipping from six years ago that proves Cameron was at your girlfriend’s funeral.

Renner shook his head. What kind of journalist takes a photo of people gathered at a funeral?

Who cares? It verifies Michael Cameron didn’t go towards the light like everyone believes. We’re going to nail his butt to the wall.

Renner pointed to the small gathering leaving a gravesite. Our girl is on the move. Pull in behind the Porsche.

Are you going to let me do the talking? Ron asked.

That depends. Renner put the photos away. Can you be civil? This is a cemetery. She’ll be upset. They all will be.

Sullivan cruised to a halt and threw open the driver’s door. It’s been six years or so. She’ll be fine, he insisted, eyeing the group crossing the manicured grounds. Not so fast, lady, he yelled, hitching his pants and standing between the two vehicles. He shifted his gaze from the two adult blond-haired children to Courtney Cameron. We’d like to have a few words with you. He straightened his back, shoved his hands on his hips, and the front of his shirt strained against several buttonholes.

Renner shook his head. Ron’s ridiculous pose was far from being one of authority.

Courtney ushered the children forwards. In the car, please. She turned towards the men. This isn’t the time or the place.

I’d say it’s very fitting, Sullivan disagreed.

She stood rigid. Fitting?

Renner glanced in the direction from where she’d walked from and gestured surrender. We know this is a sensitive time for you, but there are some questions we’d like to ask.

No, she said, walking away. I’m not in the best frame of mind.

Ben climbed into the backseat of the Porsche five-door rental and faced the back windscreen.

What do you want with us? Mitchell asked.

Stay out of this, kid, Sullivan said dismissively. We’re talking to your mother, not you.

Then you’ve got more than you bargained for, haven’t you? Mitchell said, the corner of his mouth tilting with the beginnings of a snarl. We stick together, and right now, you seem rather menacing from where we are standing.

For the tenth time in a few hours Renner cursed beneath his breath and waved his offsider away. Let me handle this, Sullivan.

The portly man stared at him with a stony expression and leaned against the bonnet of their hire car. Be my guest, Mr Renner. Show me how it’s done where you come from.

Renner’s lips thinned as he stepped forwards the family. Can you please confirm you were in fact known as Mrs Courtney Cameron?

Blue eyes flashed, hesitantly. Yes. Why?

Your husband’s name is Michael. Renner gestured towards the three sets of eyes focused in his direction. And these are your children?

"Michael was his name, and yes, these are my …"

Sullivan butted in. Drop the past tense, lady. What was your husband’s relationship to Erica Johnson? You remember the young woman your husband handed a death sentence to, don’t you?

Courtney paled and stopped in her tracks, gaping.

Renner spun around. Sullivan! Put a sock in it!

But Sullivan was on a roll. Were Johnson and your husband having an affair? Did she know about you and the kids?

Courtney clutched her stomach and stumbled on the soft grass. Sarah ran to her mother’s side and hugged her waist as she escorted her to the rental.

Mitchell stood between his family and the two men. His mouth twisted. Muscles flexed. You two have worn out your welcome. Get lost before hell rains down on top of you. He settled both women into the Porsche.

Renner clenched his fists. Jesus Christ, Sullivan! He hurried towards the departing family. Wait! We aren’t finished. I have a few questions…

Mitchell paused with one hand on the door frame. How dare you come at us with shit like that after everything we’ve been through? Why can’t you people leave the past where it is? He yelled. Don’t ever come near us again or we’ll call the police.

Car doors closed with a distinctive thunk sound and the Porsche accelerated away with the youngest boy holding up his middle finger as he stared through the back window. The girl remained facing forward with her head in her hands.

Renner ignored the boy’s rude gesture and clasped his head. I’m totally fucking speechless, Sullivan, he gasped. We’re in a cemetery, for Pete’s sake! Your sledge-hammer approach wasn’t called for. This was a delicate situation.

Delicate, my arse. The Lincoln woman has been deceiving people for years. We know it, and now she knows we’re onto her. You can’t afford to be Mr-Nice-Guy or assume she feels the same as you about being in a cemetery. You’re going to have to grow an extra pair if you want retribution or she will walk all over you.

Tate turned on the older man. I have what it takes to see this through, Mr Sullivan, and she isn’t going to walk all over me. I just would have done a few things differently.

Of course, you would have, but we don’t have a book of rules and regulations to follow. We can do whatever we like to get results, so I suggest you get a firm grip. The ride has just begun.