The Last Breath. Kimberly Belle

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      “That your father is not a free man. This arrangement is a home arrest, not a release, and the prisoner is not to leave these premises under any circumstances. As your father’s designated sponsor, you agree to this, as well as to take care of all his business and personal needs until the time of his new trial.”

      I give Jimmy a get-real look. “We both know my father won’t make it that long.”

      He hands me a stack of papers. “These are the conditions and terms of your father’s home arrest confinement. He will arrive here in less than a half hour. He’s not constrained, but as soon as he enters the house, I’m to secure a monitoring device onto his ankle. Once that’s on, his movements will be monitored 24/7 by satellite through a chip in the electronic bracelet.”

      Jimmy’s voice doesn’t carry even the slightest trace of farce, and his hardened brow sets off more than a few of my internal alarm system bells.

      “If I see your father has left these premises without explicit written permission from the Hawkins County Criminal Court, I will assume he is violating the terms of the home arrest. This place will be swarming with officers before he can make it to the corner. And they will be armed and instructed to shoot to kill.”

      “Shoot to kill.” I nod, not quite able to meet Jimmy’s eyes. “Got it.”

      He takes offense at my casual tone. “I’m not playing around here, Gia. Every department within a ninety-mile radius is on high alert. If your father tampers with the ankle bracelet or leaves this house without permission, he will be arrested and returned to prison, or worse. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

      I nod again, letting my gaze sweep over the paper in my hands. “It says here you make exceptions for life-threatening emergencies. What if Dad needs medical care?”

      “I know what hospice care means, and so do you. It means if you’re going to play the life-threatening-emergency card, I’ll expect to come out here and find the house on fire.”

      I bristle at his thinly veiled threat. “My father is almost completely bedridden, so I hardly think he’ll be making a run for it. And besides, why would he bother? The doctors give him a few months at most.”

      I don’t add that Cal intends to make sure those few months are spent here at home, and not sitting trial in the county courthouse.

      “Still.” Jimmy hesitates, as if to choose his next words carefully. “You should be aware there are more than a few cops who don’t agree with the judge’s ruling. If given the chance, some of them wouldn’t hesitate to put one of their bullets in your father’s body.”

      More than a flicker of irritation seeps into my voice. “Then maybe they should speak with Cal or the judge, because releasing him wasn’t my idea. I had nothing to do with this.”

      He sighs. “Look, Gi, I’m not trying to get you riled up, but I want you to be aware of what you’re in for here. The law’s the law. People don’t agree with the judge’s ruling that one of the witness’s testimonies was perjured. They don’t like watching a convicted killer, even if he is an old friend’s father, walk away on a technicality.”

      “Do you include yourself in that statement?”

      “Are you askin’ me as an old friend or a police officer?”

      “Whichever one gets me the answer I want to hear.”

      Jimmy scrubs a palm over his face, and the set of his mouth softens. “Your dad was my little league coach until I was twelve. He taught me how to make a stink bomb, and he didn’t go blabbin’ to my mama whenever I bought condoms at the pharmacy. I hate every goddamn thing about this case.”

      “That’s not technically an answer.”

      “The hell it ain’t.” He gives me a sheepish grin that reminds me of the younger Jimmy, the same one who was suspended for switching out all the school’s videotapes for porn. “And I’d appreciate it if you don’t ever ask me that question in public.”

      I smile to let him know we have a deal. “Oh, and one more thing. I hear there will be protesters. Do you know if anyone’s applied for a permit for noise amplifiers?”

      Jimmy shakes his head. “Don’t think so. But Americans have the right to peaceful protest, and until they step over your property line, I can’t do one doggone thing to make them stop. And I hate to tell you, but they’re already here.”

      “They are?” I crane my neck and sure enough, a swarm of people is gathered at the far end of the driveway. Judging by their homemade signs and high-tech cameras, it’s a mix of media and protesters.

      “Your father’s not going to be the only one who feels like he’s under house arrest.”

      It takes me exactly one millisecond to realize Jimmy’s right. A chill slithers up my spine at the same time my internal thermometer shoots into the danger zone. Every time I step outside the front door, every time I so much as pass by a window, someone will be watching.

      Jimmy pulls a card out of his breast pocket, scribbles a number and passes it to me. “My cell. I don’t care what time it is. You call me the minute something happens, okay?”

      “Thanks, Jimmy.”

      He points to the papers in my lap. “I’ll give you a few moments to read and sign those. I need to make sure the house is secure and the landline is working, so take your time.” He stands, checks his watch. “ETA, ten minutes.”

      Ten minutes.

      But as Jimmy sets off to patrol the house and I return my attention to the papers in my hand, it occurs to me he didn’t say if something happens.

       8

      Ella Mae Andrews, October 1993

      ELLA MAE CURLED her legs underneath her on the porch chair and began reading the Kingsport Times News article for a third time. Something about Representative Quillen and East Tennessee State University’s medical school, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate on the words. She was too focused on watching the house next door, watching for signs of Dean.

      As new neighbors, Dean and her husband tolerated each other, but just barely. The men waved from behind lawn mowers and swapped small talk in the driveway, but their civil smiles deteriorated into scowls as soon as the other’s head was turned, and their attempts to hide their mutual dislike from the rest of the neighborhood were halfhearted at best.

      Dean and Ella Mae, however... They tolerated each other just fine.

      From the moment the moving truck backed out of the driveway, Dean had been circling Ella Mae with the single-minded determination of a mountain cat. The more he pursued her, the more she welcomed the attention, and lately even encouraged it, sending smoldering looks across flower beds and timing trips to the mailbox to coincide with his.

      There was definitely something wrong with her. Something that made her brain-dead where Dean was concerned. Something that allowed her to consider casting aside everything she thought she believed about marriage and loyalty.

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