Page 44 of Dirty Valentine (A J.J. Graves Mystery #17)

Blackwood stumbled into the clearing, his expensive suit torn and muddy, his face gray with terror. He clutched a leather portfolio like a shield.

“Read,” Evangeline commanded. “Let everyone hear what your family did.”

With shaking hands, Blackwood opened the portfolio. His voice cracked as he began reading from aged parchment—a confession detailing how his ancestor had fabricated evidence against Bridget Ashworth, murdered witnesses, stolen land while she was still warm in her grave.

The fire climbed higher. I could see Jeri starting to stir, coughing as the first tendrils of smoke reached her.

Jack made a subtle hand signal. Martinez and Daniels began shifting position. But as they moved forward, Potts swung her weapon toward the pyre.

“One step closer and I put a bullet in that kindling. It’s soaked with accelerant—one spark and they go up like Roman candles.”

Jack froze. Even if he took Potts out, her death grip could pull the trigger. The fire would spread faster than he could reach them.

“Smart choice.” Potts’s satisfaction was evident even through the electronic distortion. “You’re learning not to be as reckless as your ancestor.”

The flames were already climbing toward the center of the pyre. Every second meant less chance of rescue, but any aggressive move meant watching his parents burn alive.

I could see the calculation playing out in Jack’s mind—angles, distances, probabilities. His training said move, but the tactical situation said wait. Either choice could be fatal.

The fire crept higher. Smoke began to curl around Jeri and Richard, and both were starting to cough more violently.

“Time’s running out, Sheriff,” Judith called mockingly.

That’s when I noticed Jeri’s hands moving. Not random struggling—deliberate, purposeful work. She was picking at the ropes with her fingertips, using techniques I recognized from her arthritis therapy sessions.

“Keep them talking,” I whispered to Jack.

He caught the movement too, his stance shifting almost imperceptibly.

“So this was all revenge?” His voice carried across the clearing. “Three centuries of planning?”

“Justice,” the three women said in unison. “The truth must be known.”

“Victoria Mills figured it out,” Jack continued, buying precious seconds. “That’s why you killed her.”

“She got too close,” Judith admitted. “I handled it personally.”

The DNA under Victoria’s fingernails would match Judith, not Potts.

Jeri’s hands were free now. She was still playing unconscious, waiting for the right moment while working on Richard’s bonds.

The fire was getting dangerously close—another minute, maybe two, before it reached them.

Jack made his decision.

He pulled a flashbang from his tactical vest. “Everyone down!”

The explosion was pure sensory chaos—blinding light, deafening noise, disorienting percussion that turned coordination to confusion. In that moment of chaos, Jeri proved why she’d raised a son like Jack.

She burst into motion, using her freed hands to finish untying Richard, then practically hauled him toward the edge of the circle with strength born of desperation.

“Now!” Jack shouted.

We rushed forward. Potts reached for her weapon, but Plank was already on her, driving her into the mud with professional efficiency. She fought with vicious strength, but training and fury won.

Evangeline tried to run, but Martinez caught her in three strides, bringing her down with a textbook tackle.

Judith fought hardest—she was the one who’d beaten Victoria Mills to death, and fanaticism gave her strength. But when she pulled the knife and went for Daniels, he broke her wrist with a sharp crack that echoed across the clearing.

Jack reached his parents just as burning wood began to scatter from the collapsing pyre. I helped drag them clear, checking vitals while he cut the remaining ropes.

Smoke inhalation, some drug effects from whatever they’d been given, but their airways were clear. They’d be fine.

“Mom?” For just a moment, Jack’s professional mask slipped and he sounded like a worried son.

Jeri opened her eyes, focused on his face. “Took you long enough,” she said hoarsely, then started coughing again.

The three conspirators were secured, hands zip-tied behind their backs. In the dying firelight, they looked older somehow, as if their failure had aged them years in minutes.

“It’s not over,” Judith said through split lips. “The documents are already uploaded. Everyone will know what your ancestors did.”

“Good,” Jack said simply. “The truth should be known. But you’re going to prison for murder.”

EMTs arrived as backup swarmed the scene. The smoke from the scattered pyre was dissipating quickly in the night breeze, no longer a threat now that the fire was contained to small, manageable piles of ash and ember.

“You okay?” Jack asked, his arm settling around me as we watched his parents argue with EMTs about not needing hospitalization.

“Fine.” I leaned into his solid warmth. “It’s over.”

As we walked back toward the boats, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had finally been laid to rest. Not just the three-hundred-year-old injustice, but the weight of secrets that had been poisoning King George County for generations.

The truth was known now. The guilty had been exposed. Both past and present.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, thinking about new beginnings and futures free from ancient vendettas.

“Pancakes?” I asked as we climbed into the boat.

Jack actually laughed—really laughed—for the first time in days. “With extra syrup.”

“And bacon,” I added, suddenly starving despite everything.

“Definitely bacon.” He settled beside me as Cole took up the oars. “Think your stomach can handle it?”

“My stomach and I have reached an understanding,” I said. “We’re going to get along just fine from now on.”

Dawn was breaking as Cole rowed us back toward civilization, painting the marsh in shades of gold and green that made it look like something from a fairy tale rather than a crime scene. Behind us, the last wisps of smoke curled into the morning air, carrying away three centuries of buried secrets.

The storm had passed. The darkness had lifted.

And in King George County, maybe the past could finally stay where it belonged.