Cainsville: Visions Part 52

Once he was out of the smoke, I went for my cell phone ... and remembered it was in my purse. I dropped down beside Gabriel and patted his trouser pockets. No phone. It must be in his jacket.

I raced back to the car. Flames poured from the engine, but they hadn't yet broken through to the interior. I fell onto all fours and pushed in through the pa.s.senger window. The interior was filled with smoke, and I had to close my eyes, pull my s.h.i.+rt over my nose, and feel around blindly. I couldn't find my purse. I didn't try hard because I knew Gabriel's jacket was in the back. I located it after fumbling and groping. I backed out of the car, sputtering now, eyes streaming tears as I returned to Gabriel's side, where the air was clear, reached into his jacket and- There was no G.o.dd.a.m.ned cell phone.

I crouched on the ground, heaving breath, my lungs burning.

Get Gabriel somewhere safe and go for help. There was no other option. The car was on fire. I'd never find my phone in time.

I looked around for a place to drag Gabriel. The car had landed at the base of the cliff, twenty feet from the river. That limited my choices.

I grabbed Gabriel's s.h.i.+rt again and hauled him another ten feet before the fabric gave way. I tried putting my hands under his armpits, but I couldn't get any leverage. He was too big.

I looked back at the car. Fire still burned in the engine compartment. How much longer until it reached the gas tank? Even if it did, Gabriel was far enough away.

I tried rousing him again, but after dragging him twenty feet from a burning car, I had to acknowledge that he wasn't waking up. I hoped he was just out cold. Otherwise ... I wasn't even thinking of "otherwise." I already knew the damage I could have caused, hauling him from that car.

I made sure he seemed okay, then started climbing the embankment.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT.

I got about halfway up the cliff, grabbing whatever I could and hauling myself up the nearly perpendicular incline. Then there was nothing else to grab, and I scrabbled for a hand-hold, my fingers digging into dirt, nails breaking as I frantically pulled myself- I lost my grip and fell backward, my a.s.s. .h.i.tting the ground hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I scrambled up and looked around.

The gully was shallower farther down. I really should have looked before trying to scale the d.a.m.ned cliff.

I ran, pain jolting with each stride. I was still exhausted from the fever, and climbing the cliff had me panting already.

I saw a path heading up the gully. Just another twenty feet. Ten- There was blood on the cliff side. A patch of bright red, just ahead. My feet skidded to a halt as my brain processed the sight.

Not blood. Poppies. Growing on the cliff.

I whirled back toward Gabriel.

A dark shape rose from behind a bush.

I hit the ground. Even as I dropped, my brain said, What the h.e.l.l are you doing? But I dropped anyway, and a bullet hit the cliff beside me, dirt exploding.

My gun. Where was-?

In my purse. With my cell phone. And my switchblade.

G.o.d-f.u.c.king-d.a.m.n it! I armed myself and then stuck it all in my purse like I was still a G.o.dd.a.m.n socialite.

I dove behind a boulder as the second shot fired. As I did, I thought of Gabriel. Unconscious. Defenseless. With a killer between us.

I dashed to the next boulder. Then the next. Drawing the shooter away from Gabriel.

Yet as I ran, no shots rang out. Instead, a voice called, "Stop."

It was a woman's voice. Macy's.

I darted to the next source of cover, a sofa, dumped over the cliff.

"Do you think I won't shoot you?" She fired a bullet into the sofa as I dropped behind it. "You're not going to make it to the road, Eden, and even if you did, do you have any idea how long it would take for someone to find you? I was behind that billboard for twenty minutes and yours was the first car I saw. I could have killed you, you know. We're both lucky that fancy car has side air bags."

"We're both lucky?" I croaked a laugh. "I could have sworn you were trying to kill me."

"No. I thought he'd be driving. The lawyer. It's his car."

She sounded put out, as if I'd deliberately thwarted her plans.

"I bet you're wondering how I intercepted you so fast," she continued.

Um, no. Last thing on my mind, really.

"I was at a motel off the next exit," she said. "Trying to figure out how to talk to you. How to make you listen to me. Then Kendrick called."

"And you decided the best way to talk to me was to run me off the road?"

"No, I realized we were past the point of talking. You'd figured everything out. It was time to cut a deal. Or kill you."

"I'd prefer a deal."

She laughed. "I'm sure you would."

I s.h.i.+fted behind the couch. As I did, I swore I smelled cat pee, as I had hiding behind the sofa at Will Evans's house, the odor triggering some hidden memory that started my gut twisting.

There weren't enough cover spots for me to dodge my way to safety. My best bet was to stall and hope Gabriel woke up. Which, given that he hadn't done so before now, seemed unlikely. Failing that, maybe if I talked long enough, I'd actually come up with a plan.

"You killed Ciara," I said.

"No." The denial came hot and fast. "I wanted to talk to her, but she kept screaming. The sedatives weren't working, and she wouldn't be quiet. I just wanted her to be quiet. I wasn't trying to choke her. It was her own fault."

"And then you embalmed her."

"It was his idea. Tristan's."

"He's the one who told you who you were."

"Yes. Tristan told me about my birthright. About Ciara. He took me to see her, that rich b.i.t.c.h, turning her back on a good life to tweak in a sc.u.mmy apartment. She belonged with my family-she'd fit right in."

"And you belonged with hers. So Ciara dies, and Tristan has you embalm her and cut off her head-"

"No, he cut off her head. But only to protect me. To erase any evidence I left strangling her. Afterward, he realized he could use her head to get your attention."

Tristan had done his work here, weaving Macy a story that she could accept. Sprinkled with pixie dust to make it go down easier.

A shadow pa.s.sed. I looked up to see a raven circling, leisurely, as if getting the lay of the land.

Are you here to help? To observe? To gloat?

The raven winged off toward the wreck, as if to check that out, too.

Not hindering. Not helping, either. There was no help here. No sudden brainstorm that would solve my predicament. Only the obvious plan-play along and watch for my opportunity to get that gun from her.

"You mentioned a deal?" I said.

"I want you to tell the police about the switch. That's what Tristan said you'd do. You'd investigate, and you'd realize what happened, and you'd tell the police. And then it wouldn't matter how Ciara died, because my real parents would have their real daughter and they'd be happy. Her real parents wouldn't care who killed her. They only care about themselves. Everything would be fixed."

Did she really think a murder investigation could be halted if no one cared about the victim? That the Conways wouldn't care about the girl they'd raised?

"So you want me to forget what I know about Ciara's death and go to the authorities with the DNA results."

"Exactly."

I pretended to weigh the moral ramifications of this. Except there were no ramifications, because once I got to safety, there would be nothing to stop me from turning her in.

"All right," I said. "You walk away. I'll say I fell asleep at the wheel. I had a fever last night, which my doctor can verify. I drifted off and crashed the car. Then I'll turn over the DNA results."

"Do you really think I'd make it that easy?" Macy said. "You walk away scot-free?"

Why shouldn't I? I wanted to say. I haven't done anything. But I bit my tongue and said, "I've crashed a very expensive car. I'm battered and bruised. I might have seriously injured a guy who won't hesitate to sue me for every penny of my trust fund. That's not scot-free."

"You're right. You need to get rid of the lawyer."

"Exactly. I'll fire him."

"I mean kill him."

"What?" I prairie-dogged up for a split second before dropping behind the sofa again.

"Is that a problem?" she said.

"Is murdering someone a problem? h.e.l.l, yes. You know who my parents are, so maybe you think that makes it easy for me, but no, I'm not going to kill Gabriel. I'll deal with any fallout-"

"It's not an option," she said. "You're going to shoot him with this gun. I'm going to take a video of you doing it. If you double-cross me, I'll hand it over to the police. Refuse, and I will shoot both of you."

She wasn't as stupid as I'd thought. Just crazy. Another shadow pa.s.sed, and I looked up to see an owl now, silently winging past to land in a distant treetop. Ravens and owls. Not so much an omen as a reminder of the puppet master pulling Macy's strings.

"Does Tristan know you're doing this?" I said. "I bet he doesn't. He wants me alive."

"Because you're valuable?" She spat the word. "Tristan is full of s.h.i.+t. I figured that out at that psych hospital, how he treated me there, like a prop in his play for an audience of one. You."

"Do you know why he thinks I'm important?"

"Because you're rich. That's why everyone is important. Your adoptive family has the kind of power and money that makes the Conways look lower-cla.s.s. And you don't deserve it any more than Ciara did. You're the child of murdering freaks. You should have been locked up with them, before you grew up into a monster, too. But no, you got special treatment. A special family. They put me with the Shaws and put Ciara with the Conways. And you? They put you with the G.o.dd.a.m.n Taylor-Joneses."

Put me? Had I been placed with my family? A child of fae blood slipped into a human home, a better home? Just like Ciara?

Everyone wondered how I'd vanished into the system. How the child of serial killers ended up with the Taylor-Joneses. How the La.r.s.ens "lost" me in a so-called bureaucratic mix-up.

The owl rose from its tree, winging to a closer one. I watched it.

"Who put me with my family?" I asked.

"The same people who switched me," she said, with a snap in her voice, annoyed with me for being so dense.

"What people? Why?"

"If I knew who did it, I'd be going after them, wouldn't I? As for why, money obviously. It's always about money."

"So these people are switching babies for profit. And that's all they are: people. Like Tristan. He's just a regular guy. Nothing more."

A pause. "You know who's behind this, don't you? Is it the government? Is that what you mean?"

Macy had no idea what she was really involved in. Why would she? She didn't have the blood. No one cared about her. Tristan was only using her as a means to his end. He certainly wasn't going to share their secrets.

"Enough of this," Macy said. "Time to make your choice."

"Fine. I'll kill Gabriel. But I'm not coming out of here while you're holding a gun on me."

She laughed. "Should I toss it to you?"

"No, just hold it up, in one hand, over your head. Then start walking to the wreck."

"Giving you the chance to jump me from behind?"

d.a.m.n, I really wished she was dumber. "Walk backward, then. Gun in the air."

The gun rose, where I could see it. I crept from behind the sofa, and we started for the car.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE.

While I would have liked to get that gun from Macy before we reached Gabriel, her gaze never left me, and she made me stay ten feet away-too far to dash and catch her off guard. I kept hoping she'd trip as she walked backward. She didn't.