by Hy Conrad
Will shrugged. “That was bound to happen, I guess, dealing with university girls. You hang around the same part of town and one of them’s bound to see you on a street corner or in a bar with another babe. Lesson learned. Time for a move, anyway.”
“You’re moving? To do what? Steal money from more girls?”
“Makes a pretty good living,” he said without the least hint of shame.
“Until you get caught. Is that what happened? Bri saw you on the street?”
“Total fluke. I was heading to a new meet-and-eat. Sweet little Asian girl. Very eager. Dinner at Mikimoto. I like that place ‘cause their security cameras are shit. Anyway, just got out of my car, a block or two from the restaurant. Briana happened to be right there. Started shouting at me, taking pics of my license plate. Then she took pics of me. It was just luck on her part, bad luck, taking a shortcut from somewhere to somewhere. One of those alleys behind the stores where you sometimes find parking spots between the Dumpsters.”
“And that’s why you killed her?” Callie was incensed. “You could have just taken her phone and driven off.”
He smirked. “How many numbers are on a license plate? Seven? Even a college girl can memorize seven numbers.”
Callie turned her head, then painfully pushed herself to a half-seated position. She couldn’t look at him. How could this be the same man? Will must have sensed her disgust.
“C’mon, Heather – Callie,” he corrected himself. “I’m not a monster. I tried to talk sense. I told her the bank withdrawal was a mistake. I’d been preoccupied with business and didn’t even notice. One of my assistants must have got into the wrong account and pressed the wrong key. I could fix it tomorrow morning, I said. You know me, I can be persuasive.”
“But she didn’t believe you.”
“She’d figured it was a scam, so I had to change gears. Okay. I told her, yes, I’d stolen her damned money, but I’d give it back if she didn’t go to the police. I’d do it right then. I told her I had enough cash at my place, which I didn’t. I wouldn’t have given it back anyway.” Will sighed, as if it had all been Briana’s fault. “She was stupid enough to get in my car.”
Callie could visualize a desperate college girl, desperate and trusting, wanting to believe that this last promise might solve everything. She might never have to tell her parents or the police or anyone else. “How did you do it?”
“You know how. I choked the bitch to death.”
He had meant it to shock, perhaps to scare. “And then what did you do?” Callie asked. “With her body? Did you have an accomplice? A friend? Where did you take her body?” Even now, she was trying to reconcile his confession with Keagan Blackburn’s actions.
Will looked up from his phone and smiled. It was the same bright, crooked smile that used to fascinate her. “You ask very stupid questions. Enough questions.”
“The police know,” Callie blurted out. It was the only way she could think of to stay on the offensive. “When I was in the lobby, that’s who I was talking to. They know all about you.”
Will took the news seriously. Then he smiled. “What do they know? Some good-looking guy named Will? I assume you told them I was good-looking. As for actual witnesses, ones who can describe me to a sketch artist or pick me out of a line-up…” With that, he opened his arms in opposite directions, one toward Callie and one toward her father in the corner by the TV.
Buddy was just beginning to move, groaning and pulling weakly at the bathrobe sash binding up his wrists. Callie’s heart went cold. “You can’t kill him. That’s Buddy McFee.”
“I know,” Will said, pointing to his phone. “Very impressive resume.”
“All of Texas law enforcement will be after you.”
“Well, they’ll be after someone.” He scrolled down his screen. “Your dad has a lot of powerful friends – and enemies. I was just looking at some out-there website. It claims the fire at the house had to be some kind of revenge, maybe a murder attempt. One of Buddy McFee’s foes from days gone by. Can you believe that? Well, it gave me an idea. One more visit from Buddy’s enemies. Of course, there’ll be a little collateral damage.” He looked up from his screen and winked.
“It’s not going to work,” Callie said. “The police know about you. They’ll know it was you.” She was sitting up now, her back pressed against the side of a chair.
“How could it be me? I don’t know who Callie McFee is. Even if they manage to find me, which they won’t, so what? I had two sugar daddy dates with a girl from the University district who told me her name was Heather.” His eyes darted around the living room. “You don’t happen to have a gun I can borrow? Buddy McFee must have guns.”
“Up at the main house,” Callie said, “under lock and key.” Up at the main house, she repeated to herself, where there’s an armed security guard.
“Do you happen to know where the key is?”
Callie pretended to be frightened by the idea.
Will brightened at her reaction but then glanced from Callie to Buddy and back and changed his mind. “Nah, better keep it simple. Blunt instrument, something I can wipe the prints off.”
Callie now focused her thoughts on the main house. Could she get through this door and outrun Will up to the house? If she shouted as she stumbled away, would the guard hear her from wherever he was right now? Asleep in a folding chair or roaming the grounds? Or could she get just as far as her car and then drive there, honking all the way? The keys were in the bowl by the door, where she always dropped them as soon as she walked in.
Will was up from the armchair, scanning the room for the perfect blunt instrument. He didn’t seem to notice that Buddy’s eyes were open – not hazy or dazed, but alert. How long had he been awake and alert? she wondered. Their eyes met, father’s and daughter’s. Callie looked to the bowl by the door and Buddy nodded, a slight, painful nod. Do something, he seemed to be saying. Do something. But the throbbing in her head made any movement seem an impossibility.
And then Buddy did something.
Will’s search had brought him to the hearth. At some point, someone – probably Callie’s mother – had made a design choice and installed a useless fireplace stand by the gas fireplace, complete with a poker and a shovel for the nonexistent coals. Will saw the poker and grinned. He had just crossed the room to get it, passing by the TV, reaching down, when Buddy extended his legs and pushed himself, groaning loudly with the effort. He rolled just far enough to hit the back of Will’s legs. The shock, Buddy’s surprising groan and the impact sent Will tumbling.
Callie had seen it coming, had seen her father tense his body and move his arms and prepare himself for the roll. Three seconds later, with Will still on the floor, she had snatched the car keys and was out the door, heading for her truck in the driveway.
She fumbled with the fob and was rewarded with the clear, single beep from the driver’s door. Ignoring the clumsy, heavy footfalls behind her, concentrating on the silver door handle, Callie reached out. A split-second later he was there, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around. Callie fell back against the door and he loomed in front of her, pressing against her, as close as a lover.
In an instant, his hands were up and around her throat. When they tightened, the pain was intense. Callie grabbed at his wrists, but very quickly became light-headed, hungry for air. And then, for no reason, he let go. With the wind knocked out of her and her head still pounding, she slid to the ground, on her back, gasping.
Will stood over her now. Even if she could get up, he would be blocking any escape. “I have to say I’m disappointed in you,” he purred. “Abandoning your dad? I wasn’t quite prepared for that.”
Callie tried to maintain eye contact, to carry on a conversation not built on screams or pleas, to not look like a victim. “You’re after me,” she rasped. “You’re not after him.”
“True,” he admitted. “You’re the bigger threat. I doubt he got much of a look at me. Still, abandoning your dad. Th
at’s cold.”
Callie opened her mouth to shout for help, but between the trauma to her windpipe and the lack of air, nothing emerged but a moan.
He smiled at her effort then looked puzzled. “Is there someone nearby?” He glanced around in the semi-darkness, illuminated by a bright moon in a cloudless sky. There were no sounds to indicate neighbors. No dogs barking. No car engines. And no nearby lights, only a glow from the doorway of the burned-out entry hall at the end of the driveway of live oaks. “Is someone there?” he demanded.
“A guard,” she choked out. “He circles the grounds.” Callie managed to crawl a foot or so away, wriggling on her back. “All the time.”
“I don’t know how much of that to believe.”
“Believe it.”
“True again,” he allowed calmly. “I should believe it. And I should hurry, to be safe, although I would absolutely love to take my time.”
Callie felt a surge of anger. “The way you took your time with Bri?”
“Yes, the way I took my time with Bri.”
Will paused, as though savoring a memory. A deep sigh. And then he was on top of her, straddling her torso with his knees. He leaned back for better balance and then cracked her, open palmed, hard across the face. Callie exhaled in a whimper just as his hands once more went for her throat.
It was shocking how quickly she needed to breathe. Almost instantly. Her reflex, as before, was to clutch at the hands. It was only then that she realized she was holding a sharp object. Re-grasping the key, making sure she had a solid grip, Callie swung upward. She aimed the wild, arcing swing for the man’s face and was surprised when it made contact. The hands around her throat loosened as Will let out a howl. A gash of blood opened up, streaming from his left cheek, from the outer edge of his eye almost to his chin. Drops of red fell on her face as he kept leaning in, pressing down on her windpipe. “Bitch!”
Callie still held the key, now slippery with his blood. She slashed up at his face again, but he leaned back out of reach and allowed himself a little chortle. “You think you’re so smart.” Blood began to drip from the fleshy rip across his cheek.
Callie aimed the long, red-tipped key at his hands now, but she didn’t have the strength to do much damage. Releasing one hand from her throat, he used it to snatch the key ring and toss it. She saw it skid, useless, a few feet away, under the front of her silver Yukon.
“What the hell did you do to me?” he howled. He removed his other hand and sat back, resting his full weight on her upper legs. Will seemed tempted to touch his face, to try to assess the disfigurement, but afraid of what he might find.
Callie gulped in deep breaths and stared into his eyes. She was proud of the damage she’d done. Proud and horrified. The gash on his once-handsome face appeared to be widening, pulsing with his heartbeat. Blood was now dripping onto the gray silk skirt that she had agonized about wearing just a few hours ago. She was strangely glad that she hadn’t worn her favorite white dress tonight.
Will’s fingers trembled as he reached up to his neck and wiped away a little pool of blood that had gathered just above his in his collarbone. He flicked it onto her face. “You’re going to pay for this.”
With a grunt, he leaned forward to finish the job, coming to his feet for more weight and freeing her legs. His hands found their place again, covering the red marks he’d already forged on her throat.
Callie felt the familiar pain, the on her larynx, the instant cutting off of air. Her hands went wide, one hand trying to swat at him the other one flailing under the truck. For a moment, she thought about the key ring, but what good would it do her now?
She lay there, mesmerized under the force of his hands, staring up at that face. The expression in his brown eyes was almost one of affection, almost sweet. Had he looked at Briana that way, with those wide, affectionate eyes, as he squeezed the life out of her?
Will bent at the elbows. His blood-dripping face was directly over hers, making her shut her eyes to try to avoid the sickening drops, his blood mixing with her own blood from the gash on her head. One bitter drop fell into her mouth. She wanted to gag it up but couldn’t. His ear was right next to the wheel well when Callie happened to lay her flailing hand on the key fob.
The truck’s panic alarm was excruciating, sudden and deafening. It startled them both, Will more than Callie. She felt his hands loosen around her throat as her instinct for flight kicked in one last time.
Later, as she relived this moment, in her memories and in her nightmares, Callie had no idea how she had gotten out from under her attacker. She couldn’t recall how she might have gotten to her knees and then to her feet, or how she could have started to put the slightest amount of distance between them.
She did remember making her way down the gravel drive, weaving, half-conscious in the direction of the big house. She also had a memory of the rent-a-cop stepping out of the blackened doorway, hand over his eyes, staring curiously through the trees toward the source of the panic alarm.
In her hazy memory, it was Jeremy, the thirtyish, overweight guard still on his first assignment. He stared at the young woman he’d met once before as they’d discussed security measures. She stumbled toward him, her face streaked with blood, trying to speak or maybe to scream. At some point, the guard looked beyond her, his eyes widening. Callie stopped and fell to the gravel. Jeremy, just a few yards in front of her, was struggling, nervously trying to unclip the handgun from his holster. His hands were shaking as he used them both to pull up and aim his weapon. He may have shouted something.
The rest she didn’t see, but she could imagine. The sight of a large man, his face slashed from eye to chin, lumbering toward them, coming closer and closer, not heeding whatever warning Jeremy might have been shouting to him.
Callie counted five shots in rapid succession, although there may have been more.
CHAPTER 28
The night crawled by in a confusing blur as her mind slid in and out of consciousness. She was vaguely aware of her brother sitting at her side, being uncharacteristically, almost frighteningly nice. Someone, a woman, had also been nice, holding her hand, first one hand then the other, doing her nails. No, not doing her nails, she decided. Gently scraping under her nails. People asked her questions – her brother, the woman. The same questions over and over. Did she answer them the same each time? She couldn’t remember.
When she woke this time, her mind was clearing and sunlight was streaming through the hospital room window. I’m not in so much pain, she thought. It’s not so bad. She could sense someone watching her. When she turned to see, there came an ache, radiating from the back of her neck to her shoulders, but nothing so terribly bad. “I’m on a lot of meds, aren’t I?”
She was surprised to see Yolanda McFee in the visitor’s chair, her expression warm and sympathetic. The first thing to go through Callie’s mind was, I must be worse off than I thought. “How are you?” Yolanda asked. “You look better. My husband was yelling at you last night, but he didn’t mean it.”
“He was yelling? I thought…”
“He didn’t mean it. He was worried for you and mad at himself. You did a very brave thing.”
“Really? How bad off am I?”
“You mean because I paid you a compliment?” Yolanda’s thin, hard face eased a little. “Not bad, I think. A concussion, of course. They had to shave a patch in order to stitch you up.”
“My hair? They shaved my hair?” Callie reached up to touch the throbbing spot above and behind her left ear.
Yolanda stopped her before her fingers could assess the damage. “Don’t worry. It’s not too much.”
“I can’t believe they shaved my hair.”
“You can arrange it so it doesn’t look so bad. I was always jealous of your hair.” Yolanda was quick to add, “I mean, I still am.”
Callie lowered her hand. “And it will grow back.”
“Of course. It will grow back and you’re alive.”
“Is he d
ead?”
Yolanda glanced toward the bathroom, as if looking for guidance. “Yes, he’s dead,” she said. “I don’t think they’re going to file any charges against the guard.”
“Good. On both counts. Can I have some water?”
There was a plastic cup on the metal bed stand already half full. Yolanda secured the lid and adjusted the bendy straw. Callie had just finished two long sips when they heard a flush from the bathroom. State walked out, looking exhausted. “Awake. Hey, how are you?” His sympathetic smile almost matched his wife’s.
“Yolanda told me he’s dead.”
“Yeah, I heard from the bathroom.”
“How’s Dad?”
“Better off than you. His skull’s thicker, I guess. The EMTs were concerned at first, but then they were concerned after the fire. He’ll be fine.”
“I should leave you two.” Yolanda pushed herself out of the chair. “I need to go see Buddy then check with Gil’s doctor about the surgery. See how that’s going. At least you’re all in the same hospital. Lucky me.”
“How is Uncle Gil?” asked Callie.
Yolanda said, “He’s having three skin grafts today. Wants to get them over with, against the surgeon’s advice, of course. That’s Gil.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“They say there’ll be scarring and maybe some nerve damage. On the plus side…” Yolanda gave her sister-in-law a little peck on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Then she headed out the door.
Callie waited several seconds before whispering, “Why is Yolie being like that?”
“She feels bad about kicking you out. She thinks if you’d been with us instead of living at the ranch… I’m not sure I get her logic, but don’t look a gift horse.”
“Hey, I’m grateful for anything.” Callie settled her head into a pillow and closed her eyes. She could feel her brother’s eyes boring into her.
“His real name is Gavin. Gavin Hollister, in case you want to know.”
“Thanks,” she said and kept her eyes closed.
