When she put it that way, the choice became clear.
#
“Excuse me,” Emma said to the officer patrolling the edge of Peter’s driveway. “But could you tell me if this road leads to Highsmith Park?”
“I’ve never heard of it.” The man’s words came out more like the grunting of a pig. She could tell he tried not to look at the V between her breasts, but he failed. Putting on her prettiest smile, she coaxed him to let his eyes wander. After all, she hadn’t unbuttoned her shirt and tied it underneath her breasts because she enjoyed the mountain breeze on her midriff.
She waved a map in his face. “Could you help me? I’m supposed to meet my parents there, and I’m late. They’re going to worry I got lost, or eaten by a bear, or fell off a cliff. You know how parents are.”
The younger man finally relented and bent over the hood of her car with the map. “Here’s your problem. You’re here and you need to be over there. You’ll have to backtrack a couple miles, but you should be able to—”
In a poof of feathers, the officer’s face splattered across the hood of her car.
She jumped and cursed the television. The shows always made it look like pillows were good silencers, but the sound seemed to echo around her. As she crouched to the ground, she cast frightened eyes around the property. Any minute several other officers should be racing toward her.
Time ticked by, but no one else came.
Stifling a laugh, she pulled the body toward her open door. She really loved the Jaguar from Barstow, but it had a more important job now than shuttling her around in style. One good heave and she’d propped the young cop behind the steering wheel. After a good soaking of gasoline, he was ready to go.
Grinning at her own brilliance, she walked to the back of the car and lit a road flare. With one good push, the car began to roll down the slope. One gentle toss sent the crackling flare through the open window before the car went too far. The whoomp of the gas igniting was louder than the gunshot had been, but she hadn’t been counting on that to attract attention. She counted on the big boom when the gas tank exploded.
#
After another dozen steps, Jace still couldn’t see Peter’s house. In her mental wanderings, she must’ve traveled farther than she thought. She wasn’t worried. Three of the local police were watching the house, and Peter was safe enough inside. Graham promised her another half-dozen men, but with resources spread so thin, he couldn’t promise when they’d arrive.
Far to the right a squirrel barked its displeasure, and she heartily agreed. “You and me both, bud.” Her eyes scanned the branches to see if she could find out if the furry resident was scolding her or if another woodland creature had pissed it off. That’s when she heard the soft whump of an explosion. Shortly, a line of smoke rose above the trees.
It was hard to see through the branches, but was there. The slight breeze shifted, and her nostrils filled with the acrid smell. Not the comfort of wood smoke, but the taint of gasoline.
She didn’t spare a breath on all the expletives running through her mind, she just took off. Her gun slid into her hand easily as she ran down the pine-covered hillside, dodging fallen limbs and loose earth as she went. After too many minutes that stretched like hours, she saw the roof of Peter’s house.
Everything appeared normal, and she stopped her pace. Her eyes darted around the structure. No flames were visible. Smoke rose into the air from farther downhill. She lifted her nose to the air and choked on the sour scent.
Everything smelled like gasoline.
She called for the officer assigned to guard the back. “Garrett?” Only silence and the faraway crackle of fire came back to her. She shouted to the perimeter guard. “Myers!” In the distance she could still hear the squirrel, but nothing else. “Adams!” The other deputy supposedly watched the front. She hadn’t expected an answer from him, but she had to try.
With her free hand, she whipped out her cell phone. Only two bars, and one flickered as it died. “Remind me to get a satellite link,” she said to the static coming over her earpiece.
“Jace? Is that you?” The signal sucked, but at least Frank was reliable.
“Something’s wrong at the Mitchell place,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I’m going in, but get some more men out here pronto.”
“I can barely hear you. You want what?”
Taking the phone away from her ear, she watched as the last bar went from flickering to gone. Her hands tightened around the untrustworthy object, and she would’ve thrown in into a tree if she didn’t think she still might be able to use it. If she was lucky, Lynn would run her call through one of her gadgets, and they’d be able to figure out what she said in time to send help.
But as a shot rang through the trees, she didn’t feel like luck was with her today.
#
As she stood over the prone figure of a man, Emma wondered why she ever thought Douglas could be smart enough to catch her. “Never send a man to do a woman’s job,” she said as she kicked the officer. He groaned softly, and she kicked him again. “If you knew enough to keep your eyes on something other than a woman’s boobs, you probably would’ve lived.”
From watching the house the days before, she knew only three guards and Agent Douglas stood between her and her prize. The one by the road had been too easy. The one she found leaning against a tree in back would’ve been harder, but his attention had been focused toward the house. He never saw the rock she smashed into his head from behind.
She had to shoot this last one, but it no longer mattered whether anyone heard her. After taking out the first two, she had ample opportunity to spring the trap.
Sitting in the bar the night before, she wondered whether she would be able to pull this off. Three cops plus the agent and Peter. The possibility of getting caught before she had a chance to end her mission seemed overwhelming.
And then it hit her.
The rest of the night had been spent shuttling gas up the mountain. As the three night guards played poker on a stump near the front of the house, she left cans full of the volatile liquid all around the back. In her manic state, she danced in the darkness after tucking a pile of pine needles over her last hidden prize. She felt like a new kind of Easter bunny with pretty red gas cans instead of brightly colored eggs.
Just as the shift change occurred, she slipped back into her car and waited.
Once the roving guard and the guy in the back were out of the picture, along with their friend roasting in the Jag, she pranced around the yard sprinkling gas and giggling to herself. Every once in a while, she’d glance into the trees where Douglas had disappeared. As Emma watched from her hiding spot, the agent said a bright ‘Good morning’ to the guard known as Garrett and hiked upwards. By the time Jace disappeared into the trees, Emma had begun her fun.
The house itself still lay in darkness. If she remembered correctly, Peter wasn’t a morning person. Not that she expected any less. Up half the night with the pretty agent would make any man want to stay in bed.
Emma’s teeth gritted. She should’ve been the one in Peter’s arms last night. It should’ve been her sitting in front of the fire, sipping cocoa and talking long into the night. The image of her lying in Peter’s arms came into her head unbidden, and she moaned at the perfection of it. Until she turned to face him, and it wasn’t her face but Jace’s.
“Bitch!” she growled.
You never deserved him, and you know it, Will said. He stood so close behind her, she could feel his hot breath on the nape of her neck. She whirled to confront him, but he wasn’t there.
“You’re dead,” she whispered.
You should know. You killed me. Just like you killed all the rest of them. You loved me, and you killed me.
“You deserved to die.”
Then it was me you hated all along. Well, Sweet Emma, you finished me, but that wasn’t enough. You kept on killing. Did the boy in Utah deserve to die? When you think about it, did any of them?
She shook herself. Will wasn’t here. It was all inside her head. He had always been inside her head like some demented Jiminy Cricket. “Yes!” she hissed. “They all deserved to die!”
Then do what you have to do, Emma. What are you waiting for? Kill Peter Mitchell and be done with it. Maybe when you’re done, I’ll leave you alone. Maybe then you can go back to your life. Or maybe Agent Douglas will make sure you can never go back.
“She won’t have a say in it. She’ll be dead.”
That’s my Emma, Will whispered.
Smiling at his praise, she took one step and then another toward the front of the house. The porch had been built to be wide and homey. She could almost imagine spending the rest of her life here in the woods with Peter.
Too bad he ruined it all, a voice hissed in her mind. For once, Will went silent as the other voice—her mother’s voice—pushed inside. You could’ve been happy with him, but he ruined it. You could’ve been happy with any of them, but they wouldn’t let you be happy. You didn’t ask for this to happen. It was their fault. Kill Peter and be done with it. Then come home. I’ll protect you, like I’ve always protected you.
Home. That’s what she’d do. She’d go home to her mother. Mama would hide her until the agents went away. They’d go away somewhere—to Canada maybe, or to hide in some backwater town in the Upper Peninsula. No one would ever find them.
She lifted her clenched fist to knock on the thick wooden door. Her hand stilled, her knuckles poised inches above its surface. Then she lowered her hand to the doorknob instead. The need for polite entry had passed.
“Honey!” she called into the darkness inside, “I’m home!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Pressed against the back of the house, Jace heard the front door slam against a wall and the sound of Emma’s voice. The house had been still when she first came upon the scene, but until that moment she feared she arrived too late. She pictured Peter’s body lying crumpled beside the sofa, bleeding—the same way she found Ben.
The words sent a shiver down her spine, even while they sent her hopes soaring. If Emma entered the house calling for Peter, he still lived. She might’ve been too late to stop Ben from being shot. Her own distraction made her too late to save her family. This time, she wouldn’t be too late. She might only have moments to stop another tragedy, but at least those moments existed for her.
“Come out, come out,” Emma called. Jace strained to hear Peter’s voice, but no other sounds echoed through the house. “Seriously. You’re beginning to piss me off!”
Still nothing.
Leaving her post beside the open window, Jace crouched beneath the sill and crept toward the back door. She didn’t know what Peter thought he was doing, but she didn’t like it. Emma’s fragile hold on sanity meant added stress could make her unpredictable. And that would make her more dangerous.
Just as Jace slid onto the back porch, a shot rang out. She froze. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to act, but rushing headlong into the situation could get them all killed. Reaching back, she pulled on all her training to maintain a cool head.
Ticking down a mental checklist helped. I am alone. Most likely, the officers on duty are all dead. Graham’s promise of help is too far off. Her aborted call to Frank may or may not have agents scrambling to her aid, but even if they came, it would be too late. Peter would be dead, and if she didn’t manage to take Emma out before she got herself killed, the psycho would disappear into the world again.
With one hand on her gun, she used the other to gently ease the back door open a crack.
“Damn it!” were the first words she heard. “I know you’re here. If you don’t get your ass out here right now, I’m going to burn your fucking house to the ground with you in it. Try and hide then, smart guy.”
Jace held her breath. Maybe Peter wasn’t in the house after all. Maybe, like her, he’d slipped away for a pre-dawn walk. Maybe he figured out Emma had found him and hid in the woods.
The thought of the suspect alone in the house gave her new hope. Without innocents to worry about, she could do what she needed to do. No one else had to get hurt. Rising from her position on the porch, she entered the home. The smell of gasoline didn’t seem as thick inside, but it still permeated the air. Just the same, enough fumes had made their way inside, she feared any spark could set the house ablaze before she had a chance to stop her killer.
“Tell you what. If you come out right now, I’ll let Agent Douglas live. If not, I’ll let you watch me kill her from wherever it is you’re hiding. On the count of three. One…”
Jace took a step closer, praying Peter had left the house—hoping he wouldn’t fall for Emma’s lies.
“Two…”
A gunshot rang out in the stillness. Jace waited for the whoosh of gasoline igniting, but it didn’t come. She craned her head to peer around the doorway. Emma stood in front of the cold fireplace, almost where she herself had been only hours before—an empty gas container clenched in her hand. A quick glance at the empty floor told her the gunshot had been for show, and not to end Peter’s life.
“God… Fucking… Dammit!” Emma cried. “I know you’re here! You have to be here! I watched the goddamn house all morning! You didn’t leave! Where the hell are you?”
Jace trained her gun on Emma’s chest. Killing her now before she hurt anyone else would be so easy. One shot. But if she missed and the bullet ricocheted, it could ignite the gasoline. Even now the fumes were almost making her gag. As the fear rose in her chest, she couldn’t remember how much of a spark would make those vapors explode. She’d be trapped inside while the house went up in flames around her.
She wouldn’t miss. She could take out the killer and end it all right here. Justice would be served.
Except it wasn’t her job to dispense justice. It was her job to uphold it.
Stepping away from the wall, she kept her sights on the suspect. “It’s over, Emma.” Her voice came out so soft and yet so steely-hard, she almost didn’t recognize it.
“You!” the killer shrieked.
“Put the gun down and come with me.”
“You took Peter away! Where is he?” Emma pointed her gun toward Jace. “Give him to me!”
“Put the gun down!” Emma didn’t waver. “Put it down or I’ll shoot.”
A strange look passed over the woman’s face. “You won’t shoot me,” she said with a smile. “You’re afraid. I can see it in your eyes. You’re scared shitless, and you’re not going to shoot me.”
“Put it down, Emma. We’ll walk out of here together. No one else has to die.”
“Oh, but they do. Peter has to pay for what he’s done, and so do you.” She waved her gun at Jace. “You think I didn’t see you last night? You think I didn’t see you flirting with him? You want him for yourself. Last night… You made love, didn’t you?” Jace couldn’t believe her ears. The demented mind in front of her had built Peter’s small kindnesses into some shameful affair. “Didn’t you! You wrapped yourself around him, and you took him. You deserve this as much as he does.”
As she leveled her weapon at Jace’s face, her hand shook slightly. If the gun didn’t go off by choice, it would go off by accident. Either way, Jace knew she would die if she didn’t do something.
“You know,” Emma continued, sounding almost philosophical, “I didn’t want to kill you. If you’d just stayed away from him, I might’ve let you live. I can’t do that now. You have to die, and it’s all your fault.”
“It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it?” Poking someone so unbalanced with the proverbial stick could go two ways—either it would cause her to make a mistake, or it would cause her to snap and take Jace out with her. She had to take the chance. “You had a crappy life, but it’s not your fault. You got hurt, and your feelings got stepped on, but none of that was your fault. Isn’t that right, Emma? Plenty of other people to lay the blame on, eh? Devin didn’t love you, so you thought he deserved to die.
Only you screwed up and now he’s a vegetable. Hugh found out he liked men better, so you killed him. Each of them had their own reasons for leaving you, but it was their choice. You got hurt, but instead of letting the hurt go, instead of learning from it, you used it as an excuse to kill those men.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Emma said, sounding like a petulant child. “It was always their fault. I didn’t do anything…”
“From the sounds of it, Emma, you drove those men away. Peter told me what you did. He wanted to love you, but you lied to him. Devin’s wife told me how you stalked him. I know how you went willingly to Tom White and then when your mother disapproved, you cried rape. Those men never did a damn thing to you, Emma. The fault—if there is one—lies with you. By your reasoning, the only person who deserves to die is the only one left standing.”
“You bitch!” Emma cried, and Jace knew she’d pushed her hand too far.
Seconds before the shot rang out, Jace dropped to the floor. An instant afterwards, the crackling rush of sound she never wanted to hear again roared in her ears.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Jace?” a voice said from far away. “Agent Douglas?” She drew breath to reply, but the smoke seared her lungs until the only sound forcing past her lips came as a cough. “I hear you! Hold on, I’m coming.”
A few feet away, the fire ate at the wooden floor. The heat from it licked the back of her neck. She tried to rise, but it held her down, pressing her face to the floor.
As she drifted toward unconsciousness again, she thought she heard a voice say, “Paybacks are hell.”
Once again, she lay in the hayloft, savoring the pages of her new book. The heroine was just as beautiful and her paramour just as heroic as she hoped they would be. Everything had been written so wonderful and right for them, and as he bent to press his lips to hers, Jace’s breath quickened.
Leaving the taste of smoke on her tongue. Only this time, the farmhouse she grew up in wasn’t on fire, and the greedy flames weren’t consuming her family.
Dying Embers Page 23
