Señora Sanchez’s shoes clicked on the tile floor, bringing her back to the present. She was holding a picture of Vi. Setting it on the top of the toilet seat, she propped it up so Allie could see it.
“I don’t dare forge a suicide note. Too risky. This should say it nicely, though. Single mom. Overwhelmed with life and raising a daughter who’d be much better off with her dad and his new wife, anyway, wouldn’t she? She’ll be a big sister soon. That should take some of the edge off losing her mother.”
The woman rose just as the cell phone began vibrating again. She sighed. “I’d prefer to stay, to make sure you’ll never speak to anyone ever again. But it appears someone is desperate to reach you, and I can’t have them finding us here when they come looking for you. So, we’ll be going now.”
And with that, the psychotic woman turned and left, her clipped footsteps echoing back to Allie as she walked away.
A heavy fatigue was taking hold of Allie. She knew that she was losing consciousness, despite the panic and terror gripping her heart.
She really was going to die.
Darkness was descending quickly over her. Just before she succumbed to oblivion, she thought she heard a faraway sound. A soft echo of ringing. The phone?
The trumpets of angels?
A doorbell?
Or simply the last, hopeful imaginings of a dying woman…?
Chapter Eighteen
Sam squealed into Allie’s driveway and threw his car into park. There didn’t appear to be anyone home. The squad car hadn’t yet arrived. He flew to the front door and rang the bell.
No answer.
He pressed his ear to the door and listened.
He could have sworn he heard something inside, but no one came. He jumped down the steps to the flower bed. Where was that piece of tile with the bright green frog? There. He tossed it aside, grabbed the key, and sprinted to the door.
His hands were shaking.
Please, God, let her be all right.
He’d gone to the school first, but she hadn’t been there. Not at Laney’s, not with Vi—Laney had just spoken to her. If Allie wasn’t here at home, he was out of ideas.
The creaking of a screen door opening made him freeze in place. It had come from the side of the house. Leaping down the steps, he raced across the grass to the side door. No one was there, either. He scanned all around him, including the backyard. He could have sworn he saw a movement over behind the garage. He whirled and headed in that direction when a sound from the kitchen stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned.
The screen door was shut, but the wooden back door was wide open. Could she have been working out in the backyard and not heard him?
“Allie?” he hollered, starting to sounded desperate. Silence met him. Screw this. He yanked open the screen door and raced inside, only to be brought up short by a dark-haired figure standing in the kitchen.
“Señora Sanchez?”
If she was shocked by his sudden appearance, it didn’t show. Her magenta lips turned up in a sly smile. “Señor Fratto. You startled me.”
This wasn’t right. What the hell was she doing inside Allie’s house? Where the hell was Allie? And why hadn’t she answered him when he called out?
Fear for Allie twisted at his gut, despite Señora Sanchez’s calm countenance. Or maybe because of it. Something told him not to let her see his fear. He needed to be level-headed.
“Didn’t you hear me at the front door? I’ve been trying to find Allie.”
“Oh? I’m afraid not. Señora McBride wasn’t feeling very well this afternoon. Poor thing looked so distressed, I swear she was about to faint. I offered to help get her home. She said she just wanted to take a bath. I’ve just been waiting for my son to give me a ride home. In fact, I thought you were him when I heard the screen door open.”
Allie had been ill today? Again? And he hadn’t been there for her? Guilt slashed at him. He stared at the woman for a long moment. Something still didn’t feel right. Her story sounded plausible enough. But…
“Allie? It’s Sam,” he hollered out, telling himself if Allie just responded in some way he could relax and get rid of the woman.
More silence. Damn it.
“My son should be here any moment. I think I’ll step outside and wait for him. Leave you two to your privacy.” Señora Sanchez stepped around him and walked toward the back door.
Sam’s instinct told him he needed to stop her. If his suspicions were founded, this was the woman who had killed Mr. Williams and had been trying to hurt Allie.
God. She might already have done something—
To hell with being polite. He’d apologize later.
“Wait.” He reached out and gripped her arm hard, stopping her.
Her back was to him, but he could see an instant change—a straightening of her spine and shoulders, a jerk of her head. Slowly, she turned around and met his gaze. Her light brown eyes were almost gold in the waning sun light. But cold. Hard. And damn scary.
“Ah, so the lover thinks he has come to the rescue.” Her voice, smooth as silk, chilled him to the bone. “But…will he be in time?”
His heart froze in his chest. What the hell did that mean?
“Where’s Allie?” he demanded.
The old bag chuckled, her delight in his fear evident. How could he have been so oblivious to her true nature? The woman was pure evil.
“This is too perfect. The son of the whore who thought she could take what was mine is about to see what it’s like to lose someone he loves.”
Terror and anger flooded through him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “What the hell have you done? Where is she?”
The look on her face was victorious, her smile smug.
“You’re only making this worse for yourself,” he hissed. “Give it up. I’m not letting you go, and the police are on their way.”
“Then we have a bit of a dilemma. Because as you stand here manhandling me, the woman you love is bleeding to death. I have all the time in the world to wait…but does she?” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “The amount of blood she was losing…”
The horror of the situation swept over him. Allie could be dying right now. He pushed the crazy woman to the floor, hoping that would slow her down long enough for the police to arrive.
He sprinted to the hallway.
Oh, God. What if he was too late?
He moved to the first bedroom, but everything looked neat and tidy, as did Violet’s room next door. From outside he heard someone shout, “Stop! Police!” along with a hell of a lot of commotion. Thank God.
He lunged across the hall and swung open the bathroom door.
He halted in terror.
Blood. So damned much blood.
His heart nearly exploded in his chest and he raced over to the bathtub. The water was crimson, and Allie’s eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving.
Oh, God. He was too late.
He dropped his hand into the water and found her wrist. He waited, not breathing. There! So faint, but definitely a pulse. He was suddenly aware of sirens screeching up in front of the house.
The blood. He had to stop it.
He unplugged the water and grabbed a hand-towel from a rack. Where was she cut? Where was the blood coming from?
Hell. Her wrists were slashed.
He quickly tied a towel tightly around one wrist and then the other. Footsteps in the hallway, shouts, and the wail of sirens filled his ears.
“In here! Get an ambulance!” he yelled, holding her wrists awkwardly above her head.
There was a burst of radio static, and he heard someone shouting for the EMTs.
“Allie,” Sam pleaded, “if you can hear me, please hold on. I’m here, and I’ve got you. An ambulance is on its way. So…for the love of God, please hold on.”
He took her hand, still warm, and held it.
She had to be okay. She just had to be.
He’d never even had a chance to tell h
er he’d fallen in love with her.
…
Several times Allie tried to wake up, hearing a voice, feeling a warm hand on hers, but each time she tried to focus and get out of the thick grog she floated in, she was pulled back under.
At one point, she saw her sister bent over her. The dim light from the window behind her hid her face, but not the concern in her voice. She saw Dad and Peg—and tried to say something to them, but she couldn’t get it out.
Allie thought she’d even seen Sam. Stern and angry. Leaning against the back wall or sitting in the chair by the window. His eyes never leaving her.
A voice reached through the haze once. It sounded like Sam. Assuring her she was safe, that they’d caught Señora Sanchez before she could escape.
But what about the son? Where was Javier? She wanted to scream, but she still couldn’t say a word, was still stuck in this awful, boneless limbo.
Darkness engulfed her again, but the terror wouldn’t let go of her heart.
…
The regular beeping and flashing of Allie’s monitors assured Sam she was safe now.
Or they should have.
Even after the doctor had assured him Allie would be fine, and the police confirmed Señora Sanchez was locked up behind bars, Sam still couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.
Laney finished her cell phone conversation and hung up. Her eyes red from crying, she came over to where he was pacing in the corner. Watching Allie like a hawk.
“Sam. Thank you again for everything.” Laney looked over at her sister, concern and love evident in her worried eyes. She turned back to him. “If it weren’t for you, we might not be here now. Things could have ended…badly. You’ll never know how grateful I am, we all are.”
He nodded and put his hand out to touch her frail arm. She snuffled and started to cry again. “Sorry. Can’t seem to stop.”
“You should get something to eat. Or a cup of tea. A change of scenery.” She started to object, and he held up a hand. “I didn’t say to go home, but maybe go check out the cafeteria. Allie would want you to keep up your strength. She’s going to need you when she wakes up.”
Laney’s eyes filled with even more tears. She nodded finally. “Okay. Just for a few minutes. But I want to be here when she does. Promise you’ll call the moment—”
“I promise. Now go.”
She quietly left the room, and he leaned his head back against the wall behind him. It was a relief to have her gone. He wanted a moment to be alone with Allie without everyone’s eyes on him. He walked over to the door and pushed it almost closed, then turned off the glaring florescent overheads. His eyes felt immediately better. He walked to her bed and switched on the dim nightlight behind it, the only other light in the room.
Hell, she looked so pale, so fragile.
He reached out to caress the softness of her cheek. She didn’t move. She’d been deathly still ever since he’d found her in that tub. Thankfully, the reassuring beeping of the monitors told him she really was okay. Out of harm’s way.
A few minutes passed, and the fatigue he’d been fighting was taking hold. He eased back down in the easy chair in the corner, his body relaxing despite the discomfort of the chair’s vinyl cover…
A loud crash out in the corridor suddenly jerked Sam awake, and he sat perfectly still for a moment trying to get his bearings. Where the hell was he?
In a rush, it all came back to him. He jumped up and saw Allie, still sleeping soundly in the bed. He shook his head. He didn’t want to go to sleep.
Caffeine. That’s what he needed.
He rose to his feet, unsure of the time, and slipped quietly out of the room. Laney should be back any minute. And he was pretty sure he’d seen a waiting room down this hall with a coffee machine.
The bright familiar florescent lights in the hall greeted him, and he rubbed his eyes as he strode to the coffee machine. There were only a couple of people in the waiting area. A woman in her twenties was leafing through a magazine. A guy close to Sam’s age seated by himself across the room. He looked pensive, his hands in his pockets, his legs jangling nervously.
There was something familiar about him, but the guy averted his gaze, so Sam figured he was mistaken. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some loose change and went over to the machine. Damn. He was just short. He dug his wallet out and fished out a crinkled dollar, then punched the button for black, no cream or sugar. Unlike Allie who always liked it sweet enough to make him shudder.
The shudder continued, bringing unbidden thoughts of how close he’d come to losing her—
No, he had to stop.
Señora Sanchez was in custody, although, naturally, denying any wrongdoing. Sticking to her story that she was just waiting for her son when Sam had arrived. She claimed she didn’t know that Allie had attempted suicide.
Suicide. As if Allie was capable of that. Not remotely possible, for a multitude of reasons.
But apparently, Señora Sanchez was pretty convincing. She’d pointed out that she, a woman of nearly sixty, could never have won in a struggle with the young, fit Allie, nor could she have carried her to the bathroom and somehow manage to slit her wrists. But the only person who could disprove the lying woman’s claims was Allie. And for that, she’d have to wake up.
Which all brought Sam back to his and Allie’s theory that the killer hadn’t worked alone. Fifteen years ago, Señora Sanchez could not have driven Mr. William’s car to the mountains and walked all the way back—not without attracting attention. She would have needed someone to help her. And also to help dispose of Jackson Williams’s body. Someone strong. But she hadn’t been married. So, who—
Hell. The son.
The one she’d claimed to be waiting for at Allie’s.
Sam had a vague memory of the man from meeting him at the planning meeting a couple weeks ago. What did he look like? Dark coloring, unlike his moth—
Shit. He dropped the coffee, the scalding liquid spraying up and splashing his pants. But he didn’t feel the sting.
The son. That man in the waiting room who—
Was no longer there.
Sam ran like hell.
Damn it! How could he forget such a key person in this whole mess? The brute strength in the crime?
Sam rounded the corner and could see Allie’s door. Shut. He knew he’d left it open for the nurses. His heart nearly drummed out of his chest as he grabbed the handle and pulled.
The bastard was holding a pillow over Allie’s face. The machine next to her was going crazy, hopefully alerting the staff.
Sam slammed through the door, but even when it crashed against the wall, other than a quick glance, the man didn’t let up.
Sam threw himself against the jerk in a full-body tackle, gratified at the unmistakable sound of bone cracking as the bastard hit the hard floor with a grunt. A fist bashed into the side of Sam’s head. He swung back with a deep rage he hadn’t known he could feel.
Another grunt sounded, and he wasn’t sure if it came from him or the other man. He managed to pin the bastard down, throwing his whole weight onto him to keep him immobilized.
“There’s no way you’re gonna get away this time. Give yourself up,” Sam said after dodging a punch. And then another.
Strong hands were suddenly grabbing Sam’s arms, pulling him up off the man still struggling beneath him. Before Sam could protest, two more men were securing Sanchez’s son. Sam glanced at Allie, still on the bed with a bevy of nurses surrounding her. The regular sound of the monitor beeping assured him again.
His legs almost buckled with relief.
She was okay. Thank God.
…
Allie opened her eyes. The cobwebs that had clung to her dreams, preventing full consciousness, had finally lifted away. Her mouth and throat were dry as the Salt Flats, and she ran her tongue across her crackled lips wishing for water.
Where was she?
The last thing she remembered was blood. Her own. Fl
owing into the warm water surrounding her. Pain. Señora Sanchez. And…a deep, worried voice. Telling her over and over to hang in there. That she would be okay. That she had to live.
Sam’s voice? Sam’s hand?
Or maybe it had just been the EMT…
In an instant, everything came back to her. Jesus. She should be dead. But for some reason…she wasn’t. She was in a hospital room.
She looked around and saw Laney sitting in a chair next to the bed, skimming through a magazine. She must have sensed something because she looked up and met Allie’s gaze. The magazine dropped to the floor as Laney squealed and jumped up to give her a hug. Allie tried to lift her arms to hold her sister, but they were too weak.
“Oh, Allie. I am so sorry.” Laney choked up. She grasped Allie’s hand and held it tight. “I’ve been telling myself the past couple of days how stupid I was to be angry at you, and I almost lost you before I could tell you. I love you, and I know what you told me before, you told me because you love me.”
“It’s true,” Allie barely managed to scratch out. She struggled to swallow. “Water?”
Laney was out the door in a flash. Allie almost smiled, but the effort hurt her lips. She closed her eyes as they filled, flooded by feelings of immense gratitude and joy to be alive. She would never take anything—life, family, those she loved—for granted, ever again.
Moments later, Laney was back with some ice chips. “A nurse is on the way. Mom’s downstairs in the cafeteria and will be right up.”
She eased a few of the icy shards into Allie’s mouth. The cool moisture was like a drop of water on a frying pan. Not nearly enough. But she sucked on it blissfully.
They were quiet for a time, until Allie could finally speak again. “You’re holding up okay? Have you talked to Mark yet?”
Laney laughed and shook her head. “Me? Well, considering I wasn’t the one who was nearly slaughtered by a homicidal maniac, I’d say I’m doing better than okay.” Her smile grew somber. “However… Mark’s moved out. Until we can figure things out. We’re going to start some sessions with our bishop next Tuesday.” She glanced uneasily at the door. “But I haven’t told my mother yet. I’m hoping I won’t have to.”
You Again Page 21
