Runs Deep

by R. D. Brady

  Julie felt a sense of unreal. And somehow she felt warmer.

  “Stay with me, Julie.” Russ rolled her onto her side.

  She grunted when his hand brushed her wound. “Shot,” she mumbled.

  Russ gently picked her up in his arms, his words rushed. “I’m taking you to the cruiser. We need to warm you up and get you to the med center.”

  Julie felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness. “How’d you find me?”

  “I was already in the area, looking for you and Steve, when I heard about your call to the station. I switched directions and came here.”

  She struggled to focus on his words. That wasn’t what she meant. “How did you find me?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just… I felt like I should check the dock. And then I heard you call out.”

  But Julie knew that was impossible. Her voice wasn’t loud enough. She closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek. Thank you, Simone.

  “We’ll get you on a medevac to the mainland. Don’t worry. And Declan is closing in on Steve. He won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

  Julie shook her head. She was losing her battle with consciousness, but she knew something about what Russ was saying was wrong. Then she remembered. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t.

  It’s not him. You’re after the wrong guy.

  CHAPTER 88

  Steve crouched low against the side of his grandmother’s house. Jack’s car wasn’t in the drive, but there were candles lit in the living room and kitchen, and he could hear Frank Sinatra playing on his grandmother’s old battery-operated radio. He peered in through the kitchen window but there was no sign of either his grandmother or Jack.

  Steve made his way around the outside of the house to the living room window. He was surprised that the house didn’t look damaged. He’d expected broken windows or maybe some more graffiti.

  He peered inside and saw his grandmother sitting in a chair. Her knitting basket lay on the ground next to her. He let out a breath. Thank God.

  He climbed the porch and tried the front door. Locked. He knocked. “Gran? It’s me. It’s Steve.”

  Nothing but Frank Sinatra answered him. The hairs on his arm rose. He knocked again, louder and more insistent. “Gran? It’s Steve. Open the door.”

  Still nothing. Steve’s heart began to pound.

  She just can’t hear me over the music. His key only worked the back door. He ran down the stairs, stopping only long enough to peer in the window again. His grandmother’s hand twitched, and he let out a breath. Okay. She’s fine. She probably fell asleep.

  He ran to the back door and tried it. Locked as well. He unlocked the door and made his way to the living room. “Gran? Are you all right?”

  She stayed in her chair, her head tilted to the side. Her knitting lay in a heap at her feet. He ran to her.

  Her eyes shifted to him, but the bottom half of her face seemed to have frozen, and her lip drooped on one side. Terror paralyzed him. A stroke. She’s had a stroke.

  He knelt down next to her and ran a shaky hand over her hair, the same way she had done to him thousands of times. “It’s going to be okay, Grandma.”

  Heart pounding, he picked her up out of the chair, carried her to the couch, and laid her down gently. He placed a pillow under her head, then pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and tucked it around her.

  He knelt down next to her, taking her hand. At first he thought she was trembling, but then he realized the shake in her hand came from him. He tucked her arms under the blanket and wiped her hair from her eyes. “Gran, I’m going to call for help. You’ve had a stroke, okay?”

  A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. Steve wiped it away. “It’s okay. I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to call for help.” He kissed her on the forehead before standing up. He was almost in the kitchen when he heard a key in the front door.

  He turned around as Jack stepped in.

  All his earlier suspicions about Jack were immediately forgotten as soon as his brother stepped into the room. “Jack, thank God. I think Grandma’s had a stroke. I’m going to call for help. Stay with her.”

  Steve ran into the kitchen and pulled the receiver off the handset. The cord dangled in the air. It had been cut. Steve stared at it stupidly for a moment, not understanding what he was seeing. How the hell did the phone line get cut?

  Steve ran back into the living room, the phone still clutched in his hand. “The phone’s been cut.”

  Jack stood beside the couch, looking down at their grandmother, rolling one of her knitting needles in his hands. “I know.”

  “You know? Why is it cut?”

  Jack looked over at him. “Yes. I know, because I cut it. I didn’t want her to be able to call for help.”

  Steve stared at his brother, his thoughts tumbling over top of one another. “What? When? Jack, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “She had the stroke about an hour ago. Before I left.”

  Steve’s mind was a jumble. An hour ago? His anger boiled. “She had the stroke before you left? You just—left her here?”

  Jack shrugged and twirled the knitting needle. “I had things to take care of.”

  Steve stared, dumbfounded. Who the hell was this man?

  Jack looked down at his grandmother. “But don’t worry, Gran, you have my undivided attention now.”

  He plunged the knitting needle into her stomach.

  CHAPTER 89

  Bess’s body lurched as Jack thrust the needle in almost to the hilt.

  “No!” Steve yelled, launching himself across the room.

  Jack whipped a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at Steve. “Don’t.” His voice was flat.

  Steve stopped, but his eyes remained fixed on his grandmother. Her chest still rose, but blood pooled around the needle. She was still here, but he wasn’t sure for how much longer.

  Steve turned his gaze to Jack. Jack’s eyes were hard. His face was that of a stranger. No—not a stranger. Just someone Steve hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

  “Why are you doing this?” Steve asked quietly.

  Jack grinned. “Because it’s fun.” He gestured toward the kitchen with the gun. “Let’s chat in there, shall we?”

  Steve glanced at his grandmother, debating what to do.

  Jack aimed the gun at her. “I will kill her.”

  Steve wanted to rush Jack right then, but he knew that if he failed, his grandmother would die. Glaring, he walked backward toward the kitchen.

  Jack chuckled as he followed, a slight limp in his step. “What? You don’t trust me? I’m hurt, little brother. I really am.”

  Steve clenched his fists, warning himself to stay calm. He needed to figure a way to get the gun from Jack.

  Jack waved him toward the kitchen table. “Take a seat.”

  “I’d rather stand.”

  Jack’s voice was glacial. “I didn’t ask you to take a seat. I told you to take one.”

  Steve hesitated. Then he walked over and took a seat, his arms crossed over his chest. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?”

  Surprise flashed across Jack’s face. “Kill you? Why would I do that? After all, you’re my stooge. You’re the one who takes the blame for all my little indiscretions.”

  “Indiscretions?”

  Jack looked at him, his eyebrows raised.

  And every doubt about Jack came roaring back. He felt sick. “You killed Simone, didn’t you?”

  Jack waved his hand, indicating that Steve should keep going.

  “And Mel, Elise, and Dee.”

  Jack smiled. “True. And not a soul suspects me. Not with my brother, the big bad murderer, in town.” He cocked his head to the side. “You never suspected me either, did you? Not even when Dad disappeared? I mean, come on, after Dad, that was a pretty radical change of behavior on my part, don’t you think?”

  Steve stared, confused. “Dad? What do
es Dad have to do with this?”

  Jack laughed and slapped his knee. “God, this is too good. You don’t have clue.”

  Steve gritted his teeth. “Why don’t you tell me then?”

  Jack wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, a giant grin on his face. “Dad was the only one who ever really saw me. Didn’t you ever wonder why he never let you be alone with me? He caught me trying to suffocate you with a pillow when you were three. Mom said I was just playing. But Dad knew better.”

  Cold spread through Steve. He spoke slowly. “Why did Dad leave?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re beginning to understand. Dad was getting more and more strict. He needed to go away. He was my first. He was the one who showed me who I could be.”

  “You killed him?”

  Jack just smiled.

  “But—but why? You were nice to me after that. In fact, you were nice to everyone after Dad disappeared.”

  “Yes, I was, wasn’t I? You, Mom, Gran, my whole ‘town boy makes good’ persona—you were all my beard.”

  “Your beard?”

  Jack sighed. “Your institutional education apparently has quite a few holes. My beard—my disguise, my cover. You guys made me seem like the perfect son, brother, citizen. No one would ever accuse the hardworking Jack Kane of any murderous deeds.”

  Steve’s jaw went slack. His brother was crazy. But as he stared at Jack, he realized that wasn’t right. No, Jack was sane—coldly and inhumanly sane. He simply didn’t care about anyone or anything besides himself.

  “You’re a psychopath.”

  Jack shrugged. “Probably.”

  Steve shook himself from his shock. “Grandma needs medical attention. What do you want?”

  Jack narrowed his eyes and raised the gun. “Don’t rush me, Steve. I’ve been waiting for this moment for nearly twenty years. Twenty years since Dad’s death—ten since Simone’s. I won’t be rushed.”

  Steve’s temper began to boil. Bastard. Jack wanted to brag about his accomplishments. The thought brought Steve up short.

  “All the letters in prison,” Steve said. “They weren’t to show me what a good life I could have on the outside. They were an opportunity for you to gloat. To twist the knife I didn’t even know was in my back.”

  Jack nodded. “Oh, it has been fun.”

  “Why Simone, though?”

  Jack waved the gun carelessly. “It was never supposed to be Simone. It was supposed to be Julie.”

  Steve felt the ground fall out from under him. Julie?

  “Your best friend,” Jack continued. “Your little confidante. But this way worked out even better. You lost her anyway, even while she was still alive—well at least she was.”

  Steve went cold. “What did you do?”

  “I’ve already taken care of her. Not in as satisfying a way as I would have liked, but fate intervened.”

  “Julie’s dead?”

  “Of course. In fact, this is her gun. Nice, isn’t it?”

  Steve clenched his fist under the table.

  Jack tilted his head. “Does that make you mad? Careful, Grandma needs you to be alive to help her. Which brings us to our little game.”

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “Oh, but it is. And now, for you to win—for you to save Grandma—all you need to do is turn into the killer that everyone thinks you are.”

  CHAPTER 90

  Jack leaned back against the counter, his feet crossed at the ankles, looking perfectly at peace—even with Julie’s gun trained on Steve. “You’ve always been so soft. I’m surprised you survived being locked up. If not for Declan, you probably wouldn’t have.”

  Steve said nothing. Jack placed the gun on the counter behind him and then walked over to the back door. Steve looked from Jack to the gun.

  Jack smiled. “Go ahead. Take it. I won’t stop you. But if you want to save Gran, you’re going to have to kill me. I’m not letting you out of here any other way. And if you don’t kill me… well, then the first chance I get, I’m going to kill her. If she survives tonight. Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow, or the day after that… or the month or the year. But I’ll do it. I’ll kill her.”

  Steve walked over and picked up the gun. He pointed it at Jack. “What makes you think I won’t?”

  “You don’t think I deserve to die.”

  Steve tightened his grip. “Oh, you deserve to die.”

  Jack’s face changed from confidence to fear in a second. “Declan, help me. He’s gone crazy.”

  Too late, Steve heard footsteps behind him. “Steve, put down the gun.”

  Declan stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his gun trained on Steve.

  Steve moved so he could keep an eye on both Declan and Jack. “Declan, it’s not what you think.”

  “I need you to put down that gun, Steve. Jack, walk over here and get behind me,” Declan said.

  Steve gripped the gun, following Jack’s progress toward Declan. “Declan, you don’t understand. It’s been Jack all along.”

  Jack moved behind Declan. His words came out rushed, terrified, but he grinned behind Declan’s back as he spoke. “I can’t believe it’s been Steve this whole time. And now he’s killed Grandma. We were so wrong. He needs help. We can get him help.” Jack winked at Steve.

  Declan adjusted his grip. “Steve, I need you to put the gun down. We can talk about this.”

  Steve stared at him and then nodded, lowering the gun. Behind Declan, Jack pulled a knife from his pocket with a smile, shaking his head at Steve. He raised it above his head and took a step toward Declan.

  “No!” Steve yelled, bringing the gun back up.

  “Don’t do it!” Declan yelled. “We can get you some help.”

  Jack shook his head, but he added a plea to his voice. “Listen to him Steve, please. Think about Grandma.”

  Steve looked between the two of them, his heart pounding.

  Jack raised the knife above Declan’s back.

  “Don’t do this,” Steve begged.

  “I’m not the one doing it,” Declan said.

  Jack just grinned bigger. And Steve knew that Jack would kill Declan without a second thought.

  Steve fired.

  “Steve, no!” Declan yelled, firing at the same time.

  Blood bloomed across Jack’s left shoulder. He fell forward, landing on Declan, who turned to catch him. Jack’s knife fell from his hand and clattered across the floor. Declan’s eyes grew wide and then flew back to Steve.

  Steve dropped to his knees. The gun fell from his hands. Blood poured from the wound in the center of his chest.

  Declan’s radio rang out with Russ’s voice. “Declan, it wasn’t Steve. It was Jack. Declan, can you hear me? It wasn’t Steve. It was Jack.”

  Steve fell to the floor. He could feel his life slipping away through the hole in his chest.

  Keith stormed in the back door with two deputies behind him. With one quick glance, he took in the scene. He stomped over to Steve. “You murdering bastard.” He kicked Steve in the face.

  “No!” Declan yelled.

  Steve’s head whipped to the side and the world disappeared.

  CHAPTER 91

  Two Days Later

  The insistent beeping was driving him nuts. All Steve wanted to do was drift back into the warm cocoon he’d been in. It had been good there. Comforting. He tried to shut the noise out, but it wouldn’t go away.

  He became aware of more noises. A voice sounded from somewhere far away, the words indistinguishable. It was followed by movement as someone shifted in a chair—that noise was much closer.

  Steve cracked his eyes open. He took in the white walls, white bedding, and medical equipment Then he closed them again against the bright lights. Hospital.

  “Steve?”

  Steve turned his head to the right. Declan leaned forward in his chair and let out a breath. “You’re awake. Thank God.”

  Declan looked awful. A thick, dark stubble had grown across the lower h
alf of his face. His shirt was wrinkled and untucked. Steve couldn’t ever remember seeing Declan looking anything but immaculately groomed. “Declan?”

  Declan’s face was drawn. It looked like he’d aged years since Steve had last seen him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  Steve stared at him, confused. What the hell was he talking about?

  Then the scene in the kitchen came back to him with startling, painful clarity.

  “Grandma?”

  Declan hesitated. He grasped Steve’s hand. “I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.”

  Steve had thought he couldn’t feel any worse. He was wrong. The whole world had just been bleached of its colors. Tears clouded his vision. His grandmother had stood by him through everything, and he hadn’t been able to save her.

  He looked away and closed his eyes, feeling the tears track down his cheeks. “I should have saved her.”

  “No. Don’t you take that guilt on. It’s not yours to carry. All of that belongs to Jack.”

  Steve’s eyes flew open and he turned back to Declan. “You know?”

  Declan grimaced. “When Jack fell on me and the knife fell from his hand, I realized what had happened. Then Russ’s call came through on the radio, confirming it was Jack. When I spoke with Julie later, she filled in the gaps.”

  Steve jolted. “Julie’s alive?”

  “Yeah. She was shot, nearly drowned, but she made it. She’s pretty tough.”

  For a moment, Steve felt a sense of relief, even happiness. Julie was all right. And she knew it wasn’t him.

  But reality shut the door on the hope that had begun to bloom in his chest. It wasn’t Steve who had killed Simone—but it was a Kane. Steve’s own brother. Julie might not hate Steve anymore, but he was still the one who’d brought that evil to her family.

  “Why did you think it was me?” Steve asked.

  Declan looked away. “I matched a print from the crime scene at Mel’s to your old fingerprint card at the police station.”

  Steve frowned. “How’s that possible?”