by Kristen Lamb
“What does it matter?”
“I always thought you’d be smarter, that’s all.” I chuckled. “I totally overestimated you. I assumed you were brilliant. I so wanted to be like you, and frankly I’m feeling very embarrassed about that right now.”
“What are you talking about?” Claire’s face twisted even more.
“Sweet, Claire,” I said. “You think you’re so clever, when in reality? You got outsmarted by a trailer park maid who dropped out of tenth grade.”
“Stop talking.” She raised the sommelier knife, but I squared my .45 to her chest.
“At least I’m smart enough not to bring a knife to a gun fight. Back off.”
Claire retreated up a couple of stairs.
“You weren’t happy being richer than me or better than me,” I said. “You wanted to destroy me and it worked. No job, no life and Los Espectros slaughtered my entire family.”
From her expression, I could tell she hadn’t known about the hit on my family. “But what you failed to appreciate is that there’s nothing more dangerous than a person with nothing left to lose.”
Her eyes widened as my threat sank in.
“I don’t need enough ammo to take on the Wraiths,” I said. “I have enough for one bullet in my own head so your threats mean nothing. But believe me when I say I won’t do that before I blow off your knees and gut-shoot you. Slow and painful way to die, which is exactly why you’re going to let me go.”
“Not happening,” Daphne said but I ignored her and kept pressing Claire’s buttons. “You’ve been had and you’re too stupid to know it. Am I right? Heather,” I said to the woman standing behind Claire.
“Heather? That little sticky-fingered whore’s your sister,” she replied.
“Oh, part of that is correct. My sister is a sticky-fingered whore. I didn’t know that until recently. And I still loved her after all of that. But the part that was a tad unforgivable?”
“You’re boring me,” Daphne said.
“The part where you lined the truck and new trailer with stolen drugs and tipped off the Wraiths. Cleaning house, Heather ? If you are, indeed, Daphne, then sure.” I shrugged. “My sister would be a logical object of revenge, and maybe even me. But what would, Daphne, the real Daphne have cared about killing my father or grandmother?”
“That natural selection needs help,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Proves nothing.”
“But this does.” I raked the engagement ring across the nearby wine bottle, cracking the glass. “That’s what a real diamond does, Heather. Unlike the ornamental junk jewelry you’re wearing . ” I pointed to the still form slumped on the keyboard. “Phil was seriously uncreative. Daphne had the original ring, but when you vacation in the islands you want to wear a super nice imitation…exactly like the one he gave you. That ring’s as fake as you are, Heather. ”
She gave a stiff smile. “Cute theory, but we have a plane to catch. Claire, she’s bluffing. She’s weak. You know that. The men can dispatch her and clean up the mess,” she said but Claire didn’t budge. I could tell I’d rattled her.
“Go ahead, Claire. Go,” I said my voice level, cool as ice. “I know I’m dead, which is actually an upgrade, but you? You have a pretty sweet life. Might want to be certain who you’re boarding that tiny little private jet with.”
“What do you mean?” she said, her tone now laced with doubt.
“If I’m right, and that’s really my sister, she has no trouble ordering her entire family to be butchered. I’d wager she’d be far less attached to you.”
Daphne grabbed Claire’s arm. “Come on. We have all we need. The driver’s waiting. The plane’s waiting. Let the others finish this.”
I shook my finger. “I wouldn’t do that. Not without a little proof. Snakes on a Plane, real-life edition otherwise.”
“Proof? What kind of proof?” Claire asked her eyes narrowing.
“Simple. Have Daphne here prove her ring is a real diamond. Hand her a bottle.” Claire started to speak, but before she could say anything, a silenced bullet went in her back. She tumbled forward down the stairs and tried to stand, her eyes wide and mouth agape.
Heather kicked her over and shot her in the back of the head. “Bitch talks too much.” She tossed the chic glasses at Claire’s feet. “Crayons. Fuck you.” She fired another shot into the dead woman’s head then aimed the gun at me.
A standoff.
I had my sister dead in my sights, but couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pull the trigger. “Heather, please. I don’t want to hurt you,” I said and hot tears blurred my vision.
“See, this is your problem. You lack conviction. Mercy is for the weak.”
I bolted for the rows of racks.
“Why can’t you just die?” She shot twice my direction, but missed. I dove for the back of the cellar where it was darker. I patted around the shadows for my things, but tripped and heard a crack. I’d fallen on the night-vision, and it was too risky to go for the radio. Another bullet whizzed past, splintering the rack by my head. Glass, wood shards, and red wine exploded all over me. I leapt behind another row of racks. I tried to move but she shot again twice.
“You aren’t going to make it out of this one,” she said. “Romi, Romi, always running.” The stone cellar distorted sound, so I couldn’t tell precisely where she was. I came around a corner and she surprised me. She shot me twice, center mass, and stumbling, I crashed against one of the racks, and my gun skittered out of reach. I heard her reload.
Struggling for breath, I rolled on my side as she fired again. White-hot pain sliced through my ribs. I crawled toward the .45.
“You still don’t understand, do you?” she said, stomping me in the back. I felt like I was trying to breathe from underwater. Her boot crashed on the back of my knee, and I screamed.
“And they always said you were the smart one. But you still haven’t figured it out.”
“What?” I wheezed through the pain.
“Everyone has a price.”
I coughed hard and noticed the coppery tang of blood, flecks of blood peppering the floor.
“I saw right through Phil. You let that stupid bastard ruin your life.”
“Please, please stop. This isn’t you,” I said.
“Oh, but it is me. I killed the animals, not Meyerson. Used to pretend they were you. I blamed Robby, and y’all were so eager to believe me. I wasn’t the smart one, but Daddy didn’t look too brilliant chasing Shadow People in his robe.”
She kicked me again in the side she’d shot.
“Nana was even more fun. Stupid old bitch believes she’s an uncontrollable kleptomaniac.” She grabbed my hair and smashed my head into the concrete so hard I nearly blacked out. “The look on her face getting busted with stuff in her purse I put there. Priceless. But she was oh so grateful for her loyal granddaughter who was willing to do anything to keep her from going to jail. Goodbye, Sis.” I heard a click.
Her gun jammed.
Seizing the opportunity, I found my .45, rolled and shot her twice in the chest. She toppled backwards, the .22 flying from her grasp. I tried to stand, but vertigo made the room sway. My bandana was gone, and my head gushed blood into my eyes faster than I could wipe it away, blinding me. As soon as I caught my breath, she was on me with superhuman strength. My pistol fell from my slickened grasp. “You aren’t the only one with Kevlar.” She choked me, and I tore at her hands. Prying them free, I punched her square in the nose, knocking her back, but it wasn’t enough. Heather had me by the throat once more and squeezed even harder. Blood poured from her ruined nose. “Mama found our letters. Was going to tell the cops. Turn him in for statutory rape to keep us apart.”
“Delroy?” I wheezed, tearing at her thumbs to keep her from crushing my windpipe.
“Sure, that crack-headed loser.”
Sparks of light exploded in my peripheral vision, but I was not going to die. Not today.
“Because Delroy was the best I could do.”
&n
bsp; “Stop,” I squeaked and tried to keep conscious. If I passed out, I’d be dead.
“You’re just like Daddy. Mama didn’t think I could do better either. She was going to destroy everything.” She pinned my neck with one hand and picked up my .45 with the other. She eased the hot barrel across my jaw like a branding iron. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder mixed with the tang of blood.
“Mom…loved you.” Tears and blood streamed down my face. I was trying to reach any part of my sister that might have a soul.
“I waited for Mama to leave to meet that cop in Presidio, but we stopped her.” She teased the loose hair away from my face with my loaded gun. One wrong move and I’d lose half my head.
“Who?” I rasped as Heather leaned her weight into my throat.
“Delroy. Idiot was supposed to clean up, but I should have known that sorry piece of shit would screw it up. And Cotton, his ever-loyal friend, trying to save him. Damn waste of a good man.” She let out a dark laugh and let go of my throat to wipe her nose. “Probably only good man in this town, and he loved you,” she said as if the words made her sick.
She aimed the barrel of the .45 toward my throat, but I lunged and thrust the weapon into my chest as she fired, my vest absorbing the blast. I wrapped my hands around the weapon and used my thumb to drop the magazine. We wrestled and once the muzzle was pointed away, I jammed my finger on the trigger and fired off the only remaining round, the one in the chamber.
“I don’t need a gun to kill you,” she said, winding her hand in my necklace, using it like a garrote.
I worked my hand under the hoodie. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“You don’t know everything,” I said gasping for breath, but she’d cut off most of my air and the world was starting to go black.
“Like what?”
“I love you, and—” I said my fingers finding purchase.
“I don’t know what ?” She pulled harder at the necklace, which broke free as I rammed Daddy’s knife through her chest.
That Kevlar is useless against a blade.
She gaped at the knife in her chest then the St. Jude in her hand. “Romi…” Heather’s body convulsed then her eyes rolled back and she crumpled to the stone floor.
I fell back in quiet agony, Heather’s warm blood pumping through the fatal wound, pooling near me. I’d been so sure Sawyer and Angel would hear events as they played out and would come to my rescue. Prevent this.
I pawed at the Velcro pocket on my vest and found the QuikClot. I tore open two packages with my teeth and shoved one under my vest where I’d been shot in the side. The other, I held to the gash in my hairline. I tore off a third for Heather, but knew she was already dead. I hadn’t hit a lung. I’d struck clean through her heart. I managed to sit up and drew my sister’s head into my lap. I closed her eyes, stroked her hair and wept for the wild thing I’d tried so hard to love.
I stared at Claire’s motionless body. So much death and for what? Money. I thought about Cunningham’s eerie scripture that day at Unemployment, Such is the end of all who go after ill-gotten gain, it takes away the lives of those who get it.
Shouting echoed above and below me, loud angry voices converging, but I no longer cared. Life no longer mattered and neither did death.
Something rattled into the room from the secret door then an ear-splitting bang. Blinding light overloaded my synapses and smoke billowed around me. All I heard was “DEA! On the floor! Now!” I raised my palms and let Heather go. I laid facedown, arms and legs splayed. Rough hands were on me and I felt the flex-cuffs. I went limp. Nothing left.
“Tony sent us,” was all I heard. All I could think was At least I was right about someone.
Then darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When I awoke, I didn’t know where I was. Everything was white. Was I dead? I struggled against my restraints, but someone stopped me. “Stop. You’ll tear out your IVs.”
I tried to sit up, but didn’t have it in me. It was Sawyer. “Finally got you to a hospital after all.”
“I would’ve been fine,” I said but had almost no voice. My throat was bruised and swollen, my mouth gritty, as if I’d been snacking on the contents of a vacuum-cleaner bag.
“A gunshot wound, cracked patella, three broken ribs, bruised organs, lacerations, burns, and a concussion cannot be fixed with Superglue.”
“Glitter and twisty-ties and I’d have handled it,” I said, each word agony.
“I so love you,” he said and kissed me hard. “Please don’t ever change,” he murmured against my lips.
“How long? Out?” I said, my head thick, and my body wrapped in a cocoon of pain.
“Three days in ICU. Once you were out of the woods, they moved you here to the HDU. They’ve kept you sedated. Your dad gave the hospital permission to let me be here. Said I was your boyfriend so I could watch you.”
“HDU?” I touched the angry lump on my head. Monitors beeped low around me.
“High Dependency Unit. You aren’t ready for a regular ward.”
“Oh.”
“You were in pretty bad shape when they found you,” he said.
“I thought…bulletproof…vest,” I said.
“Heather shot you in the side where there’s no protection. Caught you at an angle and the bullet ricocheted around your ribcage. Didn’t go very deep or puncture anything, but will hurt like hell. Thank God she was only using a .22,” he said and caressed my hair, careful to avoid the stitches.
“Only?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Small caliber bullet. You’d have been dead otherwise.”
I nodded. My throat couldn’t take much more talking. I wondered if it would’ve been better if I were dead. I closed my eyes, the nightmare of what happened, what I’d done hitting me full-force.
“Water,” I whispered.
Sawyer left the room, retuning moments later with a plastic cup. “You were very stupid, you know.” He spooned some ice past my cracked lips.
“Stupid’s my thing. Ask Heather. Wait. You can’t,” I rasped.
“It was a stupid thing you did,” he said. He held my hand where all the IVs had been taped secure. “But a very brave thing as well. You erased one crime syndicate and stuck a major blow to Los Espectros, solved three missing persons cases, and four murders. You should be proud.”
I wanted to believe him, but everything I’d ever known was a lie.
Sawyer smiled, trying to encourage me. “All the people from Verify will get their money back. The business owners of Bisby will reclaim what was stolen, and a town that was dead is now very much alive.”
“Thoolen?” I wheezed.
“Had no idea about the illegal activities and is granting even more angel investment into the town. Your father and grandmother are safe and a lot of bad people are now going to prison. The DEA and ICE have been working this for years and you were who they needed to find the new network.” His face darkened.
“But?”
“Los Espectros hadn’t fully loaded the tunnels yet. There were guns and drugs, but we moved too soon. It’s why there was such a skeleton crew below.”
“My mom?” I asked.
He hesitated then said, “Found her in the older section of tunnels. Funeral’s pending. Cotton’s services are next Friday after they collect any evidence from his body.”
“What about…Heather?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“Official story is she and Claire were collateral damage from the cartel, innocent bystanders.”
“Innocent.” A rough laugh escaped.
He fed more ice chips into my dry mouth and spoke in a hushed voice, “The truth does no one any more good and only puts truly innocent people in danger. There’s no more justice down that path, only needless suffering.”
He was right.
“Our official story is you were attacked by Wraiths with your sister and Claire, but survived. No one but the FBI and DEA knows otherwise and the doctors an
d surgeons can’t release any of your medical information without a warrant.”
“Good.”
“Some agents have come in to get your official statement when you’re better, but I used my cell to record what went on over the radio since I couldn’t get to you. That’s plenty of corroboration.”
“Sorry about…ditching you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“True. I’m not.”
“We’ll implode the tunnels and seal off that passage into the wine cellar. Thoolen is paying for your mom and Heather to be cremated after the autopsies are complete and is buying your family a real house. No wheels.”
“Oh,” was all I had left.
A petite nurse peeked in the door. “You’re awake. Excellent.” She checked the beeping machines and hung a fresh IV.
“Pain,” I mouthed.
“I know. It’s why I brought this.” She removed a prefilled syringe from her pocket and I panicked.
“No, no don’t,” I wheezed, but Sawyer held me as I struggled. “It’s fine.”
“No. Don’t…touch me.”
“Demerol, hon. That’s all,” she said in a practiced calm as she injected the fluid into my IV then backed away. “You’ll feel much better in a minute.”
I tried to fight, but my strength drained away as the narcotic undertow dragged me closer to the blackness. My sister’s words played through my mind. Sure, that crack-headed loser…because Delroy was the best I could do. As my consciousness slipped free from its moorings, I wondered, if not Delroy or Cotton, then who?
