Black Rock Bay

by Brianna Labuskes

  “No.” Mia stayed calm, her gaze mostly tight on Lacey, but she couldn’t help glancing at Izzy’s weapon, which was firmly trained on her.

  Lacey’s eyes were wide, her breathing shallow. There was blood on her face, smeared across her cheek, while blue and green spread out from the bridge of her nose. She blinked at Izzy but didn’t try to say anything.

  A picture of the perfect victim.

  Christ, she was good.

  Izzy’s tongue darted out over her bottom lip, her hands trembling around the grip of the gun. “Just drop the gun for now. Okay? We’ll get it sorted, Mia.”

  “Don’t—” Mia’s voice was tight, harsh, when it came out. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m the crazy one with a gun.”

  The silence was damning. Come on, Izzy, fucking trust me. She tried to say it with her eyes, but Izzy’s were completely shuttered. It was the same way she’d watched Mia throughout the case—a little wary, a little secretive.

  Mia wondered what memories were flashing through Izzy’s head, wondered how they’d be viewed under the light of Mia now holding a gun.

  “Iz, I’m not going to drop it,” Mia started, trying for calmer than before. Lacey had something planned, she was sure of it. And that plan involved Izzy thinking Mia was out of control. Mia needed Izzy firmly back on her side, and acting erratically wouldn’t do it. No matter the hurt that ached like a wound in her chest. “I need to make sure she doesn’t try anything.”

  A low chattering filled the quiet that followed. Lacey’s teeth, and they both shifted toward her. With Mia wearing the coat, Lacey was dressed in a tank top and leggings, nothing more.

  Helpless. She looked so tiny, so vulnerable, so helpless. But she’d called Izzy here. She’d thrown Mia her gun. There was definitely an exit strategy cooked up in her devious little mind, and it probably involved both Izzy’s and Mia’s deaths.

  Mia’s gaze flicked between Izzy and Lacey. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said. “Izzy, do you have handcuffs?”

  “I do,” Izzy confirmed slowly. Then she deflected. “How about you place the weapon on the floor, and then we’ll sort it.”

  “Izzy, she’s been playing us this whole time.” Mia switched tactics, even though it sounded desperate, like she was grasping at straws. That’s why she hadn’t said it before. “She’s playing you right now.”

  “Funny, because she hasn’t said anything,” Izzy countered. “And you’ve done a lot of talking.”

  Frustration licked hot in Mia’s belly, crowding out that hint of sadness. “Right before you walked in the door, she was holding the gun on me.”

  It sounded absurd. She knew it sounded absurd. That, coupled with the assertion that Lacey was playing them, was denting Mia’s credibility with Izzy. But it was all she had left.

  “Mia” is all Izzy responded with.

  When Mia didn’t say anything further, Izzy looked back at Lacey, whose lip trembled as if she were trying to speak, but no sound came out. “All right, come here, Lacey.”

  “You’re going to cuff me?” There was a quiver in Lacey’s voice that slipped like an itch beneath Mia’s skin, burning and just out of reach. She wanted to slap her, see her crumple to the floor.

  Instead, Mia remained where she was, not wanting to do anything to derail getting handcuffs on the sociopath.

  Lacey stepped toward Izzy, her arms coming away from her body so that her wrists were held out, the picture of compliance.

  “You’re going to cuff yourself,” Izzy said.

  Lacey chewed on her lip but then moved closer. Mia could see the sweat that beaded along the line of her hair.

  “Thank you for coming,” Lacey whispered, loud enough for Mia to hear. The words meant to be a punch in the solar plexus for Izzy as Lacey took the cuffs.

  In the next breath, Lacey looped the metal chain over Izzy’s hand that was holding the gun. She twisted and then yanked it down, hard, so that the weapon clattered to the ground.

  Lacey was quick to retrieve it, quick to move out of Izzy’s arm’s length.

  “Don’t even try, Mia,” Lacey said, without taking her eyes off Izzy. “It’s just blanks.”

  It had happened so fast Mia hadn’t had the chance to pull the trigger, but she’d been lining up the sight.

  Mia called her potential bluff, a loud crack shattering the silence. But no one fell, no blood spilled. Lacey just grinned at both of them and held up one finger. Then she dug her phone out from where she’d tucked it into the waistband of her leggings. It was lit up, and Mia got a glimpse of squiggly, electric lines. She’d been recording the exchange.

  Lacey pressed stop.

  “Just need to cut the end bit off,” Lacey said to herself. “But that won’t show up as tinkering when the tech guys check it.”

  “What?” Izzy was a step behind, but Mia could see what Lacey was planning. It was almost brilliant.

  “I’m going to shoot you, Izzy,” Mia said, her voice devoid of all emotion. Izzy flinched, her eyes going to the weapon, even though she knew there weren’t actual bullets in the gun. Instinct. “And you’ll have no choice but to take me out. Tragically, your wound will prove fatal.”

  Lacey did a silly little clap, her eyes lighting up, before aiming the gun at Izzy’s chest once more. “See, Mia. That’s why you’re my masterpiece.”

  Shame spread across Izzy’s cheeks, a red stain obvious even across the room. It did nothing to ease the anger shredding Mia’s control. “Why the hell didn’t you believe me?”

  “Oh, don’t be too harsh, darling,” Lacey said, her voice honeyed, gleeful, clearly reveling in Mia’s near tantrum. “Lesser souls have fallen prey. It’s just so easy, don’t you see? Barely even a challenge anymore. Though, I have to admit, this was particularly fun.”

  Lacey pointed the gun at her. “Detective, if you would so kindly cuff yourself. And then be a dear and step closer to Mia over here.”

  Izzy didn’t even put up a fight, simply stepped around the sofa until she was all but shoulder to shoulder with Mia, locking the metal around her wrists as she went.

  The docile response was the first thing that slipped through Mia’s haze of rage. It was strange. There wasn’t even a quip to accompany Izzy’s surrender.

  “That’s close enough,” Lacey said, words going sharp. She might just be realizing that it wasn’t a good idea to have them this near to each other. “Now, Detectives, I have one more thing to take care of, and I’m going to need you to be dead silent for it.”

  Mia huffed out a disbelieving breath, and Lacey’s eyes snapped to hers. “I can shoot you in a very painful place, or I can shoot you in a not so painful place, precious. Your choice.”

  The threat was meaningless. Mia didn’t plan on going down without a fight either way, and Lacey wouldn’t be able to control her aim in the chaos.

  Lacey’s attention was divided as she dialed some number and then held the phone up to her ear.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Izzy said under her breath.

  Mia went stiff as the words hit her, but she didn’t acknowledge the warning in any other way. Was Izzy planning something? Or was that just a general request?

  Just then, Lacey let out a wet, broken sob. It tore through the room, pressing into all the corners and hidden spaces.

  “Gina? Gina Murdoch?” Lacey struggled to get out. “I . . .”

  Her voice wobbled, collapsed into sobs again. “They’re dead. They’re dead.”

  There was tinny shouting on the other end. But it wasn’t clear enough to make out.

  “Mia shot . . .” Lacey wavered again, breathed deep. “Detective Santiago. I tried. I tried to save her, but I . . . I . . .”

  She heaved in a breath, as if she were trying to stop a panic attack. “I’m sorry,” she cried out. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t save her.”

  And then she pulled the phone away and ended the call.

  When she g
lanced back at them, she sighed happily, her eyes dry, her smile too big for her face.

  “Isn’t it all just so perfect?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  IZZY

  Izzy could practically smell the tang of Mia’s rage, but it was layered now. Confusion lingered in the tightness of her shoulders.

  Don’t do anything stupid. Izzy thought it again, not willing to risk another warning.

  “Wait,” Izzy called out, even though Lacey hadn’t moved to shoot them yet. “You have to tell me something. Before you, you know”—she gestured to the gun—“kill us.”

  It was a distraction, and Lacey was going to fall for it. Because, Izzy guessed, if there was something Lacey loved more than anything else, it was talking about how clever she was.

  “Hmm, you’re not exactly in a position to be making demands, Detective.” Lacey trailed one finger along the barrel of the gun. But that wasn’t quite a no.

  “What was up with Peter?”

  “Ah, Peter.” Lacey sighed. “He screamed so beautifully.”

  Izzy cringed.

  “Peter, Peter, Peter,” Lacey hummed. “He was very naughty, that one. He liked to snoop and found all my souvenirs.”

  Mia shuddered beside Izzy. “Souvenirs?”

  Lacey smiled at her. “My mementos. I have a razor blade from that night. It has your blood on it, darling.”

  Izzy’s stomach rolled, then clenched. Beside her, Mia bent in two, her body heaving as she gagged against nothing. As soon as Izzy shifted to help her, though, Lacey swung the gun on her. “No.”

  Straightening, Mia waved Izzy off anyway, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The mask was back in place only seconds later.

  “I’m not mad at him, though,” Lacey continued. “At first, I was very angry, of course. Especially when he left the island. But then he came back. And I knew what I was going to do.”

  The final pin dropped. “He was bait,” Izzy said.

  Lacey’s mouth dropped open in delighted surprise. “Detective, I knew I liked you. Your brain is so clever. I wish you weren’t so easy to toy with.” Lacey batted her lashes at Izzy. “We could have had such fun, you and I.”

  “Bait?” Mia asked. “For me?”

  “Hmm, yes,” Lacey said, her eyes focused on Mia. “That reporter came and messed everything up. But I like to improvise. I had been trying to figure out a purpose for Sammy, anyway. He needed a bit of direction in his life.”

  “Why switch their identities, though?” Izzy asked. She got why it would have been risky to have Peter turn up dead that close to when he’d been staying with Lacey. She would have been the first suspect they would have looked at. But it all seemed unnecessarily complicated to have Sammy lie about the identity of the body. “Why not just kill Robert and use him to get Mia here?”

  Lacey’s lip tipped up, and she raised her brows, a teacher waiting for them to figure out the solution.

  It was Mia who finally answered. “Because Peter was the one I recognized. He must have told you he tried to contact me.”

  “Brava, precious.” Lacey sent her a fond look that had saliva pooling in Izzy’s mouth once more. “He disclosed that little fact . . . right before his very timely death.”

  When they simply stared at her, Lacey laughed. “Oh, come now, Detective Santiago. You have to admit that it made you look at our dear Mia here differently. When she recognized the body.”

  Izzy couldn’t deny it. Lacey knew she couldn’t deny it.

  “Yes, Sammy filled me in on that delicious moment,” Lacey purred. “It set everything in motion. ‘The Unraveling of Mia Hart’—a tragic but satisfyingly logical tale. You, Detective Santiago, acted your scenes beautifully, darling. You are the fruit of my labor.”

  Izzy’s skin went itchy and tight, and she wanted to dig her nails in, scratch until the memories of those words were nothing but red track lines on her arms.

  “So you killed Peter?” Izzy asked bluntly.

  “Killed is such a dirty word, isn’t it?” Lacey said. “I helped him ease his pain. He had some ugly wounds from our time together.”

  “Ease his pain with a gunshot through his palate,” Izzy said.

  “Hmm, no. I’ve never killed anyone, Detective,” Lacey corrected. “I simply gave him options. That was the one he chose.”

  Suicide. The case had always been an odd combination of murder and suicide. Now it made sense. It had been both.

  “What about Earl?” Izzy kept pushing. Mia shifted toward the mantel. The jewelry box, with its hard points. That’s what Izzy would go for if she were Mia.

  Don’t do anything dumb. Please, Izzy tacked on, even if the request was trapped in her own brain.

  “I heard Earl found some pills.” Lacey pouted. “So tragic when they aren’t kept locked up tightly.”

  Izzy tapped her foot once. She could tell Mia’s attention wasn’t on them.

  “And your mother?”

  Lacey flinched, visibly.

  “Mother smoked,” Lacey said finally, and this time the waver in her voice actually seemed real. “Nasty habit.”

  “I wonder how she fell asleep, though,” Izzy said in a faux-curious tone. “With a lit cigarette. Seems awfully irresponsible.” Izzy paused. “And don’t you have a penchant for dipping into Daddy’s medicine cabinet?”

  Lacey glanced at Mia, furtive almost, then back to Izzy. “Mother was depressed. She took all kinds of pills to help her sleep.”

  “All right,” Izzy finally said, easily. “Then what about us?”

  “What do you mean?” Lacey asked, off balance for once. Izzy did a mental fist pump over what she was going to count as a victory.

  “I’m not going to shoot Mia, and she won’t shoot me.” Izzy shrugged. “You’re going to have to break your streak and actually get your hands dirty for once.”

  Lacey’s mouth twisted as if she actually hadn’t considered that. Which was strange seeing as how every other thing had been planned with such immaculate attention to detail.

  Her face cleared, and she lifted one shoulder. “It has to be done.”

  Izzy’s breath hitched. “So you’re going to shoot us?” Izzy asked again. “Dead.”

  If Lacey thought about it, the clarification would seem odd. But she was too far gone for that. Or at least Izzy hoped.

  “Gold star for following along, Detective,” Lacey said slowly, but the skin near her eyes had gone tight. She was realizing it was an off note but seemed unable to stop herself from continuing. “Yes, I suppose I’ll have to do it myself.”

  And there was their confession.

  The world slowed down, the heady cocktail of stress and endorphins turning everything sharp and clear.

  Izzy tipped her head back. “Now,” she yelled, so loud that the waves of it crashed against the walls and pushed out into the night.

  Lacey’s eyes were wild, darting over their faces, to the door, to the stairs, back to Mia. Her finger tightened on the trigger, and Izzy could see the confusion, the hesitation, and then the slow and steady press of flesh against metal. The barrel was still aimed at Izzy’s chest.

  The door crashed open to her right, the wood splintering and then slamming against the wall. Voices yelled things that made no sense to Izzy, not in that moment.

  And still they wouldn’t be fast enough.

  Lacey’s eyes were bright. She hadn’t even glanced toward the bodies flooding in from the outside.

  Before Izzy could move or react, Mia stepped in front of her just as Lacey pulled the trigger.

  The bullet slammed into Mia, and then Lacey’s body hit the ground.

  Izzy had been right. They hadn’t been fast enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  IZZY

  Izzy hated hospitals. Maybe it was a cliché, but maybe she didn’t care. The too-bright halls, the lemon disinfectant that burned her throat, the gray pallor of the nurses’ skin. She couldn’t stand any of it.

  She smoothed her pal
m over her arms, a gesture she easily recognized as self-soothing, as she stepped into Mia’s room.

  It was empty save for Mia stretched out on the bed. Tubes pumped liquid into her veins; wires kept track of the fluttering heartbeat beneath her rib cage. Both served only to make her slender body appear all the more fragile. Utterly breakable. That’s what she was.

  Izzy pulled the visitors’ chair right up next to the bed and watched the steady blinking light on the heart monitor.

  Alive. That’s what the rhythmic beeping told her. Mia was still alive.

  Izzy held on to that, wrapped greedy arms around that certainty and kept it close.

  Time passed, because that’s what it did. Izzy didn’t mark it, didn’t note it. There was sun in the room and then there wasn’t. A nurse tsk-tsked at her, tried to kick her out, but Izzy didn’t budge, and the woman eventually relented.

  All Izzy could do was hold her breath in the spaces between the little dings—the ones that spoke and said Mia is alive.

  Izzy inhaled on one. Exhaled on the next.

  When the machines went wild, Izzy straightened from her slouch too fast, the exhausted muscles in her neck pulling so tight that white-hot pain throbbed in her shoulder, up along the base of her skull. Nurses shoved into the room, pushing Izzy back against a wall.

  She only realized she was shouting when someone grabbed her, fingers digging into the sensitive spot above her elbows.

  “Honey, she’s waking up,” the nurse said, her voice firm, her body blocking Izzy’s view of Mia. “We need you to wait in the hall.”

  So Izzy was left with nothing to do but pace, guilt crawling up from the deep recesses of her gut where it had been kept at bay, its unrelenting claws digging in. Sweat turned her palms slick as her stomach twisted, untwisted, twisted again. They’d got a confession. But at what cost?

  There was a quiet sickness that came with the thought that Izzy had slipped into Lacey’s role, the manipulator, the puppet master pulling emotions like strings. Maybe it was the only way Izzy had been able to think of to get Lacey to talk like they’d needed her to. But justification was rarely difficult. What Izzy would have trouble with for a long time was not only the hurt that had slipped so easily into Mia’s eyes but also the resignation she’d worn only a minute later. As if she deserved the betrayal.