Kiss Me, Kill Me

by Allison Brennan

  “He’s my brother. He depends on me.”

  “Sean is trying to get inside.”

  “Sean Rogan? You’re with him?”

  She nodded. “He knows what he’s doing. Trust him.”

  Wade was torn.

  The door opened behind Lucy. She reached for her gun, but didn’t draw when she saw Dennis. His head was bleeding and he was shaking. “Y-y-you have to c-come inside now,” he said. “P-please.” His eyes darted to the left. Lucy saw a female hand on his shoulder.

  Wade pushed past Lucy and reached for his brother. Whitney peered over Dennis’s shoulder. She held a gun at his neck.

  “You brought one of your girlfriends?” Whitney said, with a furious glare at Lucy.

  “No, I don’t know who she is—”

  Whitney’s eyes teared and she pulled Dennis back into the house. Behind her was a long, wide hall, a laundry room beyond, and a staircase to the right.

  “You’re cheating on me! Again!”

  “No, I’m not,” Wade said. He put his palms up. “It’s been over between us for a long time.”

  No! Lucy wanted to scream. When engaged in conversation with Whitney, Wade needed to play along with her as long as possible. It would buy time.

  “It’s not over!” Whitney screamed, and Dennis let out a yelp as her fingernails dug into his shoulder.

  “Pretend!” Lucy ordered Wade through clenched teeth, hoping he understood.

  “Where’d you pick up this little slut? In prison? Or is she a cop? You fucked a cop once, you told me.”

  “I’m not a cop,” Lucy said. If Whitney felt threatened, it would make her even more unpredictable. Whitney had the gun, she was in charge. Whitney had to continue believing she was in complete control in order to keep her as calm and reasonable as possible. As reasonable as she could be, Lucy thought, which wasn’t comforting considering her history.

  If Wade cooperated, Lucy might be able to talk their way out of this, or at least get Dennis to safety. If she could get him out of the house, Sean would have to rescue only Mrs. Barnett.

  Lucy considered everything she knew about Whitney. She’d read her journal. She’d studied her artwork. Lucy understood Whitney better than Whitney understood herself. But the killer didn’t know that, and if Lucy remained calm and focused, she could use her knowledge to defuse the situation and give Sean and the police more time to get into place.

  A hint of a shadow moved to her left. As Wade pleaded with Whitney, Lucy glanced up. Sean was on the roof.

  “Let Dennis walk away and I’ll come in,” Wade said. He stepped forward. “Please, Whitney.”

  Lucy held her breath, silently pleading for Whitney to let the terrified young man go.

  Lucy heard a car door slam up the street. Then another.

  Whitney heard it, too.

  “Inside! Now!”

  “Let Dennis go—”

  “Now!” Whitney screamed.

  “Just let him—”

  “Get in get in get in!” She shook Dennis as she screamed.

  Wade stepped through the doorway as Whitney backed up. Lucy reached out. “Don’t, Wade, please—” If he went in, he was as good as dead.

  “You, too, you little bitch.”

  “She’s not part of this,” Wade said.

  Whitney ignored Wade. She glared at Lucy and put the gun to Dennis’s ear. He started crying.

  Whitney pushed the barrel of the gun so hard into Dennis’s ear that the sight at the end cut his lobe, which started bleeding. Her finger was on the trigger.

  “You don’t care about the idiot any more than I do,” Whitney said to Lucy.

  “You’re not letting Dennis go if I walk in there?”

  “No, but he can die now or he can die with everyone else.”

  Time. It was the only thing Lucy had to work with.

  She followed Wade inside.

  Sean watched the scene below him. He knew she had no choice, but he didn’t want Lucy in that house.

  She knows what she’s doing.

  But Whitney was an unpredictable psycho. Sean crawled back up the steep tile roof, wet from the recent storms. The sky was overcast, and the wind whipped around him. The roof wasn’t nearly as steep as mountains Sean had scaled, but he didn’t have a safety harness. He slipped once and slid two feet before he caught the edge of a tile, which dug sharply into his fingers.

  “Slow down, boy,” he admonished. If he fell and broke his neck he would be of no help to Lucy.

  From the top, where two dormer windows led to the attic, Sean could see four police cars and two unmarked sedans up the street surrounding his GT. He didn’t see Suzanne in the mix, but had her ETA pegged for at least another ten minutes. He sent her a message.

  Cops not being discreet—get them to back off until SWAT arrives. Whitney has gun. Has Lucy, Wade, and Dennis hostages on main level. Barnett mother’s whereabouts unknown. I’m going inside. Tell them I’m one of the good guys.

  The window was locked. Sean rolled out his tools and picked up his glass-cutter. Being trained under two veterans—his brother Duke and Duke’s partner, JT Caruso—had given Sean a wealth of skills most civilians didn’t have.

  He gently pushed in the glass at the bottom so he could pull it out in one piece. He doubted anyone downstairs would hear the breaking glass, but he wasn’t taking chances. He reached in and unlocked the window. It was stiff from disuse, but eventually it opened with a screech. Sean grimaced at the noise, slipped through, and listened. He heard nothing in the house below—no shouting, no gunshots, no one running up the stairs to confront him.

  His eyes adjusted to the dark, dusty room. He found a light switch, but the bulb was burned out or missing. On the far side was an opening that led to a staircase. He shined his pencil-size flashlight and found another switch. A ceiling light illuminated the stairwell and a door below.

  Sean walked down along the edge of the wooden stairs hoping to diminish the sound of creaking steps. He carefully cracked open the door to assess the landing. It was the second floor, near the end of the hall. The many hallway doors were closed. When he was confident there was no one there, he stepped out, quietly closing the door behind him.

  He heard a voice on the main floor below. By its panicked and shrill tone, it was Whitney.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the message.

  SWAT is en route, ETA 4 min. I’m 9 min out. Talked to the lieutenant, and cops will secure and hold. Stay put.

  Sean ignored the last comment. He pocketed his phone and walked down the carpeted hall to the top of a double-wide curving staircase that led to a marbled foyer below. The voice echoed.

  “We could go to an island,” Whitney said, sounding delusional. “Wade, we need time alone. With no one to interfere.”

  “Okay,” Wade said. “Let’s go. You and me, right now.”

  The voices were coming from almost directly beneath Sean. That meant they weren’t near the front of the house. He sent Suzanne a message to that effect, and started down the stairs. Almost immediately he realized that if he continued, everyone in that room would be able to see him. He got on his knees and looked through the railings. The room was a den with two narrow windows looking out into the side yard and several evergreen trees.

  He couldn’t see Lucy or Whitney, but Wade stood next to a sofa where an unconscious older female lay. There was blood on her head.

  He silently went back up the stairs, gave Suzanne the information, then checked the rest of the floor for a second staircase. He thought in a house this big there’d be another way down, but there wasn’t.

  He would have to take his chances.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Sean had seen only the art Whitney had drawn on the wall of the den, but Lucy saw that she’d been hard at work. Dozens of drawings were strewn around the room and taped on the walls. They were rough, hurried, and incomplete, without her usual meticulous attention to detail. These had a sharper, almost frantic texture to them. B
ut the subject was still obvious: Wade Barnett.

  Wade stood next to his unconscious mother lying on the couch. “Let’s do it, Whitney. Right now,” Wade said. “I have the money. We’ll go to Martha’s Vineyard. My family has a place there.”

  Lucy had been watching Whitney carefully. She was using Dennis as a shield of sorts because Dennis was being compliant. She kept one hand on a shoulder, and used the gun to poke him when she wanted to make a point.

  Whitney was on edge, but she wasn’t stupid.

  “I saw the cops driving by, Wade. I told you not to call them! How could you betray me again?”

  “I didn’t tell the police.”

  “I don’t believe your lies anymore!” she screamed. Dennis jumped and she hit him with the gun. He cried, and urine seeped through his pants down to the floor.

  Lucy saw the embarrassment and horror on Dennis’s face.

  Whitney wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”

  Dennis mumbled, “I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Denny,” Wade said, taking a step toward his brother before Whitney turned the gun on him.

  “Stay right there!”

  “Please let him go to his room. He’ll stay there, I promise.”

  “Your promises mean shit!” Then her voice and face softened. “It’s going to be okay. I figured out the problem in our relationship. It was because on September thirteenth I told you I didn’t want to go to the Yankees game.”

  Wade looked confused, but Lucy remembered the journal entry. It was from seventeen months ago. Whitney still remembered the exact day. Lucy had to get her to keep talking.

  “I didn’t even see you in September,” Wade said.

  “Yes, you did! No. The year before, remember?”

  Wade’s face paled. “Yes, I remember.” Wade wasn’t a good liar. Whitney was going back and forth too fast, from angry to calm. Lucy needed to keep her calm. Dennis was sobbing, and it was clearly grating on Whitney.

  Lucy asked, “What happened that day?”

  “Wade said, ‘Let’s go to the Yankees game.’ And I said, ‘I don’t want to.’ And he was upset and we did what I wanted, but that’s where I went wrong.” She turned to Wade, suddenly looking the personification of innocence. “I’ll always go to the baseball games with you. That’s why you fucked Alanna, right? Because she liked baseball. But you don’t need her anymore because I love baseball. I know every stat of every player. Try me.”

  “Whitney, I don’t—”

  “Ask me a question!”

  Lucy asked, “How many world series have the Yankees won?”

  “Twenty-seven!” Whitney smiled. “The last one was 2009.”

  “What number was Babe Ruth?” Lucy asked. She watched the gun in Whitney’s hand. That finger playing with the trigger made Lucy extremely nervous.

  “Three!” Whitney said. “It’s retired. And Roger Maris was number nine. Reggie Jackson was forty-four, and—”

  Wade interrupted her. “Okay, I believe you.”

  Lucy shot him a look of frustration. There would have been nothing better than for Whitney to spend the next twenty minutes reciting baseball statistics.

  Whitney frowned. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I forgive you.”

  “You don’t mean it.”

  “Yes, I do,” Wade said, dripping with exaggerated sincerity. “I forgive you for everything. For the baseball game, for killing all those women—”

  Lucy tried to cut him off. “Whitney, who’s the manager for the Yankees?”

  But Whitney wasn’t listening to her. She said, “Women? You mean those druggy whores who thought they were better than me? They tricked you. You didn’t know better, didn’t realize they were witches casting a spell on you. The only way to break the spell was to get rid of them.”

  Whitney said to Lucy, “Get me that bag.” She gestured to a duffel bag on the floor near the door. Lucy hadn’t noticed it before.

  Lucy walked slowly over. Out of the corner of one eye she saw a flash of movement down that hall, then nothing. Sean? SWAT?

  She bent and picked up the bag. It wasn’t heavy. She returned.

  “Empty it out.”

  Lucy unzipped the bag. Inside was a collection of mismatched shoes. Her stomach rolled as she turned the bag upside down and the shoes fell to the floor. Two spike heels, one black and one silver; two flip-flops, and a silver flat that matched the shoe on Sierra Hinkle’s foot.

  “That’s what’s left of those bitches,” Whitney told Wade. “And you did it to them. You killed them.”

  Wade was overcome at the evidence of Whitney’s crimes. “Whitney, what—why? Why did you kill them?”

  “To save you.”

  “Their shoes—you’re sick. You’re insane.”

  Lucy tried to interrupt.

  “Whitney, we can solve this now. Let’s talk about—”

  It was as if Lucy hadn’t spoken. Whitney said to Wade, “I’m the only sane person here! I need you, we have to be together or I’m going to die.” She kicked the pile of shoes. “They walked all over you. Used you.”

  Wade glanced at Lucy, eyes wide, at a loss for words.

  Whitney’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you keep looking at her?” She waved the gun in Lucy’s direction. “How long have you been screwing her? Was she one of your Party Girl bimbos?”

  “No, I never met her before today.”

  “A one-night stand?”

  “No!”

  Mrs. Barnett moaned from the couch and tried to get up. Wade knelt by her. “Mom, it’s Wade. Are you okay?”

  She didn’t respond, but her eyes were open and blinking.

  Lucy turned to Whitney, easing her way between Whitney and Wade. Dennis was tracking her with his eyes. She wanted to reassure him, but there was nothing she could say.

  “Whitney, you’re hurting inside, I can see it!”

  She nodded. “I love him so much. I can’t think of anything but him. I breathe for him. I need him.”

  “I see that.” Lucy thought back to the journals and the repeating themes she wrote about. They boiled down to one thing: need. Whitney’s sole focus was Wade, and she’d convinced herself that without him, she was no one. “Wade needs you. He’s been reckless and irresponsible without you.”

  “I know. He was arrested for drunk driving, he lost his license, he even threw up outside the Yankees game during the playoffs last year.”

  “You followed me there?” Wade exclaimed.

  Lucy looked at Wade and whispered through clenched teeth, “Shut up!”

  Whitney let go of Dennis, who fell to the floor. She took two steps toward Lucy and hit her on the side of the head with the gun. Lucy stumbled sideways and fell to the floor, her vision cloudy.

  “Don’t tell him to shut up, you fucking bitch!”

  Lucy tried to get up, but the pain made her nauseous. Blood from a head wound dripped to the floor. She lay back down to gather her strength.

  Dennis cried out, “Lucy!”

  Whitney pulled Dennis to his knees. She held the gun to the back of his head.

  As her vision cleared, Lucy saw movement by the double doors. Dark blue Nikes. Sean. She focused on breathing to dull the pain. Blood dripped on the carpet, but even minor head wounds could bleed a lot. She didn’t think it was serious.

  Whitney glared at her with fury. “This one’s like all the other witches you fucked. Are you fucking her, Wade?”

  “No.”

  Lucy slowly eased herself into a sitting position. Her vision started to clear.

  “Whitney,” Wade said, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t see that you were suffering. How can I fix this? What can I do?”

  “Love me!”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “What do you want from me? Whitney, give me a chance, I’m begging you! Put down the gun and I’ll make everything right.”

  “You can’t! I knew you couldn
’t love me if you had all those fucking sluts at your beck and call. They didn’t need you like I do. Please forgive me.”

  Wade looked at Lucy again, lost and confused, and she nodded at him, hoping he understood she wanted him to continue to tell Whitney what she wanted to hear.

  “I forgive—”

  But Whitney had noticed the nonverbal exchange between Wade and Lucy, and she reddened, shaking with her rage. “You lied to me! You told me you didn’t know her!”

  “I don’t. I met her today.”

  Whitney hit Dennis. “Who is she? How do you know her?”

  “Lucy,” Dennis squeaked.

  “I’m okay,” she told him, sitting up and leaning against the desk.

  “Tell me!”

  “My name is Lucy Kincaid, I—”

  “I didn’t ask you!”

  Dennis said, “S-she’s a p-p-p-”

  “Spit it out, you idiot.”

  “I’m a private investigator,” Lucy said.

  Whitney was confused and curious. Lucy hoped the police had a plan, because she was running out of ideas. She explained. “I came to New York looking for a runaway.”

  She willed Wade to keep his mouth shut.

  Whitney asked, “How do you know her, Dennis?”

  Lucy shook her head slightly when Dennis looked at her. “I-I-I—forget.”

  “You are such a retard! You’re the problem. Wade can’t commit to me because of you. His stupid brother. His can’t-do-shit idiot brother!” She hit him with the gun.

  Wade took two steps and Whitney waved the gun at him. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Don’t hurt my brother!”

  “Tell him to answer the question. Dennis, how do you know her?”

  Dennis didn’t answer, and Lucy knew it was to protect her. She said, “I’m not a cop, but I’ve been helping the police.”

  Whitney stared at her. “How?”

  “I’m working with a private investigator, but I don’t have a license. I’m a criminal psychologist, helping the police.”

  Whitney shook her head. “A shrink? You think you could analyze me? You think you know me?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Whitney seemed intrigued as well as angry. Lucy hoped SWAT was in place, because she only saw this turning bad.