Tempting Evil

by Allison Brennan

Suicide had been looking really good. Something flashy. Something that would get Joanna’s attention. Like taking people in a bookstore hostage, calling the media, and demanding to talk on the air before turning himself in. He’d never turn himself in, but he’d make sure Joanna Sutton knew it was all her fault when everyone died.

  But he only had the one gun left, and two bullets. Not enough to take down anyplace with more than one or two people. How Doug had managed to find them a couple of guns their first day out of Quentin, Aaron would never know. That guy had a sixth sense about some things.

  Aaron kind of missed him. He didn’t like being alone.

  Getting back into the valley had proven more difficult than he’d thought. The main road was blockaded by the cops. Every car searched. The plows had cleared the road from Monida to Lakeview for Trixie’s funeral, but still the people from the east side of the valley came on snowmobiles.

  The flaw in the protective net was the terrain itself—miles and miles long with many places to cross over into the valley where no one could see him. He’d come early enough that no one had been around; and he’d waited.

  He watched from a distance, unable to make out the features of the people gathered below. A calmness wrapped around him. Calm now that he had a plan. It finished taking shape when he saw two figures—two kids—walking toward his hiding place.

  Aaron planned to die today. He had two bullets. The first was for Joanna.

  “Aunt Jo—” Leah rushed to her, breathless, eyes darting back and forth.

  “What’s wrong?” Jo stood, looked around. The mourners were all near the tent where there was food and drink. She looked over to where Jason and Leah had been sitting on the log. “Where’s Jason?”

  “We—we went for a little walk. I know we weren’t supposed to leave, but—and—Mr. Miller, I mean Doherty, has Jason!”

  Jo’s stomach plummeted, her breath stopped. “We have to get Tyler.” She looked around, didn’t see him. She opened her mouth to call out when Leah said, “No, don’t. Jo, he said he’ll hurt Jason if you don’t come right now. He has a gun. He said I have to bring you back and not tell anyone. I don’t want Jason to die.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Behind the rocks.” She pointed. About fifty yards up the mountain from where Leah and Jason had been sitting was a plateau. Several huge boulders rested on it.

  “Find Tyler now.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me, Leah. Do it.”

  Leah ran down the hill and Jo went up.

  She wasn’t going to lose another child.

  Jo heard Aaron Doherty’s voice before she reached the plateau.

  “Where’s Leah?”

  “I’m not putting her in danger.”

  “But you’ll put the boy in danger?”

  She took three more steps and saw Jason. He was on his knees in the slushy snow, hands behind his head. Aaron Doherty stood behind him, a gun to the boy’s head.

  Oh, God, no. Not again.

  Jo swallowed fear so intense that her vision wavered.

  “Don’t scream,” Doherty said. “If you do, I’ll kill him. Do you understand that? I will kill him.”

  “I’m not going to scream. Let Jason go.”

  “No. No! Where’s Leah?”

  “I told you. I wouldn’t let her come. You don’t want to do this.”

  “You know nothing about me, Joanna.”

  Something the FBI Agent Hans Vigo said earlier came back to her. Doherty had to believe that he was in control. That she understood him, that she believed in him. She remembered that his mother had left him over and over again, with strangers and friends and relatives, and he never knew when she would return. He had waited so long.

  Jo had no sympathy for the man who killed Trixie, but she understood what Agent Vigo had been saying. What had happened in Doherty’s past influenced the killer he was today. She needed to stall him, to give Tyler time to arrive. She needed to protect Jason at all costs.

  He could have shot her when he killed Trixie, but he hadn’t.

  “You love me, don’t you?” she said. She glanced at Jason, saw the fear on his face. Don’t look at him. If you do, you’ll never be able to do this.

  His eyes widened. “You know I do.”

  She shook her head. “You never said so.”

  “In every letter I wrote—”

  “I told you I never got any of your letters.”

  “You’ve lied to me from the beginning. Why should I believe you now?”

  “I’m not lying. I never got your letters.” She stepped forward. She had to get between him and Jason.

  He stomped his foot. “But she said she mailed them!”

  “Annie?”

  He stumbled back as if she’d slapped him. His hand fell to his side, gun still in hand. But it was no longer pointed at Jason’s head.

  Jo took another step forward.

  “She talked to the police. Told them everything. She had all your letters and she gave them to the FBI.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m so sorry she betrayed you, Aaron. Every woman you’ve loved has hurt you. Even your own mother—”

  He stepped forward and aimed the gun at her. “Don’t talk about her.”

  Had she misstepped? Where was Tyler? She didn’t dare look around for fear Doherty would realize that something was up.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Aaron. You’re not like Doug Chapman. You’re nothing like him.”

  “He was a vile, pathetic, violent man.” Distaste crossed his face. “I’m glad I killed him.”

  “You protected me from him. When you left me alone at the house, he—he touched me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was embarrassed.”

  “You know I would do anything for you.” He shook his head back and forth. “But you lied to me. You told me you loved me, then you left me for the Sheriff. My enemy. You broke my heart, Joanna.”

  She blinked, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Delusional, Agent Vigo had called him. Did that mean he heard voices? Believe something that wasn’t true?

  On the surface, he seems normal. He can function in society, hold down a job, have normal conversations. But he believes his fantasies, his delusions are real.

  She swallowed uneasily and tried to remember the little boy he used to be, the little boy who waited night after night for his mother to come home.

  The same mother he killed.

  “Aaron, what do you want from me?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  She shook her head, trying not to look at the gun, or at Jason, but concentrating on the sounds around her. Had she heard a footstep in the slush behind her? She didn’t dare look.

  “I wanted to share my life with you, Joanna. I came here to show you how much I loved you, how I was your hero, like in your books. Your stories showed me what I never had, and I wanted that all—with you. But no longer.”

  “I’ll go with you. Right now. We’ll leave.”

  “I don’t believe you. You had your chance, you somehow told that Sheriff where we were.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “It’s over. For both of us.”

  “Let Jason go. Don’t make him watch this.”

  “Come here, Joanna.”

  She crossed the ground that separated them. She reached out and touched Jason on the shoulder. “Get up, Jason, and go.”

  She saw something out of the corner of her eye and it took every ounce of willpower not to look to her left. Jo put her body between Jason and the gun. “Now Jason.”

  Doherty nodded. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else, Joanna.” His eyes were clouded with emotion. Jo didn’t look to see if Jason obeyed, but she heard him slide down the slope. Relief washed over her.

  Jason’s safe.

  “I believe you,” she whispered.

  She opened her arms to show him she wasn’t scared, though every cell in her body
screamed in terror. She opened her arms to show him she trusted him, when all she wanted was to turn and run.

  He said, “That’s why I need to kill you and restore balance.”

  Leah ran into the tent and Tyler instantly knew something was wrong.

  “Where’s Jason?”

  “That man has him! And Jo.”

  “Where?” Thinking like a father, or a lover, could get the two people Sheriff Tyler McBride loved most in the world killed. He had to think like a cop.

  “They’re behind the boulders,” Leah said.

  Wyatt was at his side. “I know a way to get up there without anyone seeing.”

  Tyler informed his deputies of the situation and followed Wyatt past the new grave. He glimpsed the name Timothy Kenneth Sutton and his entire body shook in violent protest.

  A flash of an image of Jason Andrew McBride on a similar headstone spurred Tyler forward.

  I’m coming, son.

  Wyatt was taking him in the opposite direction. Tyler gave him a confused look and Wyatt mouthed “Trust me.”

  Tyler followed his brother.

  The slope was easier from the opposite side, and they ended up above the boulders where Doherty had Jo and Jason. Tyler could see Jason on his knees in the clearing below. Jo had her hands outstretched, talking to Doherty who had a gun aimed at his son.

  Tyler wanted to put a bullet in that bastard’s head. His hands clenched and he waited. Wyatt motioned that he was going about ten yards over, on the other side. Wyatt was injured himself, his arm in a sling, but he had no problem crossing the cliff, slowly to avoid detection.

  Jo walked toward Doherty. No, Jo, don’t.

  She put her hand on Jason’s shoulder.

  “Get up, Jason, and go,” Tyler heard Jo say. She put her body between Jason and Doherty. “Now Jason.”

  Doherty was letting him go. Less than a minute later, Jason was behind a boulder, safe.

  Tyler missed Doherty’s words, then Jo said, “I believe you.”

  “That’s why I need to kill you and restore balance.” Doherty raised the gun. Jo was only five feet in front of him. She stepped back.

  “Aaron, don’t—you don’t want—”

  “It’s the only way we’ll find peace.”

  Tyler was halfway down the slope. He didn’t know if Wyatt was in place, but Doherty was going to kill her.

  Doherty saw the movement, but didn’t seem to care. Jo opened her mouth and screamed.

  That surprised Doherty enough that he glanced over at Tyler.

  Tyler took a running leap off the boulder at the same time Doherty turned the gun toward him. Tyler tackled him before he could get a shot off. Doherty grunted when he hit the ground, but didn’t release the gun. Tyler tried to grab his gun hand and slam it to the ground, but Doherty was moving frantically, and it was all Tyler could do to keep the gun from getting between them.

  Wyatt was in the clearing and had pushed Jo aside.

  Tyler wrestled with the killer. Doherty had a rock in hand and hit him on the side of the head. Stunned, Tyler held tight to his suspect. Doherty hit him again. Wyatt tried to get the gun from Doherty’s grasp. The gun went off, Doherty’s finger tight around the trigger.

  They struggled in the wet snow, the cold air piercing Tyler’s lungs as he fought for breath. He punched Doherty in the stomach, but the ski jacket softened the blow.

  Doherty kneed Tyler and moved his gun hand between them.

  Jo watched a replay of what happened four years ago. She might as well have been in her warm Placerville kitchen.

  The gun went off between the men.

  “Tyler!” she screamed. “No!”

  Doherty pushed Tyler off him and stood. He stared at Tyler’s face.

  Tyler pulled a gun out of his holster and fired three shots into Doherty’s chest.

  He dropped the gun, took a step backward, his mouth moving soundlessly, then collapsed.

  Wyatt went over to get Doherty’s gun and Jo rushed to Tyler, who lay in the snow.

  “No, Tyler, please, please, you can’t die.”

  He shook his head back and forth. “I’m. Not.”

  He was struggling for breath and Jo saw the burned hole in his jacket where the bullet had entered. She tore open the jacket. “Wyatt, go get help. Get Nash, call Life Flight, get someone!”

  “Shh,” Tyler said. “I’m okay.”

  “I can’t lose you, too. I love you, Tyler. You’ve got to hold on.”

  She pulled open his shirt, felt for where the bullet had entered. Tyler’s stomach was hard as a rock.

  “I’m wearing a vest.” He pulled her down to him. “A bulletproof vest.” He swallowed heavily. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

  She started to cry. “I thought—I thought—”

  “I know.” He kissed her hair. “I know.”

  “Dad?”

  Jo called, “Over here, Jason.”

  Jason walked over, hesitated, then knelt down and hugged his father and Jo. “You’re okay?”

  “We’re all okay.”

  Jo touched Jason’s face. “I love you, Jason.”

  Tyler stood and put one arm around his son, the other around Jo, and they walked down the gentle slope on the opposite side of the clearing. Tyler’s deputies trudged up the slope and Tyler whispered to Grossman as they passed, “He’s dead.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Leah was standing with Deputy Duncan. She cried out when she saw Jo. They reunited and hugged tightly. “I was so scared, Aunt Jo.”

  “Me, too.” Jo looked at Tyler, saw the love and fear and relief on his face. It mirrored her own. “We’re okay,” she said, swallowing thickly.

  “It’s over,” Tyler said, pulling Wyatt into their circle. “He’s not going to hurt this family again.”

  Family. Jo looked from Tyler, to his brother, his son, and her niece. She’d lost so much, but she’d also gained much more.

  “I’m so lucky to have all of you,” she said, her voice catching. She turned to Tyler and took a deep breath. “I—I answered a question wrong that you asked me over Thanksgiving. I hope I can change my mind.”

  “Nothing would make me prouder, Jo.” Tyler kissed her.

  ALSO BY ALLISON BRENNAN

  The Prey

  The Hunt

  The Kill

  Speak No Evil

  See No Evil

  Fear No Evil

  Killing Fear

  Read on for a sneak peek at

  PLAYING DEAD

  ALLISON BRENNAN

  Coming soon from Ballantine Books

  The fact was, people lied. Claire was an expert bullshit detector and that’s what made her so good at her job investigating insurance fraud.

  This morning she’d been called to a warehouse fire in West Sacramento, across the river from California’s capital in the adjoining county of Yolo, home of the University of California at Davis of which Claire was a proud college dropout.

  College hadn’t been one of Claire’s wisest choices. Not because she couldn’t make the grade—she’d dropped out with a 3.7 GPA after three semesters—but because she hated college almost as much as she’d hated high school. “Playing nice with others” had never been high on her to-do list.

  The warehouse was at the Port of Sacramento near the docks where the Deep Water Ship Channel connected the Sacramento River to the San Francisco Bay. It predominantly handled agricultural products, but container goods from China and beyond were not uncommon. They didn’t have customs or any serious inspections. That was taken care of at the port of entry. As far as docks went, they were relatively clean and quiet, even at seven in the morning. Most of the activity was at the dock’s far end where right now a ship was being loaded with produce Claire couldn’t identify from this distance.

  Claire was supposed to meet the arson investigator here at eight, but she liked getting on scene early to do her own walk-through. She’d already done a lot of the paperwork and legwork—
the on-site inspection was for the final report to the insurance company. She could have slacked and just used the arson report, but she preferred including her own insight and photos. Additional documentation would be useful when she confronted the jerk who burned down his own building for money.

  Five-shot Starbucks latte in hand—as much to combat the mild hangover from her late night as to wake her up—Claire grabbed her backpack from the backseat of her Explorer, absently brushing golden retriever dog hair off her jeans. May first and it was already getting warm. While the rest of the country enjoyed spring, Sacramento had an early taste of summer. Yesterday it had peaked at ninety-five. Today would be even hotter.

  There was crime scene tape across the front of the warehouse—but since it was a mere shell and incapable of being locked up, she slid under the tape. She already knew it was an arson without the formal report. She smelled it.

  Warehouses sometimes burned down by accident. A careless employee left a lit or smoldering cigarette butt, lightning, homeless people trying to get warm in the frigid Sacramento winters.

  But accidents were rare.

  The building owner hadn’t even been smart about it, Claire thought as she walked around the aluminum building’s burned-out shell. What struck Claire was the lack of debris. Had the warehouse actually been filled with the boxes of medical supplies the owner claimed had been delivered two days ago, there would have been far more ash and burned remains. She supposed the claimant might counter that the arsonist had stolen the merchandise before torching the place.

  Claire assumed the merchandise had never arrived, or it had been sold before the arson. She’d already pulled the financials of Ben Holman and Holman Medical Supply Company, Inc. Operating on the wrong side of a razor-thin profit margin, he was three months late on his personal home mortgage, and had recently pulled his two kids from private school and enrolled them in public school. His creditors all had 90 to 120 day lates on him.

  Convenient timing for an insurance claim that would give him half a mil for supplies and damage.

  The prelim report indicated the fire started in the small office in the northwest corner of the warehouse. The claimant would probably argue that it was an electrical fire, perhaps caused by faulty wiring or a defective power strip. The building was old. Could be the wiring was out of code. Claire had already ordered the last county inspection report. That would give her the answers she needed, but just because the wiring was old didn’t mean it would spontaneously combust at the ideal time for the financially strapped owner.